Weapon System in Zombie Apocalypse-Chapter 88: Contact

Thomas raised a fist, signaling a halt. Shadow Team immediately froze, dropping into cover behind rusted pipes and concrete barriers. The refinery's industrial skeleton loomed over them—abandoned scaffolding, towering chimneys, and sprawling catwalks stretched into the darkness. The air carried the scent of stale fuel, rusted metal, and something else… something rotten.

He switched to a low whisper over comms. "Shadow 2, overwatch, get eyes inside."

One of the operators, perched on a higher vantage point, pulled out a monocular and peered through the broken windows of the main processing building.

"Movement inside, one floor up. Can't confirm what, but it's there. No heat signatures."

Cold bodies. The infected.

Thomas tapped Phillip's shoulder. "We're going in. Stack up."

The team moved in formation, hugging the refinery's steel walls as they approached the entrance. Shadow 3 and Shadow 4 covered the rear, rifles aimed at the darkness beyond.

Phillip reached the heavy metal door first, testing the handle. Locked.

Thomas nodded. "Breach quietly."

Phillip retrieved a pry bar from his pack and wedged it into the frame. With a slow, deliberate effort, he forced the door open just enough for the team to slip inside.

Darkness greeted them. The only light came from their rifle-mounted flashlights, sweeping through the cavernous space of rusting pipes and silent machinery. Dust floated in the air, disturbed by their movement.

Then came the sound.

A low, wet gurgling, followed by a faint shuffling deeper inside.

Thomas motioned for silence. The team held their breath, listening.

The sound wasn't constant. It was sporadic—short bursts of movement, followed by silence. Not like the usual infected hordes that roamed in mindless packs.

Something was different.

Shadow 2 moved ahead, scanning corners with his rifle up. He paused near a catwalk's support beam and waved Thomas over.

A body.

Slumped against the railing, half-eaten. Fresh. No more than a few hours old.

Phillip knelt beside it, inspecting the wounds. "These aren't normal bites. Look—jagged, torn apart like it was… shredded."

Thomas frowned. This wasn't the work of standard infected.

Shadow 4 checked their six. "We need to move. Feels like we're being watched."

Phillip nodded. "Keep pushing forward. Let's find the control room, see if we can get any security feeds up."

Thomas led the way, stepping carefully over broken tools and discarded oil drums. They entered a tight corridor, walls stained with something dark—blood or oil, it was hard to tell.

At the end of the hallway, a large, reinforced door marked CONTROL ROOM stood slightly ajar.

Thomas raised a fist. "Stack up."

The team got into formation, rifles aimed at the entrance.

Phillip nudged the door open.

It creaked, the sound too loud in the silence.

They swept inside.

The control room was trashed—monitors shattered, chairs overturned, papers scattered across the floor. An old terminal screen flickered weakly, its power barely holding on.

But the real problem wasn't the state of the room.

It was what was standing in the far corner.

A figure hunched over a torn body, gnawing.

Thomas barely had time to process before it snapped its head up, revealing milky-white eyes and jagged, extended teeth.

Not a normal infected.

Something worse.

It let out a shrill, inhuman screech.

"CONTACT!" Thomas barked, leveling his rifle.

The creature moved unnaturally fast, bolting toward them on all fours.

Phillip fired first. His suppressed burst struck the thing center mass, but it barely staggered. It kept coming.

Shadow 3 reacted next, stepping up and putting two rounds into its head.

The creature dropped, its body twitching.

The room was silent once more.

Thomas stared down at the corpse, its grotesque features now visible under the light.

No normal infected moved like that. No normal infected took body shots and kept running.

Phillip exhaled. "What the fuck was that?"

Thomas knelt, inspecting the creature. Its skin was peeling, its fingers elongated into something resembling claws.

A mutation.

Shadow 2 cursed under his breath. "It's evolving…"

Marcus's voice crackled in through comms. "Eagle Actual, sitrep."

Thomas keyed his mic. "We have a problem. Contact inside. It's not normal infected. Mutated variant. One down, unknown how many more."

A pause. Then Marcus's voice, more serious. "Copy that. Do you need exfil?"

Thomas glanced at Phillip, then at the broken security terminal. If they bailed now, they'd leave the refinery unsecured—and they still didn't know if there was usable fuel left.

He made a decision.

"Negative. We hold. Searching for refinery status now."

Phillip nodded and moved to the console. Shadow Team took defensive positions, rifles aimed at the door.

The old system took a few seconds to boot.

Then, the camera feeds flickered to life.

The refinery's main storage tanks were still intact. Fuel levels were still good.

But the cameras also showed something else.

More of those things. Dozens. Moving toward their position.

Phillip gritted his teeth. "Well, shit."

Thomas exhaled, gripping his rifle. "Alright. Change of plan. We secure the fuel. Then we burn these bastards down."

"Aye aye, sir!" Phillip and Shadow Team snapped into action.

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Thomas turned to the flickering monitors one last time, eyes locked onto the approaching horde. The refinery was about to turn into a war zone.

"Shadow 2, get demo charges on the entry points. Slow them down."

"On it." The operator moved fast, pulling explosives from his pack and planting them along the main access corridors.

"Shadow 4, cover the catwalks. If they breach the upper level, we're screwed."

"Copy. Moving now." The operator sprinted up the metal stairs, rifle at the ready.

Thomas switched to his radio. "Overlord, Eagle Actual. We need fire support ASAP. Apache ETA?"

Marcus's voice came through, calm but firm. "Three minutes out. Hold your position."

Three minutes. That was an eternity in a fight like this.

Phillip checked his rifle. "We hold this position until air support arrives. No unnecessary engagements. Conserving ammo is key."

The refinery groaned under the weight of the incoming swarm. Shadows flickered through the broken windows.

Then came the first impact.

The infected slammed against the heavy steel door, rattling the entire room. Another one followed, then another, until the entire refinery vibrated under the relentless assault.

Thomas raised his rifle. "Hold your fire! We wait until they breach."

Seconds stretched. The groaning metal began to buckle.

Then, with a deafening clang, the door gave way.

"CONTACT!"