"Alright, let's go low and slow," I whispered into the coms. "We aren't here to pick a fight, just to do some recon."

I glanced at Kendall as I spoke. I was a bit nervous bringing him out on this mission. In his hands he held the nozzle of his home-made flamethrower. The tip was quiet, cold and dark, for now.

He'd shown me the basics a few nights before, burning an entire swath of the meadow in his excitement, which had taken us almost twenty minutes to get under control.

He'd cannibalized a battery-powered pressure washer, a paintball gun, and an old compressor tank to make the monstrosity he was carrying around and added a little piezo-electric magic to it. I didn't fully understand, but from how he had explained it to me - the tank held flammable liquids - gas, alcohol, or kerosene. The pressure of the fluid activated the piezo at the tip, which lit the fuel on fire. Releasing the trigger tripped another trigger, attached to a CO2 canister from the paintball gun, which blew the line clear and made sure the resulting drizzle didn't set the wielder on fire.

My kid brother was smart, but with five years between us, it was hard not to view him as the same grinning idiot I'd fallen in love with the first time I ever held him. He hadn't even had the chance to finish high school. I had been there when he took his first breath, and now, I was entrusting him with a tool that breathed fire. I nodded at the tank strapped to his back. "Don't blow up, huh? Once was enough."

Kendall rolled his eyes at the mention of one of his early attempts, but nodded, his expression growing serious. "I'll be careful, don't worry."

I turned my focus back to the task at hand. We were crouched at the edge of the forest, the old suburban neighborhood sprawling before us. The houses were still, with no movement in the overgrown yards or streets. But somewhere out there lurked the horde Nate had described.

I scanned the area through my binoculars, looking for any signs of the Turned. The others fanned out, watching the flanks and our six. So far everything seemed clear. We crept forward, house by house, scanning windows and doorways, peeking over fences into backyards.

After fifteen tense minutes, I spotted what I was dreading. On the far side of the cul-de-sac, a cluster of sinewy figures emerged from between two houses. I quickly counted at least ten, maybe more still hidden from view.

I lowered my binocs and gestured for the team to pull back. Once we were a safe distance away, I checked in.

"Looks like at least a dozen, maybe more. We're outgunned for a direct assault." My coms crackled. At this distance we were a close to the range that Stali could hear us back at HQ, and I held my breath. "Roger that, team leader. I'll get Bravo and Charlie teams prepped. They'll be there within in an hour."

Kendall nodded, looking relieved he wouldn't have to use his contraption just yet.

"We'll head back, brief the others on what we found," I went on. "Then we can start fortifying, set traps around the perimeter. If they start to wander this way, we'll pick them off little by little. Stick to silent weapons." Rustling sounded around me as guns were holstered and strapped, crossbows and zipguns coming to the front.

Mathis sniffed and popped the clip out of his rifle and rummaged through his fanny pack for a moment and then inserted one filled with tranquilizer darts. Not that the darts were filled with tranquilizers; rather, these were filled with various concoctions and straight solutions of drain cleaner, anti-freeze, battery acid, formaldehyde, pepper spray, hydrogen peroxide, and other nasty inventions he spent his nights cooking up. He held one of his clips up and showed it to me. "You know that expanding foam, 'Great Stuff?'"

I nodded.

He grinned. "That's what's in this one."

"How the fuck did you get it into the tube without it expanding?"

He just winked at me. I shuddered at the thought of being injected with that shit. He held up another. "Ten cc's of insulin in this one."

I shook my head. "You're a twisted bastard."

The rest of the Alpha group were equally as deadly and creative in their approach to dealing with death. Shadows in the gloom, armed to the fucking teeth. I was proud of them. A ragtag collection of students, grocery baggers, teachers, and veterans - we had come together to form a terrifying force to protect our own. We could have done a lot worse.

We reached the gas station without incident, finding a good vantage point behind an overturned semi-truck some hundred yards away from the hardware store Nate had pinpointed as their hideout.

I scanned the area with my night vision goggles, drawing in a sharp breath at what I saw.

"Motherfucker," Kendall swore under his breath.

"No shit," Mia agreed. "Holy fuck."

The lot was infested with them. Silent or not, dozens of Turned milled about in the lot, their moans and growls carrying on the breeze. A few wore remnants of old clothes, others naked save for gore stains and tattered rags. They moved like hyenas around a kill, circling a lone steak shaped object that was once a human being. Around them, slinking between their legs and crawling over vehicles, were multiple Prowlers and Silencers, sniffing and growling, snapping at one another. The hairs on my neck stood on end as I watched them.

Prowlers were vicious killing machines, Turned canines. They still vaguely resembled their earthly hosts, as much as Reavers still resembled humans, anyway.

Their forms, twisted and elongated, were like dark wraiths under the moonlit sky. Each movement they made was precise and predatory, stepping carefully around broken glass and twisted metal.

Its head had become elongated and was home to rows of serrated teeth that gleamed in the moonlight. It was a mouth designed not just for killing, but for complete annihilation, ripping tearing, devouring. Above this maw, six eyes, like pools of bioluminescent ink, scanned the environment with predatory precision. Their faint blue glow cast a sinister light, carving rivers of shadow across its snout.

Adorned all along their spines were an array of spikes, each one resembling the shattered remnants of a regal crown. They traced the line of its back down to a tail that was nothing short of draconian—a whip-like appendage lined with sharp spines, capable of impaling or slashing with the slightest flick.

Its body, armored in an exoskeleton of interlocking chitinous plates, glistened under the faint moonlight, showcasing a palette of obsidian and iridescent blues. The Prowler's musculature was pronounced, each limb rippling with raw, unholy strength, culminating in talons that could easily rend steel or stone. With each step, their laws, forged into metallic blades by their alien transformation, scraped against the concrete with a chilling sound that made my blood run cold.

I watched, transfixed, as their luminescent eyes scanned the environment. Their gazes were piercing, no longer the soft, loyal eyes that might have once looked up at a human companion. These eyes now gleamed with an otherworldly glow, reflecting primal instinct and something far more sinister. Its thick, heavy tail swayed with a hypnotic rhythm, a counterbalance to its hulking form as it prowled through the ruins.

Whispers of movement caught my attention as Silencers, their feline counterparts, darted among the Turned. Their sleek, hairless, shadowy forms moved with an eerie grace. Its agile body, covered in a tapestry of flexible scales, shimmered with an ethereal sheen, refracting the scant light into a spectrum of dark iridescence. The creature seemed sculpted from the night itself, a feline silhouette refined by alien artisanship into something both elegant and deadly.

Its head, shaped in the visage of an alien mask, bore features sharp and precise. The eyes, wide and unblinking, held a depth that was unsettling. They both seemed to absorb all light, while simultaneously seemingly to pierce through the darkness, seeing all, missing nothing. The ears, pointed like the tips of spears, twitched faster than the eye could see with every whisper of sound that the ruined city surrendered.

Unlike their canine brethren, in place of spikes along their spines, they instead were covered in knobbed, bony protrusions, each one interlocking into the other. The tail, a lithe and muscular extension of its sinewy form, was studded with these same protrusions, and ended in a sharp, deadly barb capable of delivering a paralyzing poison, sealing the fate of any caught in its path. When it moved, it was with a silence that belied its deadly potential, each step a delicate placement, each breath a measured absence of sound.

With a body honed for stealth and destruction, the Silencer embodied the invader's insidious elegance. It was a creature not merely adapted to the hunt, but designed for it—a silent assassin, born from the remnants of feline grace, now serving a new, alien will.

I had never seen so many at once. Usually, both species were scouts, traveling alone, quick and sure footed, spying about unnoticed in the shadows. They were terrifying enough on their own, but here, as combined shock troops...

"Motherfucker," Kendall's repeated curse pulled me out of my awe-inspired trance.

The Turned milled about, their once-human features now barely recognizable. They were like marionettes of flesh and bone, controlled by an unseen, malevolent force.

My stomach churned at the sight, but I forced myself to focus on scouting out their numbers - at least thirty of the bastards, maybe more inside.

A sound behind us made our heads snap. A Prowler stood no more than fifteen feet behind us, ready to pounce. We froze. The only reason we were alive was because they wanted to take us as hosts, search out our friends, and drown our community in blood.

A deep growl began in its throat, teeth bared, drool hanging from trembling, raised hackles. The growl began in the lone Prowler's throat, but behind us, I could hear more growls join it, rising and falling in pitch, echoing off the side of the semi and the walls of the hardware store. Shadowy figures moved in from the sides of the trailer, circling around to our position, the deep, guttural call of the Prowlers joined by the whisper thin wails of the Silencers and moans of the Reavers. We were trapped.

"Mayday," I whispered into the coms, hoping Stali could hear me. "Mayday..."