Kali woke first.
Not that he had truly slept, more like drifted in and out of half-dreams, his body too cold, and his instincts too alert. The chill of Gliese was merciless, even with layered thermal gear and the insulated coat wrapped tight around him. But it wasn't just the cold that kept him from rest.
It was the feeling, slippery, formless, like an idea trying not to be thought.
Something was off. Not just with the mission. Not just with the planet. Something deeper. It crept along the edges of his perception like frost growing on glass, subtle and insistent. And while he wouldn't admit it aloud, his unease extended to the people around him. Brann. Sela. Kharv. He liked them well enough. Respected them, even. But trust? No. Not here. Not now.
He sat up slowly, rubbing warmth back into his hands, then moved to the nearest window. The mail office overlooked a narrow street, flanked by skeletal buildings and scattered debris. Snow blanketed everything in uneven layers, broken only by footsteps, some theirs, some older.
And movement. A small cluster of infected had gathered just below. Half a dozen, maybe more, staggering forward with that uncanny twitching gait, their forms barely distinguishable through the wind-blown haze. Drawn by the faint glow of their camp's firelight filtering through second-story windows.
They hadn't made a mistake. The door was barricaded. Reinforced. Brann had made sure of it before they turned in. But it wouldn't hold forever.
Kali reached for his rifle but didn't lift it. Instead, he watched. The cluster wasn't dispersing. In fact, it was growing. More figures began to emerge from alleys and corners, shambling toward the same point of light like moths to flame.
Brann stirred a few minutes later, groaning as he sat up. His eyes landed on Kali, then on the window.
"Shit," he muttered, rising to his feet and crossing over for a look. His face hardened.
"They're gathering," Kali said.
"Damn light," Brann muttered. "Should've blacked out the windows."
"We should leave," Kali said quietly, already gathering his gear. "Make for the hills. Find higher ground, better visibility. If they breach that door, we'll be trapped."
Brann hesitated, then nodded once. "Yeah. You're right. I'll wake the others."
Kali stamped out the last of the fire with the heel of his boot, smothering the embers until only faint wisps of smoke rose from the ashes. The warmth faded instantly, swallowed by the bitter cold that filled every inch of the abandoned mail office.
Brann moved through the room with quiet urgency, waking the others one by one.
"Up," he whispered, firm and low. "We've got company."
Kharv groaned but sat up quickly. Sela didn't say a word, just reached for her gear and began suiting up. Within minutes, they were packed and ready. No one bothered with food.
They made their way downstairs in a staggered line, weapons drawn, boots crunching against the icy floor. Brann took point, with Kali in the rear, constantly checking over his shoulder. They exited through the back door.
For a moment, it seemed like they'd managed to slip past the infected without incident.
Then the silence shattered. From the alley's shadow, a lone zombie sprang, fast and feral. It tackled Sela before anyone could react, dragging her down into the snow with a guttural snarl.
Sela screamed, but only once. Her sidearm was already in hand. She fired twice into the creature's skull, the sharp cracks echoing like thunder in the frozen stillness.
The world held its breath. Then the chorus began.
Moans and shrieks rose from all directions, front, sides, even rooftops. The cluster that had gathered at the front door had heard the shots. They were moving fast now, drawn like predators to the scent of blood and gunfire.
"Incoming—both sides!" Kharv barked, spinning the barrel of his rifle toward the nearest flank.
"No choice," Brann growled. "We break through—forward, now!"
He charged into the open street, firing controlled bursts from his rifle, each shot exploding through infected bodies. Blood sprayed into the snow. A path was carved, but it was already closing behind them.
Kali followed, blades still sheathed, no time for stealth now. He raised his rifle and fired in tight arcs, trying to conserve ammo but forced to fire again and again as the swarm thickened.
Every trigger pull was a curse. Each shot brought more of them.
They moved like insects, crawling over wrecked cars and shattered concrete, dozens collapsing under fire only to be replaced by more. For every meter they gained, the infected seemed to grow bolder, more frantic, screaming in tones that made Kali's spine tighten.
Kharv was laughing—wild, adrenaline-drunk laughter—as he mowed down a row of twisted figures. "I hate this planet!" he shouted. "I hate snow! I hate zombies! I hate this freezing godsdamned—"
"Move!" Brann roared, slamming his shoulder into a half-collapsed barricade and sending it crashing aside.
They burst through, bloody and winded, but still alive, for now.
They sprinted across the frost-hardened ground, lungs burning from the cold, legs pumping through the snow. The crawler loomed ahead, its hull slick with frost, engine thrumming to life under Sela's remote activation. Safety was close. Too close for comfort.
Then Kharv stumbled. His exosuit caught on a jagged outcrop of debris, and with a metallic grunt, the four-armed Vrohlite crashed into the snow, hard. His visor snapped free, skidding several meters away, and clattered against the frozen concrete.
Kali turned just in time to see the swarm closing in, half a dozen infected, sprinting at full tilt, eyes glassy and mouths open in a chorus of animal hunger.
"Shit!"
He dropped to one knee, rifle already up. Controlled bursts erupted from the barrel. One zombie's head split like fruit. Another tumbled backward, twitching. The rest scattered for cover or slowed just enough.
Kali slung his rifle to his back in one motion, rushed forward, and hooked an arm beneath Kharv's torso.
"Come on!" he grunted, hauling the bulk of the Vrohlite up with surprising ease.
Kharv found his footing and scrambled to retrieve his visor, clipping it back into place.
"Thanks, man," he huffed, running again. "Owe you one."
Kali nodded, falling in behind him, but something wasn't right.
In the haze of adrenaline, a surface thought had slipped through the cracks. Kali hadn't meant to pick it up, he didn't always have control over when his latent cognition spiked, but stress had a way of sharpening the edge.
He caught a whisper, a flicker from Kharv's racing mind, pity… and guilt.
Kali's brow furrowed as he ran, boots pounding against the ice. Sela and Brann laying suppressive fire from the crawler as they sprinted the last dozen meters.
But Kali wasn't thinking about the gunfire anymore. He was thinking about that feeling. It didn't sit right. It twisted in his chest like a blade turned sideways. What the hell did Kharv know?
They reached the crawler and dove in just as Sela gunned the throttle. The vehicle lurched forward, tearing through snow and ash, leaving the infected horde behind in a cloud of powdered white.
Kali sat in the back, breath fogging the air, rifle across his lap.
And though the danger had passed, at least for now, his mind was locked not on survival, but on a single, gnawing question.