The fire that can't be put down. PROLOUGE

00:03
Fire Station Unit 19
Suburban District, City of Liamos
A light drizzle wet the tin roof and the asphalt streets, now darkened by mud and oil. Streetlights glowed dimly behind a low-hanging fog that cloaked the city. Inside the station, the silence was so deep that the dripping water from the gutter was clearly audible, alternating with the soft snores from the sleeping quarters.
The entire crew had fallen asleep. No emergency calls that night. No fires. No panic. Only a fragile peace—like glass waiting to shatter.
Cole, the captain, slept in a recliner near the briefing room, still in his grey shirt and loosened work pants. His arms were folded, his breathing steady. Nearby, the CCTV monitor displayed the damp, empty front yard—no activity.
His three subordinates—Ivan, Carl, and Hans—were in the barracks, asleep on their fold-out beds, still wrapped in thick jackets from their evening shift. The jackets still smelled of smoke, but the night was too calm to care.
Outside, a breeze carried the scent of damp earth. A tattered newspaper was blown past the tightly shut gate of the station.
No one knew yet.
No one realized... that this was the last night the world would be as they knew it.

00:17
Control Room, Unit 19
Still silent, the room was filled only with the sound of light rain and the blinking of indicator lights on the panel. Lieutenant Marcus Harlow remained awake, eyes fixed on the monitoring screen. Occasionally he checked the weather report, but the night felt calm—almost dull.
Until the main radio crackled to life with static, followed by the voice of an operator from Liamos City Emergency Coordination Center.
“Unit 19, this is Central. Please confirm standby.”
Marcus responded quickly, pressing the comm button.
“Unit 19 standing by. Go ahead.”
“We’ve received reports of a major fire in the central district—residential and commercial blocks around Emberlight Street. The fire is spreading rapidly, possibly caused by a short circuit in one of the houses. Units 5 and 11 are already deployed, but the situation is escalating beyond expectations. We need additional support.”
Marcus’s ears perked up. Emberlight? That area was densely packed with narrow access roads. A fire there wasn’t a small matter—it was an operational nightmare.
“Any reports of evacuation not proceeding?”
“Still in progress. Several residents are reported trapped on the second and third floors. Unit 5’s radio signal went dark a few minutes ago. We’ll keep updates coming through the data link. Please prepare for immediate deployment.”
“Copy. Unit 19 rolling in five.” Click.
Marcus stood up and moved straight to the alarm panel. He pulled the internal siren lever. The sharp emergency sound blared through the building. Red lights flashed rhythmically along the hallway.
Captain Cole emerged from the lounge, half-awake, half-wearing his fire jacket.
“Call came in?”
“Major fire in the central district—residential and commercial blocks. Situation’s worsening. Units 5 and 11 requested backup.”
Cole exhaled, eyes sharpening instantly. “Shops and homes packed together in the middle of the night... a lot could go wrong.”
“We move fast. Wake Ivan, Carl, and Hans. Full gear and bring evac tools. This isn’t a routine call.”
Cole nodded and moved swiftly.
The night wasn’t over, but the fire was already waiting.

00:37 — Fire Location, Block D5, Liamos District
The roar of engines and beams of headlights pierced the night. Narrow roads leading to the dense apartment block were jammed with ambulances, police cars, and even a SWAT armored vehicle.
Unit 19’s fire truck rolled to a slow stop at the edge of the junction.
The drizzle continued, but the acrid stench of smoke and burning plastic bit sharply through their masks.
Marcus Harlow opened the cabin door, stepping out first, signaling the team to standby. But his eyes were fixed on something strange.
Across the street, an ambulance nurse sat hugging her knees, hands trembling, lips murmuring endlessly—maybe prayers, maybe panicked repetition.
A traffic officer tried directing emergency traffic, but his eyes were hollow. He stared at the burning building more than the vehicles.
A SWAT officer, fully armored, sat against his vehicle's tire, helmet off, vomiting onto the road. His teammate tried to console him, but his face was just as pale.
Marcus (whispering):
“What the hell is going on here…?”
He stepped forward, pushing through the crowd of personnel who seemed less like rescuers and more like spectators afraid to step onto the main stage.
Cole (catching up):
“Marcus! What—”
Marcus:
“Calm down. Stick to protocol. Focus on the apartment, block D5. Three stories. Main fire on the second floor.”
Ivan scanned the surroundings.
His eyes locked onto a field medic changing bandages on a burn victim—hands steady, but her face was soaked in tears.
Carl (whispering to Hans):
“Why do they look… more scared than usual?”
Hans:
“What’s worse than a big-ass fire like this?”
Marcus interjected:
“Now’s not the time to wonder. Get in the zone, evacuate survivors. Let the cops and SWAT handle the rest.”
Cole:
“Team 19, entry formation. We split: Ivan and I go to the second floor. Carl and Hans, check the emergency stairs and first floor.”
Hans (nodding):
“Roger.”
Marcus radioed in:
“Team 19 has entered the zone. Evac order in progress. Central, monitor frequency 143.0.”
One by one, they moved toward the apartment entrance. Thin smoke seeped from cracked windows. Fire licked from within.
Before entering, Cole glanced back…
The faces of the emergency personnel stared silently at them—as if they knew what awaited inside, but chose to say nothing.
Cole (muttering):
“Why are you all just standing there…?”
And with that, they stepped inside.
Into the dark.
Into the fire.
Into something more than just a blaze.

00:44 AM — Apartment Interior, Block D5

A charred wooden door was forcefully kicked open. Small fires burned along the corridor floor, casting a reddish-yellow silhouette across the blackened walls.

Cole led the way, followed by Ivan, Carl, and Hans, each covering the sides and rear. The sound of their breathing apparatus blended with the creaking of weakened wood.

Cole:
"Room by room. Check the door temperature before opening."

They swept through each room. Some were empty, some filled with smoke, but no signs of victims—until they opened one of the rooms on the second floor.
The door creaked open slowly.
A broken hanging light swayed gently. In the corner of the room, someone was seen sitting against the wall.
The body was still. Head slumped forward. Below it, a pool of blood had darkened from the heat. The wall behind was splattered with deep red, some of it forming rough handprints dragged downward.

Ivan (covering his mouth):
"Oh my... God..."

They approached. The victim was an adult male, in tattered clothing and partially charred—though not completely burned. Burns weren’t the cause of death.
Cole crouched, examining a wound on the man’s neck.
It was irregular. Ripped. Torn. As if… mauled. But the position was too high for a fall or falling object.

Cole:
"This isn’t a collapse injury..."

He glanced at Ivan, his face tense.
"Look at this… the neck. It looks like it was bitten… or dragged by something—"

Ivan cut him off, trying to stay rational:
"Don’t overthink it right now. Focus, Captain."

He stood, looking toward the smoke-filled hallway.

Ivan (continued):
"There are still people trapped in this building. Don’t tell me you’re going to let them suffocate because of one corpse that... maybe got hit by debris or something."

Cole stood slowly, still staring at the body.

Cole (softly):
"Debris doesn’t leave bloody handprints on the wall, Ivan..."

Carl (from the hallway):
"Hey! I heard something at the end of the corridor! There might be survivors!"

Cole took a deep breath and nodded.
"Alright. Let’s move. But stay alert. Something... doesn’t feel right."

They exited the room, leaving the unfortunate body behind in the dim red shadows—and something out there, perhaps still waiting...

As soon as they left the room, Cole resumed sweeping the building. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he was certain… someone was still alive.
They moved quickly, floor by floor. But the higher they climbed, the stranger the atmosphere became. Not just silence—something felt wrong.

On the third floor, they entered a room with part of its roof collapsed. Debris and wood splinters split what used to be a dining area. Small fires licked the charred remains of furniture. Across the rubble, someone crouched.
A woman—clothes torn, body bloodied—was tearing into a dead man lying in front of her.

Cole froze in place.
“...Hey! Are you okay?”

The woman turned slowly. Her gaze was empty. Not angry, not afraid… just hollow. But when the firelight grew brighter, she recoiled slightly, as if afraid. She seemed scared of the fire.

Ivan and Hans rushed toward her, trying to calm her and pull her away from the corpse. Meanwhile, Cole and Carl moved on silently to the upper floor.

Eventually, they reached the attic. An old metal door blocked access to a sealed room. Cole pulled the lever.

Carl (whispering):
"Careful..."

As the door opened, they saw a police officer lying on the floor—writhing and groaning.

"ARGGHHH...!!"

Cole:
"Hey! Are you alright?"

He stepped forward. The officer turned with a look of pain and panic.

Officer:
"What are you doing here!? Get out...!! People... they’re going crazy...!"

Carl:
"What do you mean?"

Officer:
"Get out, you idiot!! ARGHH...!"

Cole was still trying to understand.
"Why—?"

CRASH!!

Suddenly, the door beside the officer was kicked open. It flew off its hinges and slammed to the floor.
Out of the darkness, a man emerged.
His body was covered in wounds, soaked in blood. His eyes... glowing yellow. His posture erratic. He stumbled, almost collapsing—then suddenly lunged at Cole, attempting to bite him.

Cole managed to raise his axe—blocking the man's jaws. But the force was overwhelming. Cole was thrown to the ground, struggling to hold him back.

Carl stood frozen, eyes wide. His mind refused to believe what he was seeing.

Cole gritted his teeth.
“A-ARGHHH!! CARL!!”

BANG!!

A gunshot rang out.
The man’s head exploded. Blood splattered across Cole’s gas mask, staining the visor crimson. The body collapsed, lifeless, atop him.

Cole pushed it off, wiping his mask, gasping for breath.
The police officer—with trembling hands—still held the pistol. That had been his last shot.

Cole tried to stand.
"What just happened...?"

Carl, still in shock, whispered:
"That... wasn’t human anymore, Cole."

"ARGGHHH…E…E…"

The officer groaned again. Carl instinctively moved closer.

Cole:
"Carl, don’t! This building is about to collapse. He’s dying—we have to leave!"

Carl:
"He’s still alive, idiot!" he snapped. "Look, he’s moving!"

The officer raised his head slowly, body trembling.

Carl:
"See, Cole! He’s still—"

Cole saw it immediately. The eyes. Yellow. Just like the other.
"Carl, get away from him—SOMETHING’S WRONG!!"

Too late.
The officer lunged. Carl raised his left arm, but—RAK!!!—the jaws bit deep, ripping into his flesh.

Carl:
“ARGGHHH!!”

Cole didn’t hesitate. He swung his axe—CRACK!!—splitting the officer’s head. Blood sprayed. The officer fell, dead a second time.

Cole dropped to his knees beside Carl, trying to stop the bleeding. Flesh was missing—chewed off, torn, gaping.

Carl:
“ARGHHHH..... DAMN IT!!!”

Cole:
"We need to get out now. We’ll treat your wound as soon as possible."

Without wasting time, they descended. Carl kept groaning. Blood dripped from his arm.

But above all, one thing couldn’t be ignored.
Those yellow eyes.

They stopped at an old wooden door—its paint peeling, hinges creaking. This was the last place they saw Ivan and Hans.
Cole bent slightly, scanning the floor. Bloodstains. Fresh. As if something had been dragged across the previously clean floor.

Cole (whispering):
"This… wasn’t here before."

Behind him, Carl leaned against the wall. His breathing was labored, filled with pain. Blood still oozed from his wound. But Cole couldn’t stop. Not now.
He tightened his grip on the axe—as if the cold metal could offer him calm. Then, with one long breath, he opened the door slowly. The hinges groaned in protest.

Interior – Dark Room. Orange firelight glowed through the collapsed ceiling.
In the center of the room, Hans knelt. His back facing the door. In front of him, two lifeless bodies lay. One was a woman. The other... Ivan.
A large axe was still lodged deep in Ivan’s helmet. His mask was crushed, blood soaking his uniform. A sight too horrific for the mind to accept.

Cole stood in the doorway. The world seemed to stop.
"Hans...?" His voice was hesitant, almost a whisper.

No answer. Hans remained still, his body swaying slightly, as if his soul teetered between reality and ruin.

Slowly, Hans turned. His movements stiff. He stood, staggered, and walked toward Cole—unsteady steps, hands slightly raised, as if asking for something.
When he got close, his face became visible behind the cracked visor. His eyes were red. Tear stains and dust streaked his cheeks.

"Kill me, Cole..."

Cole didn’t move.
"What do you mean...?"

Hans took a deep breath, then screamed from deep within.
"CAN’T YOU SEE?! I SAID—KILL MEEEEE!!!"

The scream echoed. Then, in a flash, Hans lunged forward.
Cole didn’t think—he reacted. He swung his axe reflexively, horizontally, slicing across Hans’s torso.

Time froze.
Hans stopped mid-charge. His body went limp. He coughed blood, staining his gas mask. His eyes, filled with pain, looked at Cole—wanting to say something left unspoken.

"Th...ank... you... Cole..."

His body collapsed. Lifeless.
Cole dropped to his knees, holding Hans in his arms. His head bowed. He didn’t cry, but his expression... was empty. Like someone being slowly eroded by the world.

"I’m sorry..."
It was all he could say.

But in a place like this, time doesn’t mourn.
Cole finally let go. He stood and walked out of the room—

Amidst a Burning Corridor, Under a Blazing Night Sky.

Carl sat slumped against the wall, nearly unconscious. His hand trembled violently. Seeing him, Cole ran, bent down, and lifted Carl onto his shoulder.

"I’ve got you," he whispered. "Stay with me, buddy. Stay with me."

They walked slowly, toward the faint light at the end of the corridor. Leaving behind the nightmare that had just claimed another brother-in-arms.

Cole still held Carl’s weakening body tightly, helping him through the smoke-choked halls littered with debris. Every step was a trial; blood dripped from Carl’s wound, his breathing growing heavier.
Then—a slit of light ahead.

But hope was crushed the moment they arrived.
Bodies were everywhere. Some in familiar uniforms.
They... were their comrades. Torn apart. Frozen in unnatural poses.
And in the middle of it all, one figure still stood—Marcus.

He clutched a pike pole embedded in the chest of a frozen SWAT officer. Hearing Cole’s footsteps, he slowly turned. Without a word, he yanked the weapon free, letting the body fall. Then, he stepped forward.

"Cole... Carl..." his voice raspy, burned by smoke and loss.
"You’re still alive? Are you... okay?"

Cole nodded slowly, voice shaky. "I’m hanging on... but Carl... he was bitten."

Marcus fell silent. No surprise in his expression—just sorrow buried deep.

"Cole... we have to leave him."

Cole stared at Marcus, in disbelief. "What are you saying? We just—"

"He’s infected." Marcus’s tone turned flat, but sharp. "You know what happens next."

Carl gave a faint smile. "He’s right, Cole... No point denying it. I... I won’t make it."

Cole looked down. His grip on Carl’s shoulder tightened. "I can’t. I can’t let you die here... not like this."

But before they could respond, the sound of a heavy engine approached.
A truck—barreling out of control.

CRASH—
It slammed into debris and overturned violently. A metal crash followed by an explosion. Fire spread fast, consuming everything.
Cole, Carl, and Marcus were thrown back, hitting the ground hard.

Cole opened his eyes. The world spun. Fire now blocked their only exit.

Marcus cursed softly, rising. "Perfect. That was our only way out."

Suddenly, from the smoke and rubble, came a low, growing roar.

"RAARGHHHHH..."

Cole turned. "What is that...?"

Marcus’s face tensed. "They’re coming again..."

Cole:
"Who?"

Marcus:
"Zombies, Cole. We’re... trapped."

Carl coughed violently, blood dripping from his mouth. With a trembling hand, he pointed toward a narrow alley between two old apartment blocks.
"There... maybe you can get through... It hasn’t caught fire yet..."

Cole looked. Narrow—but passable. Still hope.
"And you, Carl? What’ll you do?"

Carl:
"I’ll draw them away," he said without hesitation. "Buy you time."

Cole:
"Don’t be stupid," Cole snapped. "That’s suicide."

Carl:
"Same difference," Carl chuckled weakly. "It’s too late for me, Cole. And you know it."

Marcus was silent, then nodded. "He’s right. We can’t delay."

Carl patted Cole’s shoulder with the last of his strength. "Go... Just go."

Cole stood frozen. "Damn it... I hate this..."

Carl:
"Then make it mean something," he said with a sad soldier’s smile.

Finally, Cole helped Marcus toward the alley. Just before entering, Marcus pulled out his drip torch and set the alley entrance aflame—creating a wall of fire behind them.

Cole turned one last time.
He saw Carl standing alone amid the ruins and corpses.
The zombies’ roars drew closer.
Carl raised his weapon and charged into the noise—his battle cry merging with the growls of darkness.

Marcus (softly):
"Don’t waste his sacrifice."

Cole only nodded, then stepped into the dark alley between silent buildings. Every step was heavy, but he never looked back.

That day, they lost more than comrades.
They lost a piece of themselves.