Chapter 5: The Weapon

As Val stood dumbfounded by her bizarre encounter, the last echo of that mechanical bell still ringing in her ears, a new sound began to rise from the distance—soft at first, but unmistakable.

Moans.

Low, guttural, and many.

Her spine stiffened as her eyes adjusted to the thick fog ahead. Through the swirling mist, faint silhouettes began to emerge. Staggering shapes. Dozens of them.

The fog wasn’t empty anymore.

Move, Val. Move! she urged herself.

With one last look over her shoulder at the apartment building—her broken home, Jane—she exhaled sharply. A quiet sigh, like a silent farewell.

Whatever life she’d known was over now.

It was time to make the most of whatever time she had left.

As she bolted in the opposite direction of the shapes in the mist, Val quickly realized the weight of her chosen weapon. Though the fire extinguisher had saved her life, its bulky mass and awkward shape made it hard to carry at speed. Her arms already ached from the fight, and the heavy metal cylinder would burn through what little strength she had left—fast.

She needed to find another weapon. And soon.

As she approached the exit of the alley—apartment blocks lining the right, industrial buildings to the left—Val paused to get her bearings. Without her phone, she had no GPS, only memory and instinct to guide her.

She scanned the empty street, doing her best to recall direction in the choking fog.

Intersection of Gallows Lane and Brine Street—if she moved east five blocks, she should hit Mercer Row. From there, two blocks north would take her straight to military HQ. Hopefully she’d find something there—or someone—anyone to tell her what the mission was. What’s next in all this madness?

Val continued east, weaving between an increasing number of wrecked cars littering the roadway. She peeked through open doors and shattered windows, eyes scanning for anything useful—water, supplies, anything sharp. The silence was heavy, disturbed only by the crunch of her boots and the distant moan of the fog.

Up ahead, a makeshift roadblock came into view—overturned vehicles, police barracades, and the scattered remains of riot shields. It looked like a unit from the Armed Response Unit had attempted to hold the line here. Whether they were trying to stop people from fleeing into the fog, or hold back something coming out of it, Val couldn’t tell.

Approaching the cement-barricaded wall, Val’s boots crunched over broken glass and scattered shell casings—evidence of a last stand that hadn’t ended well.

Scanning the square for bodies or weapons, Val found nothing but the hulking remains of abandoned police vehicles. One sat blackened and warped from fire—its frame charred to skeleton metal—while the others remained eerily untouched, as if the chaos had skipped over them entirely.

In her peripheral vision, Val caught a flicker of shape—stationary, not moving. At the eastern barricade, a lone figure stood upright against the concrete, silhouetted in the fog like a statue left behind.

She crept along the right side of the barricade, careful with every step, boots crunching faintly over loose rubble and debris. Five meters out, the scene sharpened through the haze.

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

A small car—its front end crumpled like a tin can—had slammed into the barricade.

Pinned between the wreck and concrete was what looked like a plainclothes constable, his arms hanging limply at his sides, head slumped. The driver hadn’t fared much better—half-ejected through the windshield, motionless, body sprawled across the hood like a discarded ragdoll.

On the constable’s belt, Val spotted it—a Glock 17, sitting gleaming in a worn brown side holster, untouched by blood or ash, like it had been waiting for her. Just beside it, secured in a twin pouch, were two spare magazines—hopefully fully loaded.

She approached slowly—two meters out… one meter.

That’s when both heads turned.

Their lifeless eyes locked onto her, blank and hollow.

Then, as if awakened by her presence, they lunged.

The constable, pinned by the crumpled front end of the car, swung his arm close enough to graze a few strands of Val’s light brown hair. She flinched back as the ruined constable could do nothing but snarl and writhe—trapped and useless.

But the driver—half-ejected, broken from the crash—dragged herself forward with both hands.

Her legs were useless, twisted beneath her, but her arms clawed and scraped across the hood with agonizing determination.

ENCOUNTER TABLE

Name Plain-clothed Police Constable Occupation Undead Health 100% Gear Tattered Clothes Weapons Glock 17

Name Driver Occupation Undead Health 100% Gear Tattered Clothes Weapons None

Val didn’t wait.

As the woman reached the barricade, Val brought the fire extinguisher down in one fluid motion—smashing it against her forehead with brutal finality.

Val turned her attention to the trapped constable, inspecting him with solemn silence.

Whoever he once was… was gone.

She stood there for a long moment, eyes fixed on the man pinned between steel and concrete, breathing in the stillness.

Not just for him.

Not just for the driver.

But for all of them—for everyone who had perished in this godless fog, twisted into something not human.

She whispered no prayer. Only clenched her jaw, stepped forward—

—and raised the ruined fire extinguisher one final time.

End of Chapter Stats

Name Val Occupation Combat Medical Technician (CMT) Health 25% Hunger 20% Thirst 65% Gear Light Clothing, Flashlight, Handcuffs Backpack 2 Water Bottles, 3 Granola Bars Weapons Glock 17, Taser Ammo 9mm – 52 rounds Skills Battlefield Medicine, Standard Weapons Trained Kills 4

Name Plain-clothed Police Constable (Terminated) Occupation Undead Health 0% Gear Tattered Clothes Weapons None

Name Driver (Terminated) Occupation Undead Health 0% Gear Tattered Clothes Weapons None