The Last Marine
Chapter 33: The Gauntlet Begins

Chapter 33: The Gauntlet Begins

The riot van could take them no further. Quinn parked it in the relative shelter of a multi-story parking garage that overlooked the interstate, its engine falling silent for what felt like the last time. They walked up the spiraling ramp to the top floor, emerging into the open air. From here, they had a clear, unobstructed, and utterly horrifying view of the gauntlet that lay before them.

Interstate 95 was not a road. It was a wound gashed across the landscape, festering with infection. For miles in either direction, as far as the eye could see, it was a solid, impassable traffic jam. Cars, trucks, and buses were packed together in a chaotic jumble, a testament to the city’s final, panicked attempt to flee. And moving between the vehicles, a thick, shambling carpet of the dead, was a horde of infected so vast it defied comprehension.

Lily gasped, her small hand flying to her mouth. Lena pulled her close, trying to shield her eyes, but the scale of the devastation was impossible to ignore. Ben and Clara, the two survivors from the clinic, simply stared, their faces pale with a despair that went beyond fear.

"The journal was right," Hex muttered, his binoculars pressed to his eyes. "It’s a meat grinder."

As if to punctuate his words, a small drama of horror unfolded on the highway below. A small group of four survivors, desperate and foolish, made a run for it from the far side of the highway. They darted from car to car, trying to cross the ten lanes of stalled traffic. They made it halfway before the horde noticed them.

The reaction was instantaneous. The slow, shambling sea of infected turned into a roiling, churning wave. They converged on the small group from all directions. The survivors’ screams were thin, tinny sounds, quickly swallowed by the overwhelming roar of the horde. It was over in less than a minute. The wave subsided, leaving behind nothing but a dark, spreading stain on the pavement.

The brutal, live demonstration sent a cold dread through their small group. This was not just dangerous. This was a place where survival was measured in seconds.

Hex continued to scan the highway, his face a grim mask. "I see what’s left of a military roadblock up ahead, maybe a mile north. Humvees, a disabled APC. That’s probably the epicenter. That’s where the jam is tightest." He lowered the binoculars. "There’s no way around it. The embankments are too steep, and the overpasses look just as clogged."

They retreated to the relative safety of the van to discuss their options. The atmosphere was thick with tension.

"We go through," Quinn said, his voice flat, leaving no room for argument. "It’s the only way."

"Through?" Clara’s voice was hysterical. "Did you not just see what happened down there? We’ll be torn apart!"

"We have advantages they didn’t," Quinn countered, his gaze steady. "We have a plan. We have teamwork. And we’re not just going to run blindly." He looked at Hex and Lena. "We use the cars for cover. Move from vehicle to vehicle. It’s a maze, not an open field. The limited visibility works both ways. They can’t see us from a distance any more than we can see them."

"He’s right," Hex agreed, though his face was grim. "It’s a high-risk, high-reward strategy. If we can make it to that military roadblock, there might be weapons, supplies. Maybe even a working vehicle on the other side of the main jam."

Lena, who had been quietly checking on the children, spoke up. "We can’t stay here. Our water is almost gone. The children need food. Staying is a death sentence. Going is a chance."

The decision was made. They would walk into the mouth of hell, hoping to find a path through its teeth. They geared up, a silent, somber ritual. Quinn took the point, axe in hand, pistol on his hip. Hex, with his shotgun, would cover their rear. Lena, with her medical kit and scalpel, stayed in the middle, responsible for the children. Ben and Clara, armed with pipes, would act as flank guards for the small, precious huddle of kids.

They descended from the parking garage, moving through a series of trash-strewn alleyways until they reached the edge of the highway on-ramp. The noise was a physical presence—a constant, low-level moan from thousands of throats, punctuated by the scrape of feet on asphalt.

Quinn took a deep breath. "Stick close. Watch your corners. Call out targets. Don’t fire unless you have to. Sound is our enemy." He looked at each of them, his gaze lingering on Lily. He gave her a small, reassuring nod he did not feel. "Let’s go."

The first steps onto the highway of the dead were like stepping into another world. The ground was littered with debris—discarded clothes, children’s toys, empty water bottles. The air was thick with the stench of death.

They moved onto the on-ramp, using the first line of stalled cars as cover. Immediately, the nearest infected reacted. A dozen heads turned in their direction, their vacant eyes fixing on the new stimulus. A low chorus of moans rippled through the nearby crowd.

"Engage," Quinn said, his voice low.

The fight began. It was not a battle; it was a series of brutal, intimate encounters in the confined spaces between cars. Quinn moved with a deadly grace, his axe rising and falling. A creature lunged from behind a minivan; Quinn spun, ducked under its grasp, and buried his axe in its spine.

Hex was just as efficient, his shotgun a last resort. He used its heavy stock as a bludgeon, crushing skulls, saving his precious ammunition for emergencies.

It was a chaotic, three-hundred-and-sixty-degree battlefield. Infected lurched from between cars, appeared suddenly in shattered back windows, and crawled out from under trucks. The limited visibility was a double-edged sword. It hid them, but it also hid the enemy.

Ben, one of the clinic survivors, cried out as an infected grabbed him from an open car window. Before Quinn could react, Lena was there. She drove her scalpel into the creature’s eye socket with a surgeon’s precision. It went limp. She pulled Ben back into formation without a word, her face a mask of grim focus.

They pushed forward, a small, tight knot of living beings in a world of death. They cleared one car, then another, their progress measured in feet, not miles. They were a hundred yards onto the highway, and it felt like they had crossed an ocean. The on-ramp stretched before them, a long, curving path into the heart of the maelstrom. This was just the beginning. The gauntlet had just begun, and its true horrors still lay ahead.

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.