The Fall of Bozeman

Highway 191 – Just Outside Bozeman – 3:45 PM

Leon Graves kept his foot steady on the gas, watching black smoke curl into the sky over Bozeman. The city sprawled below him, nestled between the mountains, but it wasn't peaceful anymore.

The streets were clogged with abandoned cars, some burning, others riddled with bullet holes. Helicopters hovered over Montana State University, where the military had set up a fortified perimeter. He could see tents, barricades, and floodlights, but something was wrong.

The soldiers were pulling back.

Not evacuating—retreating.

Leon narrowed his eyes, gripping the wheel of his Blazer. If they were already falling back, the quarantine was as good as dead.

His phone buzzed again.

Eve Voss: Where the hell are you?

Leon sighed. He typed back:

Leon: I see the city. Looks like a war zone. What's the situation?

It took less than ten seconds for her reply to come in.

Eve: Bad. Worse than bad. Meet me at the Baxter Hotel parking garage. Get here fast.

Leon killed the engine.

Bozeman was burning, the military was losing control, and now he had to go inside the city?

Just another great day.

Main Street – 4:12 PM

Leon moved carefully through the streets, staying low as he passed a row of looted storefronts. Gunfire crackled in the distance, mixed with the shrill screams of the dying.

The air stank of burning rubber, blood, and something worse—something rotten.

He spotted a gas station up ahead, its neon sign flickering. A military Humvee was overturned nearby, riddled with bullet holes. Blood trailed away from the wreckage, but there were no bodies.

That was never a good sign.

Leon reached the edge of the parking lot and crouched beside a wrecked sedan. He checked his SIG Sauer P226, ejecting the magazine. Twelve rounds.

Not enough. Never enough.

A soft noise made him freeze.

Scraping. Shuffling.

Then—a low, wet gurgling sound.

Leon slowly turned his head.

A man was standing by the gas pumps, barefoot, shirt torn open. His skin was pale, bruised, veins bulging unnaturally. Black fluid dribbled from his mouth.

His dead eyes snapped toward Leon.

Then he moved.

Not a stagger. Not slow.

A full sprint.

Leon had already raised his gun.

CRACK. The first shot took it in the chest, but the thing didn't stop.

Leon fired again.

CRACK. Right through the skull. The infected collapsed mid-stride, hitting the pavement with a wet thud.

Leon didn't move for a second, listening.

Nothing.

Just the wind.

He exhaled and kept moving.

The Baxter Hotel – 4:30 PM

The hotel parking garage was dimly lit, the overhead lights flickering. A handful of abandoned cars were scattered throughout, doors left open, belongings strewn across the pavement.

Leon entered cautiously, pistol raised.

A soft whistle echoed from above.

Leon's instincts kicked in. He ducked left, narrowly avoiding the laser sight of a sniper rifle aimed directly at his head.

From the second floor of the garage, a voice called down.

"Jesus, Leon. Took you long enough."

He looked up.

Eve Voss stood on the edge of the concrete barrier, lowering her rifle. Black tactical vest, fingerless gloves, sniper gear slung across her back. Even from here, he could see the sharp focus in her blue eyes.

He sighed. "Nice to see you, too."

She didn't smile. "We need to move. The city's about to go straight to hell."

Inside the Baxter Hotel – 4:45 PM

Leon followed Eve into a makeshift command center on the second floor. The power was flickering, the hotel lobby dark except for a few battery-powered lanterns.

A map of Bozeman was spread across a table.

"Military's done for," Eve said, pulling off her gloves. "They were holding the university, but there was an outbreak inside the perimeter."

Leon frowned. "How?"

She exhaled. "Someone turned inside the quarantine. Military tried to contain it. Failed."

Leon studied the map. The infection had already spread beyond control.

"You got a plan?" he asked.

Eve hesitated. "I was hoping you did."

Leon rolled his shoulders. He had one rule: Stay ahead of the collapse.

And Bozeman was already gone.

"We get out," Leon said. "Find a secure location. Gather supplies. Then figure out our next move."

Eve nodded. "There's a convoy heading north on Highway 287. Might be our best shot."

Leon was about to answer—

Then he heard it.

A deep, inhuman growl.

From somewhere inside the hotel.