Albert and Hayes were huddled together by the fire, trying to stay warm.
"It's about the underground bunkers, isn't it?" Hayes said directly, not bothering with pleasantries. "Let's talk."
Miguel paused for a second, then smiled. "Commander Hayes, you're a smart man—and a good one. I knew you'd agree to hear me out."
"Cut the flattery," Hayes said with a hint of sarcasm. "An ant colony this organized, this strategic—plus spiders capable of scaling the wall from the far end of campus? Any idiot can see something is wrong. These mutated creatures have evolved higher intelligence and discipline."
As the "idiot," Albert nodded earnestly beside him. "Miguel, I just remembered—earlier you told us something like 'it'd be great if we could leave.' I didn't think much of it, but in hindsight… those words had weight."
Hayes shot Albert a glance, then continued, "So whatever you've been hiding from us, it's time to lay it all out—if you really mean what you say."
"You two have practically said everything for me." Miguel sighed, though his expression seemed a bit relieved. "Fine. Let me start with the recent 'earthquakes.' About a week ago, we began feeling frequent tremors."
He clapped his hands, and a female student promptly brought him a notebook.
Miguel opened it to a marked page, spread it out, and held it in front of them.
"The school has a simple seismic detector. I recorded the magnitude and affected radius of each tremor. The first 'earthquake' detected was magnitude 2, with a 70-kilometer diameter. Each one after that grew stronger. The most recent—yesterday—was magnitude 4, with a 200-kilometer radius."
"And all these anomalies are spreading outward from the military government base as the center."
"These aren't 'earthquakes.' They're the result of massive movement underground—caused by something alive."
"They've already formed a species. Anyone who wants to leave Creek City… no." Miguel shook his head, fear flickering in his eyes. "No one is leaving Creek City. Not while the monsters in those underground bunkers still exist."
After a moment of silence, Albert asked, "What do you mean, we can't leave?"
Miguel thought for several seconds, as if choosing his words carefully.
"We've discovered that beneath the Military Administration Department, there's a strange, unknown force affecting all of Creek City. It might be some sort of magnetic field… or a creature far stronger than any mutated life-form we've encountered—something capable of controlling these creatures, directing them to hunt down anyone who tries to escape. As for what it really is, no one has seen it. No one can explain it."
Hayes didn't buy the explanation so easily.
"We can retrace our steps," he said coolly. "We didn't feel any tremors while we were stationed in the suburbs. Maybe its field of control hasn't extended that far yet. Why should I believe you aren't exaggerating all this just to stop us from leaving?"
"You're welcome to try," Miguel replied. He wasn't offended; he even made a polite gesture with his hand. Yet every word he spoke chipped away at their hope.
"Its expansion speed is extremely fast—several dozen kilometers a day. By the time you reach the city center, that force will have already spread to where you originally camped."
Miguel clasped his hands together.
"If there's anyone who wants to leave here the most, it's us—the ordinary people without shelter. If leaving were possible, we would've been gone long ago… Even Jameson tried. It didn't work. Believe me, Commander Hayes—what Jameson and his group couldn't accomplish, your smaller team won't be able to do either."
"Then why come to us…?" Albert rested his chin on his hand, sounding bored. Only when he caught Hayes' stare did he add, "I mean—our Commander Hayes."
Hayes scoffed.
"At first, I was hesitant," Miguel admitted. "Your team is much smaller than Jameson's. Even factoring in your skill and combat experience, at most you'd break even. Not exactly encouraging odds."
Hayes raised a brow, clearly unimpressed with Miguel's assessment. But he said nothing, his cold, refined face unreadable.
"In the end, you just want us to enter the bunker for you," he said. "And this Jameson you mentioned—you've been trying to turn me against him since the beginning. I'm right, aren't I?"
Miguel shook his head.
"I'm only being cautious. Jameson is very charismatic, but also extremely self-serving—and ruthless. I'm not exaggerating. You'll understand once you meet him."
"Meet him?"
"To be precise," Miguel said, closing the notebook with deliberate calm, "entering the bunker safely requires cooperation. All parties. What you, Commander Hayes, must do… is stop Jameson's team from taking the resources inside once the job is done."
Hayes' lips curved into a faint, unreadable smile.
"Is that an order?"
"Strictly speaking," Miguel said, "it's a request."
Before turning in for the night, Albert went to the doctor to have his bandages changed.
In the apocalypse, infection was a deadly threat—bacteria multiplied several times faster than before. A small mistake could lead to serious consequences. Here, an infection was a major illness: best-case scenario, amputation; worst-case, death. He had to take it seriously.
The doctor was originally the campus physician at Creek City University—a woman with the surname Lin. There were many injuries today; she couldn't handle the workload alone and had brought several female students to help clean and re-dress wounds.
Changing bandages required undressing, so each patient was treated separately in one of the administrative building's small rooms.
When it was Albert's turn, he entered the room and took off his blood-stained jacket, revealing the bandages wrapped tightly around his bare torso.
For some reason, ever since he had "come back from the dead," Albert no longer felt cold.
He had a strange intuition—his heart felt different now. Stronger. The powerful thumping echoed constantly in Albert's ears, as if reminding him of its existence with every beat.
At the same time, his wound itched.
He knew itching meant healing, so at first he didn't think much of it. But now the sensation was growing stronger—so strong Albert could barely stand it anymore.
It felt like something was crawling across the wound on his chest. Soft. Tiny. Even wriggling.
Albert: "…"
God forbid—was he rotting already? Was he growing maggots?
Just imagining it made Albert feel like he might as well be dead.
He forced his expression into calm, managing a smile for the young woman who had come to help him.
"You go treat the others. I can handle myself. My wound's pretty deep—I'm afraid it might scare you."
The woman wasn't a professional, and Albert's words made her hesitate.
"In that case… all the medicine is here. Remember to disinfect your hands and the tweezers first. Debridement has to be done thoroughly—it may hurt a lot. If it gets too painful, call me anytime. I'll be right outside."
"Okay."
She closed the door behind her.
Albert's smile vanished instantly.
He snatched the scissors from the table and quickly cut through the bandages around his chest and shoulders, ripping off the thick, blood-soaked material.
His wound was still oozing; the parts of the bandage stuck to it had dried into thick, hardened scabs. When he tore them off, the fresh skin beneath was ripped away with it. Pain shot through him so sharply that cold sweat broke out across his forehead.
He bit his lip hard, not making a sound, tossing the removed bandages aside and exposing the full view of his chest.
—The worst possibility hadn't happened.
Albert lowered his head. No pale, squirming worms. Good.
But the relief didn't last. His heart was still pounding against his throat.
Because what he saw next was worse than maggots—at least those would have meant he was still just a normal human falling apart.
And now Albert finally understood why he had "come back to life."
Right before his eyes, his wound was healing itself.