Day 2: Martial Law
05:45 AM, Abandoned Maintenance Shed—Hell's Kitchen
The generator's hum was a teeth-rattling lullaby, but Jack didn't sleep. He'd spent the night cataloguing their meager arsenal: 12 shotgun shells, three kitchen knives, a single fire extinguisher, and Lily's first-aid kit, now depleted to antiseptic wipes and half a roll of gauze. The survivors huddled in corners, their breath visible in the chill—no heat, no windows that closed.
Lily stirred, her scrubs crusted with dried blood. "Any change?"
"Tanks moved north an hour ago." Jack nodded to the window, where dawn painted the skyline in ash-gray. "Heard gunfire. Lots of it."
A kid—maybe ten, named Ethan—whimpered in his mother's arms. Jack had noticed the boy picking at a scab on his knee all night. Not a bite, he told himself. Just a scrape. But the memory of the infected's milky eyes lingered.
06:30 AM, 30th Street Subway Station—Reentry
They returned to the subway through a rusted service hatch, the smell of death clinging to the stairwell. The barricade lay shattered, vending machines overturned, blood smears on the walls. Jack's boots crunched on broken glass as he led the group past a mangled infected, its skull caved in by the shotgun.
"Wait." Lily grabbed his arm, pointing to a flickering screen behind the ticket counter. The news station was back online, pixelated but audible:
"—National Guard deployment met with overwhelming resistance. Mayor declares Zone 5 a quarantine zone—all residents advised to—"
The feed cut to a grainy live shot: a tank firing into a crowd of infected, their bodies exploding in gory confetti. Civilians ran alongside them, screaming, only to be mowed down by machine-gun fire. Lily swore under her breath. "They're not just killing the infected. They're killing everyone."
Jack said nothing. He'd seen it in Fallujah—collateral damage, they called it. But this was worse. This was extermination.
07:15 AM, The Hub—Bleecker Street Subway
They found the survivors' new据点 (stronghold) by following the glow of LED lights. A makeshift barricade of steel beams blocked the tunnel, spray-painted with a crude warning: NO BITTEN. NO EXCEPTIONS.
"Hold it right there." A voice echoed from the shadows, followed by the click of a cocking rifle. A skinny man emerged, wearing a tattered Star Wars hoodie, his face pale from lack of sunlight. A backpack hung from one shoulder, wires trailing from it like mechanical tentacles. "Identify yourselves."
"Jack Harper. Ex-Marine. This is Lily, nurse. We've got twelve survivors—no bites, no symptoms." Jack kept his hands visible, shotgun slung over his shoulder. "You?"
"Mike." The man's eyes flicked to the shotgun, then to Lily's kit. "You're the ones who barricaded 30th Street. Smart move. Didn't last, though." He nodded at the survivors. "Bring 'em in. But weapons stay outside—safety protocol."
The "hub" was a cavernous maintenance bay, lit by solar-powered LED strips. Computers hummed on makeshift desks—laptops, monitors, even a server rack scavenged from God knew where. A map of the city was pinned to the wall, red X's marking infected hotspots, blue circles labeled SUPPLY RUNS.
"Home sweet home," Mike said, grinning nervously. "I've been hacking into traffic cams, emergency frequencies—hell, even the Guard's comms. Turns out martial law means 'shoot first, ask never.'" He tapped a keyboard, pulling up a feed of a National Guard convoy being swarmed by infected. "See? They're losing control. The virus isn't just contagious—it's adaptive. Infected get faster, stronger, the longer they're… well, infected."
Lily frowned. "Adaptive how? Like, evolution?"
"More like code." Mike typed furiously, pulling up a string of gibberish. "I intercepted some CDC emails. The virus rewrites DNA, turns people into these… hyper-aggressive vectors. And get this—GenCorp, that biotech giant? Their servers are leaking. I found mentions of 'Project Elysium'—supposed to be a super-soldier serum. Oops, guess it backfired."
Jack's spine stiffened. "You're saying this is a bioweapon?"
"Collateral damage." Mike shrugged. "But here's the kicker: GenCorp has a lab in New Jersey. I bet they've got a cure, or at least a vaccine. Problem is, getting there. The George Washington Bridge is blocked by military checkpoints, and the tunnels are crawling with infected and raiders."
10:00 AM, The Vote
The survivors gathered in a circle, Ethan's mother still clutching her son like a shield. Mike had shared what little food he had—energy bars, canned soup—but tensions were high.
"We can't stay here." Jack's voice cut through the murmur. "The Guard's clearing zones block by block. They'll burn this station eventually, infected or not."
Lily nodded. "We need supplies. Medical gear, food, weapons. The nearest pharmacy is eight blocks north—"
"—and swarming with infected." Mike finished, pulling up a traffic cam feed of 7th Avenue. Dozens of感染者 (infected) shambled between abandoned cars, their movements quicker now, almost coordinated. "But here's the twist: they're attracted to noise, body heat, fear. Stay quiet, stay cold, and maybe they'll ignore you."
"Or we could use noise as a distraction." Jack tapped the map. "Lure them to the Guard's patrol route, let the military deal with them while we scavenge."
Mike grinned, impressed. "Marines and hackers think alike. I can rig a radio to broadcast emergency alerts—draw the horde to 59th Street. Gives us a two-minute window to hit the pharmacy."
13:00 PM, Scavenging Run—7th Avenue
The plan worked… at first. The radio blared a tornado warning, echoing through the canyon of skyscrapers, and the infected turned as one, shambling toward the noise. Jack and Lily moved fast, ducking between cars, shotguns ready. Mike had given them comms—cheap walkie-talkies, but better than nothing.
"Pharmacy's up ahead." Lily whispered, her breath visible. "Glass door's cracked. I'll grab antibiotics, painkillers—"
A scream cut her off. From the alley beside the pharmacy, a young woman stumbled into the street, blood pouring from a bite on her arm. Infected poured out after her, their growls rising to a roar.
"Distraction's over!" Jack fired at the nearest infected, aiming for the head this time. The round took it in the temple, dropping it instantly. Lily grabbed the woman, dragging her into a doorway.
"Let me go!" the woman screamed, struggling. "I'm bitten! I'm infected!"
Lily ignored her, pressing a tourniquet to the wound. "It's a flesh wound. Maybe we can—"
"Lily, she's a risk." Jack's voice was cold, but his finger hesitated on the trigger.
The woman stopped struggling, staring at him with tear-streaked eyes. "Please. Just let me die human."
A distant tank round shook the ground. Jack cursed, pulling Lily to her feet. "We can't save everyone. Move!"
They left the woman behind, her sobs swallowed by the infected's growls. Lily didn't look back, but her jaw was clenched. Jack knew the look—guilt, rage, the first cracks in compassion. They'd both need them to survive.
16:00 PM, The Hub—Reckoning
The scavenge yielded 15 bandage rolls, three bottles of antibiotics, and a single box of shotgun shells. Not enough. Mike hunched over his computers, muttering to himself, while Lily treated Ethan's scrap—now red and swollen, though the boy swore it was "just a scratch."
Jack studied the map, tracing the route to New Jersey. "We need a vehicle. Something armored."
Mike snorted. "Good luck. Every car's either crashed or commandeered by the Guard. Wait—" He sat up, eyes blazing. "Tara. I heard her on the radio earlier. Truck driver, runs supplies between zones. She's got a rig, heavy armor, enough firepower to take out a tank."
"Where is she?"
"Docks. She's holed up in a warehouse, fending off raiders. Says she'll trade passage for meds and ammo." Mike glanced at Lily's meager haul. "Which we don't have."
Lily stood, wiping her hands on her scrubs. "We have antibiotics. And I can offer medical expertise. Tara's probably got injured survivors—she'll need a nurse."
Jack hesitated. Trusting another group? Risky. But they had no choice. The Hub's power was flickering—Mike's solar panels couldn't last forever.
"Tonight," Jack said. "We move to the docks. Meet Tara. And if she's a trap—" He patted the shotgun. "We adapt."
22:00 PM, The Docks—Ambush Warning
The waterfront was a graveyard of shipping containers, their rusted shells gleaming in the moonlight. Jack heard the rifle cock before he saw the muzzle flash.
"Freeze!" A woman's voice, rough as gravel. She emerged from the shadows, a sawed-off shotgun in one hand, a flashlight in the other. Her hair was cropped short, scars crisscrossing her forearms—Tara, no doubt. "Drop the weapons."
Lily stepped forward, hands raised. "We're here to trade. Antibiotics, medical supplies. We need a ride out of the city."
Tara's eyes flicked to the first-aid kit on Lily's back, then to Jack's shotgun. "Heard about you two. The Marines and the nurse who took down a horde with a fire extinguisher." She grinned, sharp and humorless. "Smart. But I don't need medics. I need soldiers."
"We're not soldiers anymore." Jack said, though his grip tightened on the shotgun.
"Bullshit. You're alive, aren't you?" Tara jerked her head toward a warehouse door. "Inside. We talk terms. And keep your hands where I can see 'em—my boys don't trust strangers."
Inside, the warehouse was a fortress: pallets of supplies, fuel cans, even a few assault rifles racked on the wall. A dozen survivors—some injured, all armed—eyed them warily.
Tara leaned against a rusted pickup, popping a can of beer. "So. You want passage to New Jersey. I want two things: first, that pharmacy you raided still has insulin. My kid needs it. Second—" She nodded to a security monitor showing the dock entrance. "Raiders are coming. They want my rig, my fuel. I need someone to hold the line while we load up."
Jack exchanged a glance with Lily. Risky, but necessary. "We'll do it. But we leave at first light. And we take Mike—he's got intel on GenCorp."
Tara shrugged. "Fine by me. Just hope your hacking buddy can keep the Guard off our tails. They've been tagging vehicles with GPS trackers—"
A gunshot echoed outside, cutting her off. Someone screamed. Tara swore, grabbing a rifle. "Raiders! Time to earn your ride, Marines."
Midnight, Dock Perimeter
Jack braced behind a shipping container, shotgun loaded, as the raiders came in waves—scraggly men in makeshift armor, firing AK-47s from stolen cars. The first car exploded when Tara's men hit it with a Molotov cocktail, but two more kept coming.
"Lily! Get to the infirmary!" Jack shouted, firing at a raider aiming for Tara. The shot took him in the shoulder, not lethal, but enough to drop him.
Mike appeared beside him, wielding a baseball bat with nails hammered into it. "Got a plan!" he yelled, lobbing a flashbang toward the raiders' truck. The explosion disoriented them, giving Jack a clear shot at the driver.
Tara grinned, spraying the last car with automatic fire. "Not bad, hacker! Maybe you'll survive—"
A roar cut her off. From the shadows of the pier, a horde of infected emerged, drawn by the gunfire. Their eyes glowed in the dark, milky and malevolent, moving faster than any Jack had seen—almost running.
"Shit!" Tara fired at the nearest infected, but it kept coming, tackling a raider and tearing into his throat. The raiders scattered, screaming, but the infected ignored them, zeroing in on the warm bodies in the warehouse.
"Fall back!" Jack shouted, grabbing Mike and dragging him toward the rig. Lily emerged from the infirmary, blood on her hands, guiding a wounded survivor.
Tara gunned the rig's engine, the diesel roar deafening. "Load up! We're outta here!"
Jack counted the survivors climbing into the truck bed—Ethan, his mother, Mike, the rest. Lily slammed the door as the infected reached the rig, their hands scraping metal.
"Hold on!" Tara hit the gas, the rig lurching forward,碾压 (crushing) an infected beneath its tires. Jack looked back, seeing the horde dissolve into the night, their growls fading.
Beside him, Lily stared at Ethan, who was sweating profusely, his mother's hand pressed to his forehead. The boy's arm—once a "scrape"—now sported a dark, spreading bruise.
Jack didn't say anything. He didn't need to. Lily saw it too.
Day 3: Scavengers
The rig rumbled north, Tara navigating around roadblocks and burning wrecks. Mike huddled over a laptop, hacking into GenCorp's servers again, while Jack cleaned his shotgun.
"Hey, Jack?" Lily said quietly, nodding to Ethan's direction. "If he turns… we can't let him hurt anyone."
Jack met her gaze, seeing the conflict in her eyes—the nurse who wanted to heal, the survivor who knew the truth. "I know."
The first rays of dawn painted the horizon as Mike shouted, "Got it! GenCorp's lab coordinates. And get this—they've got a self-destruct protocol. If we don't get there in 48 hours, the data's gone."
Tara smirked, flooring the gas. "Then we'd better hurry. Raiders, infected, the Guard—they're all just speed bumps. We're gonna need more than shotguns and bandages, though. Next stop: an armory I know. Scavengers' paradise."
Jack stared out the window, at the ruins of the city they were leaving behind. Day two had brought martial law, betrayal, and a glimpse of the virus's true horror.
Day three would bring scavengers. And Jack knew, deep in his gut, that scavengers didn't just take supplies.
They took lives.