In a makeshift camp, a few soldiers sat in silence as they cleaned their weapons. Around them, civilians sat quietly, their eyes filled with devastation.
"Zz… This is Captain Alan Rogers, Special Forces. Does anyone copy?"
"Zz…"
From inside a tent, where Sergeant James was, a radio burst to life, shattering the surrounding silence and drawing the attention of the soldiers, whose eyes immediately regained their spark.
Many stood up, but Sergeant James remained still.
The radio message was clear.
The voice was unmistakable.
Alan Rogers was alive.
But from James's perspective, the words felt like they came from a world submerged in water. The sound echoed at a frequency that brushed the edge of believability—like the radio was speaking not with waves, but with memories.
James didn't respond.
Not yet.
He looked out of the tent and remembered what had led him to this miserable state.
…
Midland, Texas.
The city lay dead under the thick fog of the fungus. But this was the last place where Captain Alan Rogers, a prominent special forces soldier who could change the course of this war, had been seen alive.
Commander Shelton didn't need to say anything else.
Alan Rogers was there.
Alive.
Maybe, if he sent a team to rescue him, Alan's experience could improve the chances of success for the bases in Texas under his command.
James had been present at that meeting when the mission was offered. He remembered looking down and thinking of Alan, an old friend.
Then he remembered his brother, Steven—also a friend, now dead.
And he accepted the mission.
…
The Texas-Mexico border was a burning scar on the world's skin. Marching north toward Midland meant moving through ruins and echoes.
Since the virus outbreak spread across the globe, Mexicans had tried to reach the U.S. border, while Americans had fled to Mexico in search of refuge.
Just imagining the chaos gives one an idea of how hard it was for the military bases near the border to contain the outbreak.
It could be said that the battle on this side of the country was ten times more brutal, uncontrollable, and harrowing. Knowing what FEDRA did, no one in Texas wanted to see more civilian blood on their hands.
This was a nightmare every soldier wished to leave behind—but couldn't.
Still, the General believed Alan could be the key piece they needed to reorganize their plans, build a stable future, and endure.
That's why James accepted the mission—and soon realized how long the road was. The days were thorny. And the infected… always near, like a constant, lingering fever.
The Ophiocordyceps unilateralis virus had turned thousands into hollow shells, moved by foreign impulses, incapable of dying with dignity.
But on the journey to Midland, what weighed most in James's backpack wasn't that—it was the survivors he encountered along the way.
Most of them were found in a nameless town. Or perhaps it had a name he had already forgotten.
Women, elders, children. Their eyes were dark, bottomless caves. They didn't ask for help. They just existed, waiting for their agonizing end.
"We won't leave them!" James said, knowing that with every civilian life he saved, he was risking his own and those of his men.
His men hesitated. But they followed him.
Eleven Rangers, carrying the last flame of duty—very different from FEDRA.
…
Along the way, watching over dozens of civilians was like trying to hold smoke in your hands.
Hunger made them unstable. Fear made them cruel. And then the infection appeared among them.
A girl… then a young man… then half of them.
Chaos erupted during the journey, a tragedy that struck on the highway where they had stopped a week ago.
The place became hell—besides the infection within, more infected came from outside, drawn by the noise. They fell upon them without warning.
James shouted orders, but smoke hid the faces.
Explosions turned day into night.
And in that moment, a grenade landed nearby.
The world spun around James—and then everything went dark.
…
When he woke up, the first thing he felt was the weight. Not the pain in his side or the dried blood stuck to his temple.
But the weight of the dead.
Half the civilians had vanished under the claws of the fungus. Two of his soldiers had died as well.
At that moment, James was sure of one thing—the mission had failed.
Alan was still far away, and James couldn't move without help from the others. Since then, he had spent his days thinking, blaming himself for everything.
Until the radio crackled.
"Zz… This is Captain Alan Rogers, Special Forces. Does anyone copy?"
"Zz…"
James, who had remained silent, now received a message from his soldiers near the road.
"Zz… Sergeant, there's a convoy with three trucks and a tanker. It looks like the captain we're searching for is in front of us."
This time, James responded. With his thumb trembling, he pressed the button and spoke into the night:
"Bring Rogers in…"
…
Alan, back at the camp, looked at a dozen survivors and the soldiers who couldn't stop saluting him. When he saw the state James was in, he couldn't help but say:
"What are you doing resting? We've got a war to win, old friend."
"Still the optimist…" James looked Alan in the eye and shook his head. "I was supposed to come help you, and now you're standing in front of me."
"You'll tell me how things have been later. First, we need to get out of here. Our target now is the Carlsbad Dam—it's not far from here. If we go now, we'll make it before nightfall."
Alan paused and added,
"That place is a good starting point for making plans."
"Yes… sounds like a good plan."
Once Alan received James's approval, he gathered the remaining Rangers and began giving orders.
In no time, the Humvee and truck fuel tanks were filled. Now, a convoy of three Humvees, three pickup trucks, and two large trucks headed toward the dam Alan wanted to reach before sunset.