Chapter 663: Chapter 673: Alpha-Squad Seven (Part 3)

A few minutes later, the squad was running through the residential district.

The neighborhood had probably been quiet once.

Tree-lined streets. Small apartment complexes. Families walking dogs in the evenings. Joggers cutting through side roads before work.

Now it looked gutted.

Cars sat abandoned across both lanes at crooked angles, some half-mounted onto sidewalks where panicked drivers had lost control trying to escape.

Windshields were shattered inward. Doors hung open. A delivery van had plowed directly into the rear of a sedan hard enough to accordion the front end while both airbags sagged uselessly inside the cabin.

Another vehicle still idled faintly near the curb, headlights casting pale beams across an empty intersection.

Nobody was behind the wheel.

Bodies littered parts of the street.

Mostly civilians.

A woman in pink jogging clothes lay beside a storm drain with one shoe missing.

An older man in pajama pants sat slumped against a mailbox while dried blood ran down the concrete beneath him in thick trails.

Near one of the houses, a man in office clothes lay facedown inside a flower bed, one arm stretched desperately toward the front porch steps he’d never reached.

The smell sat heavy in the night air.

Copper.

Rot.

Something worse underneath both.

Not all the destruction came from infected either.

Several homes had partially collapsed inward like something massive had punched through them from above.

Burn marks climbed the sides of others in black streaks that reached toward second-floor windows.

One garage still smoldered faintly, embers glowing orange beneath fallen beams.

Webb raised a fist.

The squad stopped immediately.

"Stay sharp," he said quietly. "Infected could be anywhere."

Don scanned the area carefully.

Beastshift sharpened the darkness around him into something more readable.

His vision cut through shadows well enough to pick apart details the others probably missed entirely.

Broken fence near the left property line. Overturned trash can halfway down the block.

Blood smeared across pavement leading into a narrow alley between two houses.

Nothing moved, but more importantly—

Keen Eye wasn’t reacting.

No instinctive warnings. No subtle behavioral inconsistencies pulling at his attention. No environmental detail standing out strongly enough to trigger concern.

Either the area was genuinely clear.

Or whatever danger existed wasn’t obvious yet.

’Keen Eye sees what stands out... so if nothing stands out... maybe nothing’s here.’

Still... Don didn’t relax.

They moved again seconds later, covering ground in controlled bursts through the ruined neighborhood.

Webb led from the front while Don stayed beside him. Kowalski and Vance followed behind them, checking rear angles every few seconds.

Boots crunched over broken glass.

Webb cleared every corner before committing past it, rifle moving in practiced arcs across windows, rooftops, doorways.

No wasted movement.

No panic.

They reached the designated location within minutes.

The apartment complex formed a rough U-shape around a central courtyard, three-story residential buildings boxed tightly around the open space. Most of the windows were dark. A few had been shattered outward entirely.

At the center sat a broken fountain.

Dry. Cracked.

Filled with debris instead of water.

The wire fence separating the complex from the road had been torn open near the entrance. The metal curled outward in blackened strips like something hot enough to melt steel had ripped through it earlier.

Bodies lay scattered across the courtyard.

Civilians again.

One near the fountain.

Two near a stairwell entrance.

Another halfway through the lobby doors of the nearest building.

Kowalski checked the small tablet strapped near his wrist and frowned.

"This is the location," he muttered. "Four-Bravo’s last known position."

Webb immediately pressed two fingers against his earpiece.

"Four-Bravo, this is Seven-Alpha. We’re at your location. Report."

Static answered him.

Nothing else.

He tried again.

"Four-Bravo, come in. What’s your status?"

More static.

"Shit."

Then gunfire cracked through the night.

Not nearby. But close enough.

Several rapid shots echoed between the apartment buildings before cutting off abruptly. A second later more shots followed somewhere deeper inside the complex.

Everyone reacted instantly.

Weapons came up.

Bodies turned toward the sound.

Vance’s expression shifted for the first time since leaving the church. The anger stayed there, but concern crept underneath it now too.

"That’s not far," Kowalski said.

Webb stayed still for a second.

Thinking.

His jaw shifted side to side while another burst of gunfire echoed through the district.

Closer this time.

Or maybe just louder.

Decision made.

"We’re going."

Then Webb did something Don hadn’t expected.

He unhooked his rifle and turned toward him, extending it stock-first.

"Take this."

Don accepted the weapon automatically.

The weight settled into his hands naturally enough. He’d trained with rifles before.

Not extensively, but enough to understand handling, recoil control, reload procedures.

Different from using one under real conditions though.

Webb already had his sidearm drawn by the time Don checked the safety.

Compact pistol.

Better maneuverability indoors.

"Follow my lead."

Beside them, Kowalski unclipped his own sidearm before glancing toward Vance.

"You know how to use one?"

Vance hesitated.

Only for a second.

Then he took the pistol.

"Point and pull, right?"

Kowalski’s expression stayed completely flat.

"Don’t point it at me."

They moved again immediately afterward.

Slower now.

The squad crossed through the torn fence and entered the apartment complex proper, stepping past the broken fountain and scattered civilian bodies while the distant gunfire echoed intermittently ahead.

The central courtyard opened wider as they advanced deeper between the buildings.

Dead planters lined sections of cracked pavement while abandoned bicycles and overturned benches sat scattered near the entrances.

The fountain dominated the middle of the open space now that they were closer.

Raised stone structure.

Maybe fifteen feet across.

Dry for years by the look of it.

Something else pooled darkly near its base now.

A UPSDF soldier sat slumped against the outer edge.

One arm draped limply over the fountain lip.Legs sprawled across the concrete. Blood spread outward beneath him in a widening halo that still looked fresh beneath the moonlight.

His combat vest had been torn open in multiple places.

Webb immediately raised a hand.

"Wait here. By the building."

Don, Kowalski, and Vance flattened themselves near the nearest apartment wall while Webb advanced alone toward the wounded soldier.

His movements lowered instinctively into a crouch, pistol raised while he approached from an angle instead of straight on.

Don watched carefully.

Webb reached the body and checked for a pulse first. Still alive.

Barely...

Then his attention shifted toward the wounds.

Don saw the change in Webb’s posture almost immediately afterward.

The throat injury.

Clean and precise.

Nothing infected about it.

A blade maybe.

Or something equally controlled.

"Shit," Webb muttered.

The wounded soldier’s hand snapped upward suddenly and clamped around Webb’s wrist with surprising force. His mouth opened immediately afterward, trying to force words through the ruined throat.

Only wet choking sounds came out.

Webb reached toward his belt instinctively for medical supplies—

But the soldier shook his head hard.

Not refusing treatment.

Warning him.

Webb’s eyes dropped lower toward the man’s chest plate.

Bullet hole.

Small.

Centered.

Clean penetration.

Military-grade round.

The type designed to punch straight through armor. Don saw understanding hit Webb instantly.

Everything about the scene changed at once.

Friendly fire?

Or worse.

Webb turned sharply toward the others, already shouting—

Then moonlight flashed across glass high above them.

Third-story window.

Reflection.

Not window glass.

Scope glass.

"SNIPER—"

CRACK~