I flinch, instinctively stepping back from the golden panel.
"Hah," I chuckle from the absurdity of it all. They are rewarding me for killing a human.
I use the panel, quickly navigating to the reward section as the battle behind me continues to rage on. I no longer hear the bullets, only the screams of people and the guttural screeches of dying undead, and the groans of the hundreds who take their place.
Opening the reward section, I see a picture of a crate.
Crate of grenades.
pull the pin, toss, and watch the destruction.
Reading the description, I don't know whether to jump up for joy, or kneel down in remorse. This reward just seems like a pathetic way to justify murder. The fact that I'm given exactly what I need is almost depressing. It's as if killing that man was necessary.
An act so barbaric, it is forbidden in almost every religion, country, and community, yet is justified in the interest of ones greed and fear. Yet that is what humanity is... a bunch of hypocrites.
Sighing, I press the "redeem here" button, watching as the golden screen in front of me disappears.
Just like before, golden sparks begin to materialize before me. I turn my back towards the sparks, looking back at the horde. They have gained significant ground moving down the street and are now pouring out at the intersection.
Jenny and a few others are still fighting, yet their numbers have no doubt dwindled.
Jenny swings her giant cleaver, wielding it with both hands and dismembering infected with ease. One lunges at her, yet she quickly steps to the side, swinging the cleaver like one would an ion blade and cutting the zombie in half.
I even spot Whiskey, clad in thick leather armor that clings to him like a second skin. An infected lunges at him with a feral snarl, sinking its teeth into his arm, but the bite meets resistance. The leather holds. The creature thrashes, confused and enraged, but Whiskey doesn't flinch. He shoves it off with a grunt, thrusting his spear into the creatures chest.
Looking back, the sparks are almost done drawing the faint outline of a crate. After a few moments, it all collapses into a beam of light.
I frantically catch the crate before it is able to crash onto the street. I quickly kneel down, setting it on the floor, trying my best not to damage it and accidentally set one of the grenades inside off.
Opening it, I find six grenades inside, surrounded by foam, probably to keep them from being damaged.
I quickly grab one of the grenades, turning back to the horde with a feeling of lostness in my heart.
"Get back!" I scream, pulling the pin and pressing down the lever.
Jenny, Whiskey, and a few others look back. Some listen, and some don't. Either way, I didn't have enough time, nor care to explain my intention.
I take a step forward, trying my best to get into a good throwing form. Using my left arm, I throw the grenade as hard as I can between the buildings and into the middle of the horde of infected. For a moment, nothing happens and the ocean of infected continue to slowly inch forward.
I watch in silence, deep in my thoughts as the grenade roars.
A fiery blast erupts from the center of the horde, illuminating the street in a blaze of orange and red.
The shockwave ripples outward, tossing and twisting the infected like rag-dolls.
Flaming limbs arc through the air, as inky black blood rains down, staining the street black. Even charred torsos and bodies are flung against buildings with bone cracking force.
Then something unexpected happens. A wave of fire ripples upon the hoard, their guttural screeches becoming louder and louder as the flame spreads. I understands that grenades are deadly, but they shouldn't be this deadly. What could possibly be fueling this flame?
The wave of infected seem to stop for a moment as the fire spreads throughout their ranks, a smell of roasting meat filling my nostrils. Yet after a few moments, the horde seems to continue even as the fire rages on.
I quickly turn back, bending down to grab another grenade. Whiskey, Jenny and the rest of his men continue their fight, avoiding those on fire while trying their best to keep the rest of the horde contained into the narrow road.
Getting ready to throw again, I aim towards a large unlit cluster of infected on the left next to one of the buildings.
Pulling the pin and pressing down the lever, I toss the grenade. Similar to before, it takes before exploding, sending body parts flying and shattering the windows of the nearby buildings. The flames are the same to, spreading from infected to infected like a rampant disease.
I continue throwing them, over, and over, until I have only two more grenades left. The destruction I've caused seems to be catastrophic. The horde which looked to be about a 1000 strong seems to have been able to be culled to less than a quarter of that. A still extremely high number, but a far more manageable one.
Throwing another, my eyes widen in horror as the blast reaches a nearby buiding, blowing a part of it up and lighting it on fire.
At this point, the fire has spread drastically, encompassing almost the whole street.
What could be so flammable?
Looking down at my clothing and hands, I find them covered in zombie blood, thick and inky blood. A substance that is quite similar to something else. Oil.
That's what it must be, the flammable! The blood must act like some kind of gel, similar to the ones used in things like napalm.