"We're on our own. Our only chance of survival is to get out of here now, while we still have the strength to fight. My name is Alan Rogers, former special forces member, and this will be your only opportunity to make it out alive."
Even though he was saying all of this to the group, the truth was Alan only really cared about saving the mother and her child who had been locked up, Claire, and himself, of course. These people had completely disappointed him. He didn't blame them or hold a grudge, but he wouldn't risk his life to save them if it came to that.
"There is no cure, and there's an organization out there that will never care about minorities. Since we're alone, we must unite to survive. I know you're all strong—you've managed to stay alive this far, and that shows your tenacity."
The infected were now worse than rabid animals. In Alan's eyes, they couldn't be saved, and he obviously wasn't about to spend his life trying to avoid them. That's why they were eliminating them.
"We need to get out of here. We could use the cover of night to our advantage—it would make things easier. However, if you don't know the area, there's also the chance that you'll get lost and die."
Alan wanted to clear the area in front of the building to create a safe path toward a vehicle.
As long as they reached an exit point, they could escape this hell—go find Tommy and Joel, and head toward the military base where his brother used to be.
"But there are too many infected outside, right?" Claire pushed aside her guilty thoughts and focused on their safety. While they might be able to take down a large number of infected, they would eventually get exhausted and be overwhelmed by the hordes still waiting outside.
"Then let's stay quiet. These infected aren't very smart anyway—they'll leave after a while!" said the manager, a bit nervous. He was actually thinking along the same lines as Alan and was completely convinced that those things outside weren't fully human anymore.
Honestly, he believed it was better to go out and try their luck. The food here wouldn't last them more than a week, so they needed to think fast and act while they still had the energy.
Alan was a bit worried—he just wanted to reunite with his friend to come up with a plan and try his luck heading to one of the nearby military bases.
If they hadn't already merged with FEDRA, then Alan could join them to establish a more optimal survival point.
"Sitting here waiting for death is the dumbest thing we could do. If we split up, we'll be weaker and will all probably die one way or another."
"Then if we're going to do this, we should eat well," said the manager in a stern tone. He wasn't fully convinced by the idea, but he would rather go out than stay here helpless.
Seeing that this was suggested, Claire immediately turned to gather food. Everything edible had been piled on a table. Many approached to grab something and eat, and Alan was no exception—though he didn't take any food from the others.
While everyone ate, Alan said, "The infected aren't immortal. They're humans like us, so if you cause serious wounds to their bodies, it kills them. But somehow, their senses are a bit stronger, so we need to be careful."
"There's a window behind the building. As long as we tie a rope, we can get down without any problems. I've checked the situation back there, and there aren't as many infected as there are out front."
Upon hearing that, Alan shook his head and said, "If we want to escape, we need to kill as many infected as we can along the way. If, for any reason, they surround us, we'll be torn to pieces."
Claire hadn't expected Alan to be cooperative with the others after the way they'd treated him. This showed the true nature of a leader—someone who had really been a good soldier.
At that moment, Alan, standing closer to Claire, advised her, "There are too many infected outside. Once we try to open the door, they'll all rush in. We need to find a way to control their advance. If we can manage to scatter them, the threat to us will decrease."
"The first attempt will be a test. We need to make sure the door doesn't get blocked by corpses piling up." Alan spoke thoughtfully, once again imagining his lone strategy for eliminating infected.
"To do that, we need to create a shield wall. We can make several using this wooden table—we have the tools here to build them," a man suggested, pointing around. "One way or another, we have to get out of here. The food isn't enough for all of us, and many want to go home."
To make the barricade effective and eliminate as many infected as possible, Alan needed these people's help and had to trust them to survive.
After eating what they needed, Alan and the others got to work. The building had three floors, and the main entrance led directly to the street. As soon as you passed through the door, there was a narrow hallway. Alan proposed using that spot as a bottleneck.
"We'll place two vending machines right at the front, blocking the central path," Alan explained, hoping they understood. "On the other side, we'll flip a table and stack boxes full of whatever we can find. We don't need full resistance—just enough to funnel the infected through one single entrance. That way, we'll have better control."
The plan was to leave only one path open, which would make it easier to defend. To close that access at the right moment, he came up with a simple but risky idea: a volunteer would hide under a metal drum near the opening. Once the signal was given, that person would come out and shut the improvised barricade, sealing the passage.
"We'll position ourselves at the end of the hallway, near the stairs," Alan said after surveying the area. "If the situation gets out of hand, we'll be able to retreat quickly to the second floor. While we're holding our position there, the person hiding will have enough cover to act without being seen."
Many of the people present were already holding improvised weapons. They knew this move was not only a defense—it was their only shot at escaping the city alive.
As they prepared, a woman in her thirties approached, holding a long-handled axe.
"I want to help," she said firmly. "My son and I are still alive thanks to you, Alan, so I believe in your plan. I know there were misunderstandings before, but if everyone here is willing to take a risk, I am too."
A young man, no older than twenty-five, grumbled. "I still think we should wait for the infected to leave. This is madness…"
Alan was about to respond, but Claire spoke up first, her voice firm: "Most people here don't want to keep waiting. We've wasted too much time already…"
There was a brief silence. Everyone had a serious expression—they had made the decision to fight.
"If you want to stay locked up on the third floor, go ahead," Claire added coldly, not feeling any obligation to save these people. "But don't expect us to come running to rescue you if you change your mind when it's already too late."
Then Carlos, the same man Alan had punched days ago, stepped forward. His face was bruised, but his eyes were resolute. "I'll take care of sealing the barricade. If this plan is going to work, I want to be part of it."
"Then you and Claire will be in charge of securing the building—you the first floor, and she the second," Alan said. "Remember, if things spiral out of control, we'll retreat and take shelter on the second floor. Carlos will be guarding the door in front of us, so he'll have just enough space to stay out of sight, since the infected will be focused on us—and hopefully, he'll be able to close it in time."
Alan then assigned others to build the barricades. The strongest would kill the infected, while the rest would be responsible for opening and closing doors as needed.
Everyone wanted to get out of here, and if they could reach Claire's truck, which wasn't far, they might have a shot at a new beginning. Now that the situation had rotted this far, they could still walk a little farther into the future—and with it, the chance to survive.
"We'll attack the infected and try to eliminate as many as possible. We can't get injured—getting hurt means death. No matter what, don't fall back. We'll be fine as long as we hold the barricades," Alan said, gripping a large machete. Others held broomsticks or metal pipes with knives taped to the end.
If what they knew was true, they only needed to inflict serious wounds on the infected to kill them.
Carlos furrowed his brows and said, "Let's do this."