RTS System in the Apocalypse: New World

The APC remained outside. Its turret followed movement between the abandoned vehicles, then fired a short burst when the first infected crossed the intersection.

More appeared behind them.

The autocannon fired again.

Striker Three reached the area before the group could spread around the building. It passed above the next block, then moved east as its crew inspected the approaching streets.

"Striker Three to Flight Operations. Recovery route confirmed. Multiple groups approaching from two streets."

"Protect the evacuation corridor."

"Striker Three receives."

The aircraft continued beyond the connected buildings.

Its chain gun opened several seconds later. Impacts crossed the northern street and tore through the infected moving between the abandoned vehicles. Those entering from the southeast changed direction toward the sound, though several continued toward the block.

The Guardian APC remained in front of the building.

Inside, the veteran squad moved through a narrow service corridor behind the first-floor shops. The passage had been blocked with metal shelves, office furniture, and sections of timber taken from the surrounding rooms. Whoever occupied the building had reinforced every entrance that connected to the street.

Eight neutral markers remained above them.

The Scout reached the second-floor landing and stopped beside another barricade. A heavy desk had been pushed against the fire door, followed by two filing cabinets tied together with electrical cable.

Movement stopped on the other side.

The squad leader stepped closer.

"People inside. This is Golden Eagle’s army. We are evacuating this block."

Nobody answered.

"We know there are eight of you. Move away from the door and keep your weapons lowered."

Something struck the floor beyond the barricade.

A male voice answered.

"We’re not leaving."

The squad leader looked toward the Scout.

Two of the markers had moved closer to the door. Several remained inside the rooms overlooking the eastern street.

"You have infected approaching from two roads," the squad leader said. "This building will be surrounded."

"We’ve handled them before."

Another voice joined him, younger than the first.

"You people are the ones shooting everywhere. They wouldn’t be here without you."

Striker Three fired again outside.

The building trembled beneath the impacts. Dust fell from the ceiling and scattered across the landing.

"The aircraft is keeping the eastern road open while we evacuate you," the squad leader explained.

"We don’t need it."

A second young voice spoke from farther inside.

"We have our own routes. They don’t know the roofs like we do."

The squad leader remained in front of the door.

"Move the barricade."

"No."

The Scout examined the hinges before moving aside. Two Army Soldiers took positions along the wall, leaving the center of the landing clear.

The squad leader raised his voice again.

"This is the last warning. Place every firearm on the floor and open the door. You may take one bag each."

Several people began arguing beyond the barricade.

A woman wanted to leave. One of the men told her to keep quiet. The younger voices continued speaking over both of them, insisting that the soldiers would take their supplies or bring them somewhere they could no longer leave.

The infected screamed somewhere outside.

The sound was close enough to carry through the walls.

A woman near the eastern rooms shouted.

"They’re in the street!"

The younger voices stopped.

The squad leader waited.

Furniture scraped across the floor, though the desk remained against the door. A filing cabinet shifted several centimeters before someone on the other side stopped moving it.

"We can defend this floor," the first man said.

"With what?" another survivor answered. "Your six shells?"

"Shut up."

The squad leader looked toward the hinges.

"Open it."

The two soldiers moved at once. One forced a metal bar between the door and its frame while the other pushed against the weakened lock. The barricade scraped backward as the door opened several centimeters.

Someone pressed against it from the other side.

"Stay out!"

The soldiers pushed again.

The cable around the filing cabinets tightened, then pulled one of them sideways. The desk moved with it. The door opened wide enough for the Scout to enter before the people behind it could restore the barricade.

The rest of the squad followed.

Eight civilians occupied the second floor.

Four were adults. Two men stood near the door, one carrying an old shotgun and the other holding a pistol close to his chest. A woman remained beside the eastern room with a backpack already over one shoulder, while another adult tried to gather food into two plastic containers.

The remaining four were teenagers.

Three had wrapped pieces of black cloth around their arms and lower faces. One carried a sharpened steel rod. Another held a machete with writing scratched along the blade. The last boy had attached pieces of road-sign metal to his jacket and stood near the window with a short bow made from construction material.

A teenage girl remained behind them, holding a schoolbag against her chest.

The pistol moved toward the entering soldiers.

It did not rise far.

An Army Soldier caught the man’s wrist, turned him toward the wall, and removed the weapon before he could point it at anyone. Another soldier took the shotgun from the second man and cleared it while the rest of the squad spread through the corridor.

Nobody fired.

"Hands where we can see them," the squad leader ordered.

The adults complied first.

The three boys hesitated.

The one with the sharpened rod stepped in front of the others.

"You can’t take our weapons."

A soldier removed the rod from his hands.

The boy tried to hold on, but lost it immediately.

"We fought for this place," he said.

"Then you know where the stairs are. Use them."

"We’re staying."

Another autocannon burst crossed the street outside.

One of the eastern windows shattered. The survivors ducked while the soldiers remained in position.

The teenage girl lowered herself beside the wall and covered her ears.

The squad leader pointed toward the stairwell.

"One bag each. Medicine, water, and personal belongings. Leave anything that slows you down."

The woman with the containers looked at them.

"This is our food."

"Do we look like we need food?" The squad leader scoffed. "There is food at the secured positions."

"How do we know that?"

"You don’t. Decide while moving."

She looked toward the broken window, then abandoned one container and placed the other inside her bag.

The adults began moving.

The teenagers remained where they were.

The boy wearing the pieces of road sign looked toward the eastern room. His earlier confidence had disappeared, though he still tried to keep his voice steady.

"We can reach the roof."

The squad leader looked at him.

"Good. Take us there."

The boy hesitated.

He had expected another refusal. Perhaps an order to descend through the infected gathering below, or for the soldiers to drag everyone into the APC waiting outside.

Instead, the squad leader motioned toward the corridor.

"Move."

The boy wearing the pieces of road sign glanced at the others before heading toward the rear rooms. His confidence returned once he was leading them through familiar ground.

"The main stairs don’t reach it," he said. "There’s another way."

"Show us."

The adults followed after them. One of the men looked back toward the firearms now held by the soldiers.

"My shotgun."

"You will receive it after transport."

"I’m not leaving it."

"That’s why it’s coming with us. Unloaded."

The soldier carrying it had already cleared the chamber and removed the remaining shells. The pistol received the same treatment before both weapons were placed inside separate pouches.

The man stopped arguing, though his attention remained on them.

The teenagers led the squad through what had once been a small accounting office. Filing cabinets had been pushed against the windows, while a wooden shelf covered an opening cut through the wall near the storage room.

The boy pulled the shelf aside.

A narrow maintenance stairway waited behind it.

"We found it from the roof," he said. "The hatch was locked from above."

One Army Soldier checked the passage before entering. The others remained with the survivors while he climbed.

"Clear."

The squad leader raised his communicator.

"Recovery Two to Fairy. Eight civilians confirmed. Building has rooftop access."

"Fairy receives."

The message moved through the local network.

Flight Operations answered several seconds later.

"Recovery Two, Falcon One will divert to your position. Confirm the rooftop can receive the aircraft."

"Checking now."

The teenagers heard the response. The boy with the machete looked toward the squad leader.

"You actually have a helicopter?"

The woman carrying the backpack answered before the soldier did.

"We’ve been hearing them all day."

"That doesn’t mean they’re theirs."

Another autocannon burst crossed the intersection below. The building vibrated beneath their feet.

The teenage girl tightened both arms around her schoolbag.

"Can we go?"

The first soldiers had already begun moving the civilians toward the maintenance stairs. The adults followed first, helping one another through the narrow opening while the veteran squad remained divided between the corridor, stairwell, and lower floor.

The teenagers went after them.

The boy wearing the metal plates climbed quickly. He knew which steps shifted under weight and where the ceiling narrowed near the last turn. His improvised armor scraped against the wall several times, though he did not slow until reaching the upper hatch.

A soldier had already opened it.

Wind entered through the passage.

The rooftop had been used for more than observation. Plastic containers collected rainwater near the ventilation units. Several lengths of rope were tied around steel posts, and a narrow bridge made from ladders and reinforced boards stretched toward the neighboring building.

The teenagers had crossed between the rooftops before.

It explained some of their confidence, but it did not change what was moving through the streets below.

The survivors emerged beside the maintenance structure and finally saw the eastern roads without curtains or walls between them.

Infected filled the nearest intersection.

Striker Three had destroyed the first groups, leaving bodies scattered between the abandoned vehicles, though more continued entering from the southeastern road. Some climbed over the dead. Others moved through the storefronts and emerged closer to the building.

The Guardian APC fired from below.

Its autocannon crossed the intersection in short bursts, each one clearing another section of road before the infected filled it again.

The boy with the steel rod stopped near the roof entrance.

"There weren’t that many before."

The older man who had wanted to remain inside looked at him.

"No shit, kid."

Striker Three passed east of the building. The Apache remained low enough for the survivors to see its chain gun turning beneath the fuselage before it fired into another street.

The teenagers watched it disappear behind the surrounding structures.

None of them spoke about defending the building again.

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