Alan ran down the hallway as fast as he could. At first, he had planned to open the door to the apartment he'd been in before and drag out all the furniture to stack it in the hallway as a barricade—but with the little time he had, that was impossible.
"Damn it!" Alan gasped for air, using an axe as a crutch to reach the third floor, but he could no longer walk properly. The infected below had started climbing the stairs.
From how quickly they moved, they were probably Stalkers in top condition. Because of the explosion, Alan, already injured in one knee, had worsened the wound to the point that running was now excruciating.
But as a soldier who had once been on the battlefield, this wasn't something he hadn't overcome before. Alan climbed the stairs, grabbed his machete with his right hand, and killed a Stalker.
Crack!
Blood splattered across the hallway, but Alan felt nothing. His instincts kicked in, and the predator that had been dormant within him opened its eyes.
Arghhh!
"Get out of my way!" Alan's shout was anything but restrained—after all, there was no reason to stay quiet now.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three gunshots echoed through the tenth-floor hallway where Alan stood, followed by three infected dropping to the floor, lifeless.
Alan approached the corpses, piled them on the stairs, and continued climbing toward the survivors.
He moved and paused like that, killing an infected here and there and using trash bins to block the horde's path from below.
Alan reached the eleventh floor, while the fast-approaching infected were now on the eighth.
So far, Alan had killed around fifteen infected. But the Stalkers behind him wouldn't be stopped by the flimsy barricades he left behind.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Alan held his modified AR-15 with both hands, mowing down the infected with impressive ease.
In no time, Alan reached the twelfth floor. At that point, his rifle's first magazine had been spent.
Even though he was showing remarkable combat experience, he had struggled up to this point. If he had the space and time, he would have had no problem massacring all these infected.
But now, with the bombing having started and the survivors' cries pushing him to act impulsively, he had no choice but to push forward.
The survivors were on the fifteenth floor. Climbing that high used to be easy thanks to the elevators, but now Alan, carrying at least thirty kilograms of combat gear and supplies he had gathered, and with an injury, there was no way he wouldn't be exhausted.
"I'll take my time." Alan sat on the stairs leading to the thirteenth floor.
Only now did he understand the hardships ordinary people had suffered in recent weeks. It was already a miracle to find survivors outside of the military-established shelters, and those who had managed to stay alive deserved nothing but praise.
"How I wish I had my team by my side…" Alan murmured, remembering the team he had led for three long years. At this moment, he wondered if they were still alive.
He still remembered those young soldiers who looked up to him as a source of motivation. Everyone used to call him The Grey Wolf on the battlefield, and for some reason, Alan liked that nickname.
He had always wanted to be a hero—someone his parents, wherever they were, could be proud of. He and his brother had made that decision together, but Alan had given up on all those dreams when he realized he wasn't fighting for noble causes.
But now?
Alan smiled because he believed he was finally fighting for his people. Those people above needed him—all of them needed someone stronger to save them.
Everything he'd once fought for meant nothing now. That's why he would rise and fight for things that truly mattered.
"Is this what you saw too, little brother?" Alan asked as he heard the infected growling as they ascended the stairs.
He was tired, in pain, and honestly didn't have much hope of killing all the infected. It would be the perfect time for the survivors above to come down and help fight.
If Alan died here, the next ones to fall would be those people upstairs.
That's why, instead of running, Alan decided to rest here and prepare for the final battle.
Alan would likely kill most of the infected with his firearm, but at some point, the fight would shift to close quarters—and in that scenario, he didn't stand a chance.
It was a shame to die here, after all the promises he had made…
Alan tightened his grip on the axe in his hand, ready to rise and fight to the death.
"The only easy day was yesterday," Alan murmured with a smile.