The Russian's shrill scream cut through the air, alerting his comrades—his voice echoed like thunder through the warehouse.
The Russian leader barked something in his language, and immediately, half of the soldiers who had been fighting the infected turned toward us.
Bursts of AK fire lit up the space.
"COVER!" I shouted.
We dove behind an armored truck as bullets ricocheted around us, sparks flying off the metal.
The gunfire was deafening in the enclosed space.
Ryan pulled a fragmentation grenade and hurled it onto the metal platform where a sentry was firing.
The flash was followed by a muffled explosion—the structure trembled, and the Russian's body plummeted, hitting the ground with a sickening thud.
But the enemy's response was brutal.
More soldiers surged forward, unleashing relentless gunfire.
And then, the worst happened.
The noise of the firefight attracted the infected.
A wave of rotting bodies emerged from the far side of the warehouse, charging at the Russians without hesitation.
There were dozens of them, their milky eyes reflecting the flickering lights.
A Russian soldier, distracted while reloading, didn't even see the creature approaching.
The infected leaped onto him, sinking its teeth into his throat.
The man's scream was high-pitched, desperate—his blood erupted in a crimson spray as he was dragged down, being torn apart alive.
"Shit!" Ryan growled, firing a short burst. The zombie's skull exploded like a rotten melon.
The only option was to push forward.
We left cover, shooting as we ran.
Our rifles spat fire and steel—each shot a precise kill to the enemy's head.
Zombies crumpled one after another, their skulls shattering into splinters of bone and rancid blood.
Then, a sharp crack.
Richard stumbled and dropped to his knees.
"I'm hit!" he snarled, clutching his left shoulder.
His uniform was already soaked with blood.
The shots had come from behind us—more Russian soldiers were arriving through the same path we had taken.
I grabbed Richard by his vest strap and dragged him behind an armored vehicle.
I pulled out a tourniquet and tightened it around the wound.
"Hold on."
"Son of a bitch, that hurts like hell!"
"Better than dying," I muttered, raising my weapon again.
But the situation was deteriorating by the second.
We were trapped—on one side, a horde of ravenous zombies, on the other, a platoon of Russians opening fire mercilessly.
Then, I saw it.
A rusted metal door in the middle of the warehouse.
"That door!"
"Bravo, hold off the zombies! Don't let them get close!"
"Alpha, focus fire on the Russians and move up!"
We moved from cover to cover, exchanging fire.
Every shot I took was a kill, but the soldiers seemed to multiply.
"Where the fuck are all these bastards coming from?! Fuck!" Richard cursed.
After an intense struggle, we reached the door and shoved it open.
A long, dimly lit corridor stretched before us, lined with several doors on either side.
Now it was our turn to cover Bravo Team.
I pressed against the right side of the doorway while Lee took position on the left.
We slammed the passage shut and shoved a cabinet against it.
Silence fell over us—only our heavy breathing filled the air.
I looked down the corridor.
Each door could be hiding something worse than what we had just escaped.
And now, we had no choice but to move forward.