The rain slicked the cracked pavement of Muldraugh, turning the dried blood on the tactical shield into a dark, viscous smear.
The line surged forward. To his left, a recruit in a bulky swung a lead pipe, shattering a skull that had pressed too close to the gap. They moved as a single unit, a wall of black Kevlar and grit carving a path through the throng. Every inch was bought with sweat and the mechanical efficiency of the pack. Swat & Riot Pack (IWBMS 41.50) (04.02.2021)
The dead were coming. They drifted out of the morning fog, a sea of gray skin and torn flannel. Miller raised his , tapping it rhythmically against the heavy riot shield . The sound was a dinner bell, and the horde answered with a collective, guttural roar. The rain slicked the cracked pavement of Muldraugh,
"Phalanx formation," Miller hissed over the low moan of the wind. They moved as a single unit, a wall
They weren't just surviving the Kentucky winter; they were reclaiming the streets, one methodical strike at a time.
Sergeant Miller tightened the straps on his , the visor fogging slightly with every shallow breath. Behind him, the heavy thud of combat boots echoed off the abandoned storefronts—his team was a patchwork of survivors clad in scavenged black SWAT fatigues and reinforced ballistic vests . They weren’t police anymore; they were the heavy lifting for a group of civilians starving in a gated community three miles north.
The first wave hit like a tide. Rotting hands clawed at the polycarbonate surface of the shields, the screech of fingernails on plastic agonizingly loud. Miller braced his shoulder, feeling the staggering weight of the undead press against him. "Push!" he barked.