Breakout

Baxter Hotel, Bozeman – 4:47 PM

The low, wet growl echoed through the dimly lit hotel hallway.

Leon Graves stopped mid-step, his SIG Sauer P226 raised, eyes scanning the dark corridor ahead. The hotel's emergency lights flickered, casting long shadows across overturned furniture, scattered luggage, and fresh blood streaked along the walls.

From somewhere in the distance, a slow, dragging sound grew closer.

Eve Voss cursed under her breath. She moved beside him, her M4 carbine gripped tight, finger hovering over the trigger. "That's close."

Leon nodded once. His military instincts kicked in. They were trapped in a confined space with limited visibility.

Bad situation.

The Baxter Hotel had seemed like a good idea at first—a temporary shelter with a strategic view of Bozeman's collapse. But now, with the infection spreading faster than expected, they were running out of time.

"Back exit?" Eve whispered.

Leon shook his head. "We need to see what's in the lobby first."

Another growl. Closer.

Then—the sound of something sprinting.

Leon reacted instantly.

A shape burst from the hallway—a blur of torn flesh and snapping teeth. Leon's gun kicked twice, two center-mass shots slamming into its chest. It barely slowed down.

Shit.

Leon sidestepped at the last second, letting the infected slam into a wooden table. The creature—once a man, now a mindless husk—was on its feet in seconds, its dead eyes locked onto Leon.

Eve fired next.

One shot, straight to the skull. The infected dropped instantly, blood pooling beneath its shattered head.

Leon exhaled, lowering his weapon. Controlled. Tactical. Efficient.

Eve smirked slightly. "Didn't think I'd have to save your ass so soon."

Leon didn't smile. "Let's move."

They stepped over the body and headed for the main lobby, keeping their weapons ready.

Baxter Hotel Lobby – 4:53 PM

The hotel's grand lobby had turned into a war zone.

The glass doors were shattered, allowing the evening wind to carry the stench of blood and smoke inside. Furniture was overturned, suitcases ripped open, the remains of a half-eaten body slumped over the front desk.

Outside, Bozeman was collapsing.

The streets were filled with screaming civilians, some running, others turning on each other like rabid animals. Gunfire echoed across the city, and above them, a military helicopter roared overhead—heading west, away from the fight.

"They're pulling out," Eve muttered, watching the chopper disappear.

Leon wasn't surprised. The military had tried to contain the outbreak, but once it hit their ranks, they had one option: retreat.

They were on their own now.

A sudden movement near the entrance snapped Leon back to reality.

A man—mid-40s, bearded, wearing a bloodstained security uniform—was crouched near the lobby doors, gripping a fire axe. His wide, terrified eyes locked onto them.

"Are you—" he started, but his voice was hoarse and shaking. "Are you two bitten?"

Leon kept his gun lowered but ready. "No."

The man hesitated, then nodded. "We gotta get out of here. This city's gone."

Eve glanced at Leon, waiting for his call.

Trust no one.

But the guy wasn't infected—and an extra fighter wouldn't hurt.

Leon nodded once. "Let's move."

The man exhaled in relief. "Name's Trevor."

Leon didn't respond. They had bigger problems.

The Streets of Bozeman – 5:00 PM

Leon, Eve, and Trevor moved quickly but carefully down Main Street, staying close to the abandoned vehicles for cover.

The air was filled with screams, gunshots, and the distant howls of the infected. Fires raged across the city—Bozeman was eating itself alive.

Trevor panted. "Where are we going?"

"Military convoy," Eve said. "Highway 287. Last safe route out."

Leon didn't like that plan. If the military was already pulling out, their convoy wouldn't wait for survivors.

But it was their best shot.

A sudden gunshot cracked from a rooftop.

"Down!" Leon barked, yanking Eve behind a wrecked SUV.

Trevor wasn't fast enough.

The bullet hit him in the neck. His eyes went wide as blood sprayed from the wound. He collapsed, gurgling, clutching at his throat.

Leon didn't hesitate. He grabbed Trevor's axe and peeked around the SUV.

The shooter was on a hardware store rooftop, a scrawny man in torn clothes, holding a hunting rifle.

Not military. Not infected.

Just another survivor, willing to kill for an escape route.

"Stay here," Leon said to Eve.

Then he moved.

Fast.

Low and to the left, keeping the SUV between him and the shooter. The second shot missed, shattering a storefront window.

Leon reached the alley beside the hardware store and vaulted a dumpster, climbing a fire escape in three quick motions.

The shooter had no idea he was coming.

Leon hit the rooftop fast, rolling into a crouch. The man barely had time to turn before Leon was on him.

One hand slammed into the shooter's rifle, forcing it upward. The next snapped forward, breaking the man's nose with a brutal elbow strike.

The guy stumbled, dazed.

Leon didn't stop.

He ripped the rifle from the man's grip, turned it around, and cracked him across the jaw with the butt of the weapon.

The shooter crashed to the rooftop, unconscious.

Leon checked the rifle's chamber—only two rounds left. Useless.

He tossed it aside.

A scream from below snapped his attention back to the street.

Eve was in trouble.

Main Street – 5:07 PM

Leon jumped down from the fire escape just in time to see three men surrounding Eve.

They were scruffy, armed, and looked desperate.

"You don't need him," one of them said, nodding toward Leon. "Come with us. We'll take care of you."

Eve's eyes were cold. "I'd rather shoot myself."

Leon stepped forward. "She's not going anywhere."

The biggest of the three turned to face him, gripping a crowbar. "Tough guy, huh?"

Leon exhaled. He didn't have time for this.

The man swung the crowbar. Leon sidestepped, grabbed the man's wrist, and twisted hard—a sickening crack echoed as bone snapped.

The guy screamed.

Leon yanked the crowbar free and drove it into his knee, dropping him instantly.

The second man pulled a knife.

Leon moved fast.

One step inside the man's reach—elbow to the jaw—then he slammed the axe into the man's ribs, caving them in.

The third guy ran.

Eve shot him in the back.

Leon exhaled, surveying the bodies.

"We need to go," Eve said.

Leon nodded. "Yeah."

Highway 287 – 5:20 PM

They reached the edge of the city, just in time to see the last military convoy pulling out.

Trucks roared down the highway, leaving Bozeman behind.

Too late.

Eve clenched her jaw. "Now what?"

Leon looked west, toward the mountains.

"Now," he said, "we survive."

They turned away from the road and disappeared into the wilderness beyond Bozeman.