As soldiers scrambled to comply, Rourke turned his attention to the outer perimeter. It was collapsing fast.
The front line was already thinning. Dozens of bodies—some twitching, some still—littered the blood-soaked dirt.
Screams echoed through the air, overlapping with the relentless rattling of gunfire and the sickening growls of the undead.
The Normal-rank zombies came in waves, relentless and unfeeling. For every one they took down, two more seemed to crawl over its corpse. Grenades exploded in clouds of fire and shrapnel, but it barely slowed them down.
And now, the Elite-rank zombies were in play. They were faster, tougher, and worst of all, coordinated.
One of them leaped from a nearby building, crashing down into a squad of soldiers like a wrecking ball. Its claws shredded through reinforced armor like it was paper.
