‘Kill Everything That Moves’ Part 12

The bunker's cold seeped into our bones as we gathered at dawn,

Nis 6, 2025

THE HOSPITAL RUN
The helicopter blades churned the toxic air as we descended toward the skeletal remains of New York Presbyterian Hospital. Its once-pristine windows were shattered, the upper floors collapsed inward like a rotten tooth.

John’s voice crackled through our earpieces: “Remember—two teams. Medical supplies first, survivors second. If you see black veins or hear clicking, run.”

I adjusted the steel shield on my back—flimsy protection against the acid rain that could melt flesh in seconds. Beside me, Randy gripped his shock rod like a lifeline, his usual bravado replaced by grim focus.

“You ready for this, Rocky?”

He exhaled sharply. “After Chicago? I owe these bastards.”

ENTERING THE KILL ZONE
We breached the ER through a collapsed ambulance bay. The stench hit first—rotting flesh and something sharper, like burnt copper. Flashlights revealed horrors in slices:

A gurney with restraints broken from the inside.

Walls streaked with long, desperate claw marks.

And the puddles—black, viscous, breathing.

“Don’t touch the sludge,” Ocean hissed. “It’s hatching.”

Then—a whimper.

From behind the nurses’ station, a child’s hand reached out.

THE TRAP
Avva lunged forward, but I yanked her back just as the ceiling rippled.

It wasn’t debris.

A mass of fused hospital beds dangled like a spider’s web, each strand pulsing with the same black veins we’d seen in the infected animals. And at its center—

“Oh God,” Randy choked.

The child’s face split open vertically, revealing a second mouth lined with needle teeth. Its limbs stretched, joints popping as it skittered toward us.

John’s shout echoed: “SHOCK RODS NOW!”

The blue arcs lit up the nightmare. The creature shrieked—a sound like radio static and breaking bones—before retreating into the vents.

But the walls kept moving.

“We woke it up,” Ocean realized. “The whole building’s infected.”

THE CHOICE
A new sound cut through the chaos—human screams. From the basement.

John made the call: “Med team, fall back with what you’ve got. Rescue team with me—we’re going down.”

Randy grabbed my arm. “That’s a trap.”

I looked at the sludge seeping under the basement door. At the way the screams paused every 47 seconds exactly.

“I know,” I said, priming my shock rod. “But if there’s even one person alive down there…”

The door creaked open on its own.

Something down there was inviting us in.