In the early days of the outbreak, when the virus began spreading through the major cities with devastating speed, chaos took over the country. The authorities were unprepared. The streets of Houston, Dallas, and San Antonio became red zones within days.
Panic spread faster than the infection.
With the collapse of civil order, the Texas military, along with National Guard forces and local units, took the initiative to contain the outbreak within their state. Sanitary cordons were formed, safe shelters were established, and patrols were deployed across all major cities. During the first two weeks, they managed to avoid total collapse, partially containing the hordes on the urban outskirts and evacuating thousands of civilians.
But that fragile hope wouldn't last.
By mid-month, the federal government—what was left of it—delegated control to the newly formed FEDRA (Federal Disaster Response Agency). This organization, with absolute authority and backed by a fragment of the Pentagon, issued a clear order: quarantine zones, permanent curfew, and the immediate extermination of any infected or suspected civilian.
The military commanders of Texas firmly refused. To them, their citizens were not numbers or threats to be eliminated. When FEDRA attempted to take direct control of the Texan forces, a rupture occurred. General Ethan Caldwell, commander of the Central District, broke the federal chain of command, declaring that Texas would not follow orders that involved murdering innocents.
What followed was a silent internal coup. Several military bases in Texas officially defected from FEDRA's control, rallying behind the motto: "We protect our own." The local militia, some Ranger groups, and elite battalions chose to act independently, rescuing civilians, protecting communities, and establishing self-sufficient military enclaves.
Since then, Texas has operated under its own rules. FEDRA has labeled them insurgents. The rest of the country calls them heroes.
These days, the mission was to contain the infected hordes approaching the bases, but many survivors joining scavenger units to bring back resources were dying.
Soon, more will die…
…
Texas, City of Midland
"Apache One, beginning exploration of sector Charlie-9. Clear visibility. Ascending to 300 feet. Initiating thermal scan of the perimeter."
The constant roar of the rotors filled the cockpit.
The pilot, Lieutenant Marcus Doyle, kept his hands steady on the controls, while his co-pilot, Lieutenant Sarah Blake, monitored the heat sensors.
"Marcus…" Sarah murmured, her eyes fixed on the screen. "I'm picking up massive movement… at least several hundred—no, wait—thousands. They're grouping together and heading northeast."
"Toward the coordinates of the previous operation?"
"No, an entirely different area."
Marcus narrowed his eyes, his combat instincts instantly kicking in.
"Zz… Apache One to Command. We've detected a massive horde moving at high speed. Requesting authorization for purge. Repeat, airstrike authorization requested."
A few seconds of silence. Then, the voice from command:
"Zz… Authorization granted. Proceed with immediate attack. Priority one: contain the threat."
Marcus tilted the Apache's nose downward, aiming at the heart of the infected mass.
"Arming missiles and rotating chain. Let's rain fire."
But just before pulling the trigger, a familiar voice crackled through the radio:
"Zz… Apache One, Apache One, this is Captain Alan Rogers, Special Forces, Team Six…"
The voice was raspy, tired… but still firm.
Marcus and Sarah exchanged a glance.
"Captain Rogers? From which unit?" Sarah asked, confused. "Wait… did he say… Team Six?"
Alan continued his transmission. When he finished, the cockpit fell silent, with only the hum of the engine in the background.
"Are we aborting?" Sarah asked, unsure whether one of their own was down there.
Marcus hesitated. It was against protocol. But something in the man's voice made him hold his fire.
"We wait… five minutes."
But as the minutes passed, the cockpit radio crackled again, this time from the base—and they sounded furious.
"Apache One, this is base. Why haven't you initiated the attack? Repeat, proceed immediately!"
Marcus grimaced, pressed the communicator, and responded,
"Negative, base. We received direct communication from Captain Alan Rogers. He's requesting time to evacuate. He's in the zone."
A long silence followed… Then another voice came through the frequency. Deep, authoritative.
"What… What name did you say?"
"Captain Alan Rogers, sir?" Sarah recognized the voice on the other end.
A low grunt came over the line. Then, murmuring, the commander said,
"He's still alive…"
The commander's assistant sergeant, monitoring from the war room, raised an eyebrow.
"Who is Alan Rogers, sir?"
The commander slowly turned to face him. His eyes reflected a mix of astonishment, respect, and joy.
"Alan Rogers was captain of Team Six, SEAL Special Forces—one of the best squads before the collapse. That man crossed three red zones without air support. He led extraction ops under crossfire with zero civilian casualties. He was discharged due to some issues, but he was the best of the best. I thought the worst when his brother died… This changes everything."
The sergeant's eyes widened. "So… do you want to cancel the strike?"
The commander turned back toward the monitors.
"No. Give him his five minutes. If that man says he can evacuate… he will."
"Apache One, this is Command. Time granted. Attack in five minutes. Hold position."
Marcus smiled slightly, relieved.
"Thank you, sir. He won't disappoint you."
Meanwhile, the Apache hovered steadily in the air, waiting. Below, the city burned, the infected gathered like a tidal wave of death.
And one man… a captain forgotten by the army… was making his way through hell to save whoever he could.
…
A few hours later...
"Zz… We're near your location. We'll stop not too far out to avoid alerting any nearby infected." Alan contacted Tommy to let him know they were arriving.
Due to the bombardment, all they could do was move the weapons to a location not too far from the city outskirts.
That was one of the best scenarios they could hope for right now.
"We've been waiting for you, Alan."