A Pallid Shroud.

As they sat among the whispered conversations in the armory, Mike slipped another bullet into his rifle and murmured, "You just had to do it, Brant."

"I couldn't resist... To be honest... I cannot survive without blood.

"Brant, you promised!" Mike's voice was harsh with irritation as he snapped. You claimed to be able to control yourself. What happens if you murder another person? What if you murder Jenna or anybody else?

With despair in his eyes, Brant begged, "I swear, Mike, it wasn't intentional." "She was there, helpless and exposed... I simply was overtaken.

There was an uncomfortable quiet between them. This was different from their friendship, which had been characterized by arguments and arguments. Brant had killed someone. Whether he was a variant C zombie or not, he had killed an innocent woman.

“Look, listen!” a voice shouted over the intercom. "Get ready to be armed and summoned into action to protect your life, all adult guys in the armory! Outside of these walls, variable C forces are building up.

"What can we do, Brant?" Mike's voice was tense as he asked.

Brant said, "I don't know, Mike." "This isn't natural, if I had any clue. It's terrifying me to no end, and I have no idea how to stop it.

"Just... exercise caution. "Don't kill anyone," Mike stumbled to say. "I'm at a loss for what more to say. We've been friends for a very long time, but

"I apologize, Mike! I apologize! Brant let out a grunt. They avoided looking at one another as they sat side by side. Mike took a deep breath and turned away.

A war plan was spread out in front of President Derring and Governor Damien Rich as they sat in the Hackensack Courthouse. The armory had been cut off from the American lines at Teaneck and Bergenfield by some 12,000 zombies. Though the prognosis for the armory was grim, artillery battalions in Hackensack and Ridgefield Park bombarded zombie positions in Englewood and Teaneck's golf course.

Teaneck's armory was hit by a chilly September downpour when the heavens parted. Directing Tobeyan companies into battle lines, Tobey Colins stood at a gloomy corner of Ivy Lane. As he witnessed a long column of armored figures marching down the street under Von Dornen's leadership, armed with swords, guns, and pikes, pride grew in his breast.

Tobey gave the order to "place the 69th Street Brigade in echelon behind Thorpen's Wall Street Cohort." "And locate Roderick and Kesslers for me."

Indeed, sir, Von Dornen answered. Together with smaller groups of spearmen and swordsmen preparing for battle, the army advanced.

Father Robson's unique aroma reached Tobey's keen sensibilities. He turned to see the advisor and priest coming toward him, weapon slung over his back, documents in hand. Robson approached as zombies poured into the siege lines.

"Robson, what numbers are we up against?" Tobey inquired.

"We have 3,000 Kesslers' men moving in, in addition to 7,000 of our own," Robson said. "Roderick is raiding Bergenfield and New Milford with his five thousand, so he won't join us."

Tobey remarked, "We'll get by without him." "We are considering six or seven National Guard battalions inside the armory—possibly two to three thousand infantry and four tanks."

"Three Bradlee combat vehicles have been verified to be present in the compound," Robson continued. "May I ask a detachment to eliminate a battery from the 113th U.S. Artillery Regiment that is firing at us from Queen Anne Road in Bogota?"

"No," Tobey answered. "The units cannot be spared."

“Tobey!” called a low, threatening voice. A tall Black man with a beard, a patch of skin missing from his shoulder, and Variant C shining in his piercing eyes marched across the street. He was flanked by a small group of security.

"Kesslers," Tobey said, with a cautious smile.

Kesslers remarked bluntly, "A runner said you needed help with the armory siege." Tobey knew better than to believe that he was defenseless.

Tobey retorted, "We don't need help, but your assistance would be appreciated."

"Are you kidding me?" Kesslers laughed. Using only Tobeyans to take on a brigade of Guardsmen? I can provide three thousand troops, but they remain under my command, and we take our fair portion of the gains.

Angry at the request, Tobey took a deep breath. "Some humans are yours to have. We intended to convert some into Tobeyans while outright consuming a few hundred.

"All right. Mine swells my ranks, yours swells yours. The fresh blood in there is necessary for both of us.

"Agreed," growled Tobey. Robson's hand drew closer to the bolt of his weapon. Units should be set by Hamilton Road.

Kesslers spat, "I'll put them where I damn well please." We must first strengthen the siege lines, so get in touch with me when you're prepared to attack. I'm going to throw up earthworks.

Kesslers and his guard left Englewood, their troops pouring down Ivy Lane. The armory's triangular property was surrounded by siege lines, with the main entrance at its broad western base and parking lots, storage structures, and trenches lining its eastward tapering sides.

Tobey murmured to Robson, "I despise him."

The priest lowered his M1 Garand and adjusted his glasses. "Slow down, Tobe. Avoid taking hasty decisions. For a complete siege, we require Kessler's soldiers because he is too powerful to oppose.

"I'm not interested... There's problems as long as he's around," Tobey said. Tonight, it's going to rain. Von Dornen's 69th Street Brigade, which is composed entirely of Variants, should be sent against the northern flank when night falls.

Robson replied, "Yes, sir, I will notify Von Dornen."

Don't tell Kesslers, please. For us, I want the survivors.

"Yes, sir."

Mike handed her a battle knife, which Jenna anxiously fingered as she slid into the bathroom. He had impressed her with his protective nature ever since they first met. Her safety felt uncertain now, alone.

Mike shuddered in the amphitheater, tormented by intense anguish. His gut was a shriveled knot, and white lights danced in his skull. Despite having eaten, he was still plagued by a deeper hunger. He envied Brant's satisfied appetite and now understood his suffering.

The smell of accumulated human excrement made Jenna shudder as she pushed open a cubicle. A siege would make that a nightmare, so she hoped the septic system held. From another cubicle came an odd sound. She raised the knife and faced it.

"Is there anybody?" she called.

Mike looked for Brant on his cot, but where was he? His veins froze with fear.

Jenna gasped as she slowly opened the stall door.

Brant was sitting on the toilet, holding a woman, his fangs digging into her arm and ripping skin. Her eyes flickered, blank, and her neck opened wide. He halted, staring at Jenna like a frightened deer, caught mid-feast.

"Jenna…" he started, his lips dripping blood.