Weapon System in Zombie Apocalypse
Chapter 256 - 256: The Bloom Beneath

50 Days Since First Strike — Fort Calinog Forward Listening Post Echo-3

The rain had not stopped for two days. It came down in sheets now, soaking the newly erected barriers and temporary shelters that made up Listening Post Echo-3. Makeshift drainage canals dug by Calinog's engineers were already flooding.

Inside the central command tent, Sergeant Leticia Ramos hunched over the console, tapping through seismic logs while wiping sweat from her brow. The air was thick, despite the fans running nonstop.

"Another spike," she muttered. "Third tremor this morning. Getting stronger."

Her partner, Specialist Danilo Vega, adjusted his headset. "Location?"

"Same pattern. South-southeast. Depth increasing."

Vega's brow furrowed. "That's... close to the Naga tunnel remnants, right?"

Leticia nodded grimly. "That's inside the ring."

From the rear of the tent, a voice cut through.

"Report it."

Lieutenant Marin stepped in, still drying off his rain-drenched uniform. His face was gaunt, eyes heavy from back-to-back patrols.

"Mark it priority-one," he said. "And ping MOA. If this thing's still moving, we need to know where it's going."

Same Time — MOA Complex, Intelligence Center

Keplar swore under his breath.

"Multiple tremors," he said to Thomas, who was already leaning over his shoulder. "All tracking a radial path toward the western boundary of the containment zone. If the Bloom's intelligence is real… it's probing."

Thomas nodded grimly. "For weaknesses."

Sato zoomed out the regional map, highlighting every seismic ping over the past twelve hours. "They're not random. The tremors form an arc—skimming just inside the ring. It's like it's mapping the perimeter."

Phillip, standing with arms crossed, looked up. "That's not behavior. That's reconnaissance."

Thomas didn't respond right away.

Instead, he turned to Keplar. "How soon can we set a trap?"

Keplar looked surprised. "Trap?"

"You said it's tunneling. What if we let it think it found a weak spot—then collapse it on its own head?"

Sato shook his head. "Too risky unless we can guarantee it's actually going to enter the bait tunnel. Otherwise, we waste charges, and worse, give it a gap."

Phillip leaned forward. "Then we guide it. Like herding a rat down a corridor."

Thomas's voice was low and clear. "Let's build the corridor."

Later — Fort Calinog Engineering Yard

In the rain-soaked gravel of the yard, engineers worked with grim efficiency. Overwatch had delivered prefabricated tunnel segments—steel reinforced, internally rigged with microseismic sensors and pressure-activated detonators. These would be the spine of their bait corridor: a false tunnel, buried just deep enough to be detected, shallow enough to be collapsed on command.

Sato walked alongside Lira Morales, pointing to blueprints on a clipboard.

"We'll need six segments, minimum. Each twenty meters. We bury them along this bend—near the old logging road south of Lake Bato. It's close to your southern monitoring station. If the Bloom is heading west, this is the most likely vector it'll take."

Lira crossed her arms. "And if it's not fooled?"

"Then we adapt," Sato replied. "But if we do nothing, we're just waiting to be overrun."

Lira looked toward the hills, where dark clouds rolled low.

"Do it," she said. "I'll assign a detachment to cover the crews."

51 Days Since First Strike — Southern Containment Ring

Construction began before dawn. The clouds hung like an oppressive lid over the valley, but the digging didn't stop.

Phillip oversaw the tunnel placement personally. He paced the perimeter, checking each support column, ensuring the sensor wiring was buried properly. The explosives—thermobaric, air-delayed—were sealed in waterproof canisters and embedded at every junction.

"I hate this," Callahan muttered, rifle slung over his shoulder. "Feels like we're building a damn coffin."

Phillip glanced at him. "That's the idea."

Callahan didn't laugh.

A Calinog engineer waved from the main pit. "Last segment going in!"

"Good," Phillip replied. "Backfill and seal it. We're not giving this thing a second chance."

Same Day — Unknown Depth, Iriga Sub-Terrain

Below the crust of Luzon, through layers of collapsed rock, molten pockets, and old geothermal shafts, something pulsed.

It had no eyes, but it saw.

It had no ears, but it heard.

It felt the tremors—the soft vibrations of human activity, the shallow hum of metal joints being sealed, the electronic heartbeat of Overwatch's devices.

It felt the new tunnel.

It was bait.

But bait meant meat.

The tendril twisted and turned—splitting, reforming. There was no urgency. Only curiosity.

A probe extended—long, smooth, serpentine. It moved silently, carving a path just beneath the tunnel.

Same Time — MOA Complex, Observation Deck

Thomas and Sato stood before the holographic seismic map. A single red pulse appeared—slow, deliberate, moving directly toward the decoy corridor.

"It's in," Sato breathed. "It's taking the bait."

Thomas clenched his fists. "Give it fifteen more meters. Then trigger the collapse."

They watched in silence.

51 Days Since First Strike — Bait Tunnel Site, Lake Bato

A dull rumble shook the ground. Dust spilled from the trees.

Inside the forward control shack, Cruz stared at the seismic feed.

"It's underneath us," he whispered. "Pressure plate's armed. Just a few more—"

The sensors went red.

"Triggering detonation!" he shouted.

There was no massive boom. Just a deep, sudden implosion—like the earth inhaled and never exhaled.

The ground collapsed inward.

Trees fell in slow motion.

Then came the screech.

It wasn't mechanical. It wasn't human.

It came from beneath the earth—a sound so loud it pierced through six meters of reinforced soil and steel. Every bird for five kilometers fled the canopy.

The air turned cold.

And then… silence.

Phillip stared at the crater, breathing hard. "Did we get it?"

Callahan raised his rifle. "I don't think so."

Nightfall — MOA Complex, Debriefing Room

The footage played back on loop.

A thermal drone had caught something—just a frame.

A shape.

A massive biological mass, serpentine in form, glowing faintly at the center of the heatmap—before vanishing under rubble.

"It's not dead," Sato confirmed. "The trap wounded it, maybe confused it. But it retracted."

Keplar turned from the screen. "What now?"

Thomas's voice was steady.

"We study it. Every second it takes to recover, we spend learning how to kill it. Because next time, it won't fall for a trap."

Phillip leaned against the wall. "We poked the hive."

"No," Thomas said. "We let it know we bite back."

52 Days Since First Strike — Fort Calinog Outskirts

Lira Morales stood alone at the ridge overlooking Iriga. The stars were mostly hidden, but lightning flickered on the horizon.

She wasn't a believer in fate or monsters.

But tonight, something in the earth growled. It wasn't just science or infection. It was hatred.

She exhaled slowly.

"War it is."