HIS WAR WAS SUPPOSED TO BE OVER.
When an accident leaves his older brother in a coma,
Marine Gunnery Sergeant Nathan Grimes
is just weeks from retirement,
ready to hang up the uniform for good.
Then the orders are given.
He's been stop-lossed.
N...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
𝖲𝖢𝖤𝖭𝖤 5.1
The truck rocked as something violently slammed against the side.
"Move, move!" Nate's voice was raw, hauling Matthews fully into the cargo bed with the help of Thomas.
Danny climbed in after them, already pressing gauze to the soldier's neck, eyes frantic. "Come on, stay with me— stay with me!"
Outside, screams cut through the alley like blades.
Civilians ran in every direction. Some ducked behind dumpsters. Others slammed fists against locked shop doors. One woman stood frozen in the middle of the street, staring at the blood drying on her hands.
Ramirez was firing from the truck bed, covering the rest of the squad as they pulled back from the barrier.
Lentz and DeLuca dragged Leary, who was barely conscious and bleeding fast. Gearhart covered the rear, rifle trembling in his grip.
"They're coming through the fence!" Bryson shouted, voice hoarse. "Fall back now!"
Behind them, figures spilled into the street—staggering, snarling. Some ran. Some crawled. But they all came with that same dead-eyed hunger.
Nate dropped down beside Danny. "How bad?"
Danny just shook his head.
Matthews blinked at him—slow, unfocused. His lips moved, but no words came out.
Another thud against the truck. Then another. Someone—or something—trying to climb inside.
"Go!" Nate yelled to Jennings in the cab. "Drive!"
The truck roared to life and lurched forward, tires spinning for half a beat before finding grip.
From the rear window, Nate watched the crowd disappear behind them. The infected were spilling into every street now. Dozens of them quickly turning into hundreds.
A full breach. A full collapse.
He looked back at Matthews.
Still. Quiet.
Danny's hands stayed on his neck long after the pulse stopped.
"I—tried," he whispered.
"You did what you could," Nate gripped onto his shoulder, comforting him as best anyone could.
The truck jolted as it turned down a side street, clipping a mailbox. Gearhart almost lost his grip. "Where are we going?"
"South staging zone!" Ramirez shouted from the cab.
"Not there!" Bryson barked. "Too many civilians, too much exposure!"
"We've got wounded!" Gearhart snapped. "Where the hell else are we supposed to go?!"
