Heavy breathing filled the oppressive silence of the corridor. The stale air reeked of mold, blood, and gunpowder. Flickering fluorescent lights cast unstable shadows on the stained walls.
The makeshift barricade held, for now. But we all knew it wouldn't take long before the Russians or the zombies found a way to break through.
"Let's clear the rooms before moving forward," I murmured, adjusting my grip on the M4A1. "We can't leave anything behind that might attack us later."
Everyone nodded in agreement.
The corridor was long, narrow, with several doors lining both sides. Some had plaques indicating their functions—offices, storage rooms, technical areas—while others had no identification, making everything more unpredictable.
Ryan was the first to approach the first door on the right. Holding the handle, he glanced at me. I signaled for him to open it.
The door creaked slightly as it swung open.
It was a small administrative office. Papers were scattered across the floor, and an overturned desk partially obstructed the view inside. The monitor of an old computer flickered static, casting a faint glow over the room.
"Clear," Ryan whispered after a quick sweep.
We moved on to the second door. Despite his injury, Richard positioned himself beside it, weapon ready. He kicked the door open with force.
This time, the reaction was immediate.
A zombie lunged from the darkness, snarling like a wild animal. Its milky eyes gleamed under the flickering light, and its decaying flesh was riddled with open wounds.
Richard fired before the creature could leap at him.
The bullet tore through the undead's skull, splattering brain matter against the wall. The body crumpled with a sickening thud.
"Fuck… these things always catch me off guard," he muttered.
We quickly searched the room. It appeared to be a control room, with shattered monitors, exposed wires, and a shelf stacked with rusted tools. No more threats inside.
We kept moving.
The third door led to a bathroom. The putrid stench inside gave away its secret.
Ryan eased the door open, and as the dim light illuminated the space, we saw them—three infected hunched over a corpse, devouring it with grotesque intensity.
There was no time to hesitate.
Three suppressed shots echoed in the confined space, and the bodies slumped onto the congealed blood.
"These fuckers were having dinner…" Lee muttered, adjusting his rifle on his shoulder.
Pressing forward, we reached a storage room. Piles of metal crates were scattered across the floor, some open, revealing medical supplies and ammunition.
"This could come in handy," I murmured, grabbing an extra magazine.
That's when we heard it—a faint noise from a door nearby.
Whispers.
The team tensed.
Russians.
We exchanged silent signals and took positions. Ryan took the lead, with Richard and Lee covering the flanks.
I took a deep breath and kicked the door in.
The wood shattered under the impact.