Weapon System in Zombie Apocalypse

Shadow 3 fired first, dropping the first infected as it lunged through the opening. The creature barely hit the ground before another took its place.

Thomas squeezed the trigger, sending controlled bursts into the mass of twisted bodies forcing their way inside. The mutated infected moved faster than normal zombies, their elongated limbs snapping unnaturally as they charged.

"Shadow 2, light 'em up!"

The operator detonated the first set of charges. Boom! The blast sent shrapnel and body parts flying, but it didn't stop them. More came pouring in.

"They don't stop!" Shadow 4 shouted from the catwalks, firing into the horde below.

Phillip cursed. "If we don't secure that fuel now, we won't have a way out!"

Thomas turned to the control panel. "How long to pump it into the tankers?"

Phillip glanced at the readouts. "Four minutes!"

They didn't have four minutes.

The infected kept coming.

Thomas made a call. "Shadow 1, push forward. Secure the damn tankers! We'll hold here!"

Shadow 1 and Shadow 2 sprinted toward the refinery's central pumps. The rest of the team dug in, unloading magazine after magazine into the wave of bodies surging into the room.

Phillip reloaded. "Ammo's getting low!"

Thomas checked his own supply—three mags left. They had to make this count.

"Overlord, where the hell is our air support?"

Marcus's voice crackled in. "Apache is overhead. Standby for fire mission."

The sound of rotor blades thundered over the refinery.

Then, salvation.

"Weapons hot. Lighting 'em up."

The Apache's M230 chaingun opened fire, tearing through the refinery yard with a deafening roar. A storm of 30mm rounds ripped the infected apart, sending limbs and viscera flying.

The pressure inside the control room lightened as the swarm outside was cut down.

Thomas keyed his mic. "Shadow 1, status?"

"Fuel is in! We're full!"

That was their ticket out.

Thomas turned to his team. "Fall back to the tankers! We're leaving!"

They moved fast, dodging bodies and hopping over debris. Outside, the ground was littered with corpses, the Apache still providing cover fire as they ran.

Phillip jumped into the driver's seat of the lead tanker. "Everyone in! Now!"

Thomas climbed onto the side of the second tanker, gripping his rifle tight. The last of the operators piled in just as another wave of infected emerged from the refinery.

Too late.

"Overload this is Eagle Actual, I want you to fire on the zombies within the perimeter of the refinery, but don't engage on the critical infrastructure, we want it maintained."

"Copy that, Eagle Actual. Engaging hostiles, keeping refinery structures intact."

The Apache banked slightly to the left, adjusting its trajectory. The M230 chaingun roared again, sending another wave of 30mm rounds slicing through the infected horde. The sheer force of the impact shredded the creatures apart, their twisted forms exploding into chunks of gore and bone.

The refinery yard became a killing field.

Thomas held onto the tanker's frame as the convoy roared forward, the heavy vehicles crushing whatever remained of the infected under their tires.

Phillip, gripping the wheel tightly, called out over comms. "We're taking the main road out. If anything jumps in our way, I'm plowing through it."

Thomas keyed his mic. "Overlord, confirm no additional hostiles in the refinery?"

"Negative, Eagle Actual. You still have movement inside the structures. Could be stragglers. Advise caution on return ops."

"Are they manageable?"

"It is sir."

"Okay, we are going to return to it now."

Thomas's voice was firm over the comms. The convoy had only just cleared the refinery's perimeter, but they weren't leaving—not yet. The entire reason they pulled out was to let the Apache flatten the horde without risking friendly casualties. Now, with the area mostly cleared, it was time to finish the job and ensure the refinery was fully secured.

"Phillip, turn us around. We're going back in."

Phillip immediately yanked the steering wheel, sending the heavy fuel tanker into a sharp turn. The second tanker followed suit, engines roaring as both vehicles pivoted back toward the refinery gates.

Thomas keyed his mic. "Overlord, confirm kill count on hostiles."

Marcus's voice came through, calm but alert. "Thermals show no major movement in the refinery yard. You still have heat signatures inside the main structures, but most of the exterior hostiles are down. You're clear to re-enter."

"Copy that. Keep the Apache on station for overwatch."

"Affirmative. Gunship will hold above the AO."

The convoy sped back toward the refinery, dust and debris kicked up by their wheels as they approached the still-burning remains of the infected that had been torn apart by the Apache's chaingun. Some of the bodies were still twitching, but none were getting back up.

The main refinery gates had been partially blown open, twisted metal from an earlier explosion making them look barely functional.

Phillip glanced at Thomas. "We rolling in or dismounting?"

"Dismount," Thomas ordered. "We're sweeping the site on foot. If there's anything left inside, I want it dead before we call this place secure."

Both tankers came to a stop just outside the refinery's main yard.

Thomas and Shadow Team jumped out, rifles raised as they formed up into a staggered assault line, sweeping the refinery's entrance once again.

"Shadow 1, take point. Move in slow."

Shadow 1 and Shadow 2 advanced first, their weapons trained on the darkened refinery hallways. The interior was a twisted maze of industrial metal, with overhead pipes hissing steam from damaged valves. Pools of blackened blood were smeared across the walls and floors, the aftermath of their earlier fight.

Phillip kicked over the corpse of a mutated infected, its elongated limbs still twitching from the Apache's barrage. "I hate these things."

Thomas wasn't focused on the bodies. He was focused on the silence.

Something wasn't right.

"Hold," he whispered over comms.

The team froze.

Then, from deep inside the refinery—movement.

A slow, wet dragging sound echoed through the corridors.

"Eyes on," Shadow 3 whispered. His rifle's laser sight tracked toward the source of the noise.

From the shadows of the upper catwalk, something emerged—a mutated infected, but bigger than the ones they had fought before.

Its skin was stretched tight over unnatural muscle, its jaw unhinged as thick saliva dripped from its fanged mouth. Its arms were elongated, clawed fingers twitching.

Thomas clenched his jaw.

"We've got another one. Bigger this time."

Phillip exhaled. "Tell me we're not fighting a damn boss battle."

The creature let out a deep, guttural growl.

Then—it moved.

Not like a normal infected. Not even like the faster variants.

It leapt from the catwalk, hitting the ground with a heavy impact, its claws scraping the concrete.

Thomas didn't hesitate.

"OPEN FIRE!"