The air at the top of the watchtower was thin and sharp, filled with smoke from the burning train and the tension of too many truths unraveling at once.
The woman who claimed to be Dr. Elara Wren stood on the steps below, her face visible, her hands raised, her voice calm—but haunted. Behind her, the other hazmat-clad soldiers stood still. Guns were no longer aimed.
Yet no one in the tower moved.
Jason's hand hovered near his knife.
Ethan's eyes flicked between Elara and Asher, protective instinct bristling just under his skin.
Asher gently placed Mia behind him.
"You said you helped build Project Dawn," he said. "Why would we trust you?"
Elara looked at him. "Because I'm the reason it failed."
She stepped closer, slow and deliberate. "Three years ago, the government approached private labs with a proposal: develop a regenerative virus to combat aging, organ decay, even death. Project Dawn was born from that ambition. But it was never about healing."
Jason clenched his fists. "It was about control."
Elara nodded. "They wanted to create perfect soldiers—beings who couldn't die. Instead, they created monsters."
"And the train?" Ethan asked.
"A mobile test field. A final trial before national deployment. They placed carriers on your train—infected subjects sedated with inhibitors. But something went wrong. The dose wore off."
"You made zombies," Malik said, disgusted.
"No," she said. "They made themselves. The virus evolved. Faster than we could track it. Some subjects became more than undead. Some… remembered."
That silenced them all.
"Wait," Sienna said, stepping forward. "You mean they're not all brainless?"
Elara hesitated. "Not all. Subject #01 showed signs of retention—memories, attachment, patterns. He was terminated after killing five researchers. But Subject #04 disappeared. We believe he escaped and boarded your train. The rest… followed him."
A chill crawled up Asher's spine. "You're saying this wasn't an accident."
"No. It was sabotage from within. Someone inside the project wanted the infection to spread. Wanted the experiment to fail."
"And you?" Ethan asked. "What do you want?"
Elara looked up, eyes dark and tired. "To burn it all down."
After a moment, Jason lowered his weapon. Not out of trust—but out of exhaustion. "Say we believe you. What's next?"
"You come with me," Elara said. "There's a safehouse three miles east. I have documents. Evidence. I can get you out of this zone. But we have to leave now. The other operatives are still under orders to terminate all survivors."
"Why help us?" Ethan asked.
She hesitated again. "Because I lost someone too. A son. Not to the virus—but to the people who created it."
Silence passed like a storm cloud.
Asher looked at Ethan, then at Mia.
"I vote we go."
They moved fast through the forest, sticking to the shadows as Elara led the way. Her team moved with trained silence—professionals, but not soulless. One even helped carry Leo when his leg began to cramp.
The terrain grew rougher. Fallen trees, burnt-out cars, cracked highway debris littered the way. A billboard loomed in the distance—half-collapsed, peeling. It used to advertise the tournament the teams were heading to.
Now it was blackened, a crow's nest built on the letter "A."
"Champion's Ride: Westmont vs. Eastbrooke—June 15."
Asher stared at it for a long moment.
How far away that day felt now.
The safehouse turned out to be an underground bunker, hidden beneath an abandoned rest stop. The heavy door groaned as it opened, revealing a long corridor, lined with flickering emergency lights.
Inside were computers, old food stocks, and crates of weapons.
Casey whistled. "Someone came prepared."
"It was built by dissenters in the project," Elara said. "People like me. People who knew what they were creating was wrong."
Jason raised an eyebrow. "And they're gone now?"
"Dead," she said flatly. "Except me."
They settled into the bunker. Mia curled up in a makeshift cot between Asher and Ethan. Jordy and Malik took shifts on watch. Sienna sat beside Leo, massaging his cramped leg.
The quiet was jarring after everything they'd endured.
And still, something didn't feel right.
That night, as the others slept, Elara called Asher and Ethan aside.
"I need to show you something."
She led them into the back chamber. It was cold, lit by a single lamp, with monitors displaying live footage of the train—the wreckage now crawling with creatures.
Zombies—some sluggish, some disturbingly fast.
One screen focused on a single car.
Inside stood a figure.
Tall. Thin. Still.
He wore a coach's jacket.
Ramirez.
He stared directly at the camera, unmoving.
"Subject #04," Elara said. "He's not mindless. He's... watching."
Asher stepped closer. "He knew where the cameras were?"
"Yes. And he hasn't attacked anyone since. He just… waits."
Ethan's skin prickled. "For what?"
Elara met his eyes. "For you."
Asher staggered back. "What?"
"He remembered you," she said. "From before. The team. The boys. The train. He followed you."
Ethan swore under his breath. "You mean this whole thing might've started because of Asher?"
"No," she said. "Because of his connection to Ramirez. You meant something to him. You all did. That's why he didn't kill you. He was protecting you."
"Until he didn't," Ethan snapped.
Elara nodded. "The virus changes people slowly. Some resist longer than others. But once the tipping point comes…"
"There's no going back," Asher whispered.
The next morning, alarms blared.
The bunker's perimeter had been breached.
"Motion sensors triggered," Elara said. "South tunnel."
Jason grabbed his rifle. "How many?"
"Unknown," Elara said. "But it's fast."
Asher raced to Mia. She was awake, staring at the ceiling.
"Dad," she said. "He's coming."
Ethan's blood ran cold. "What?"
"I saw him. In my dream. Coach Ramirez. He said he's coming for you. He said… he still remembers the team chant."
Everyone fell silent.
Sienna clutched Leo tighter.
"That's impossible," Jason whispered.
"No," Elara said. "That's Subject #04."
They bolted from the bunker, emerging into the morning haze. Fog clung to the trees, and from somewhere behind them, a sharp, haunting whistle echoed.
A baseball coach's whistle.
High. Shrill. Exact.
Like a practice drill.
Asher froze.
He'd heard that whistle a thousand times. In training. In wins. In losses.
Now it was the sound of death.
"Run," Ethan whispered.
They ran.
Behind them, figures moved through the fog. Ramirez was leading them. Not chasing—leading. The infected followed in a line, almost like a team behind their captain.
Elara shouted, "To the road! There's a truck in the clearing!"
They reached it just as gunfire started again—hazmat soldiers this time, trying to stop Ramirez. But he moved like smoke. Fast. Inhuman.
He dodged bullets, leapt onto one of them, and tore through the armor with his bare hands.
The truck engine coughed, then roared.
Ethan and Asher pulled Mia inside.
Jason climbed into the bed with Jordy and Malik.
Elara drove.
The infected followed.
The truck tore down the broken road, tires spinning mud. Behind them, the forest screamed with the howls of the infected. Mia covered her ears, whispering her mother's name like a prayer.
"They're not stopping!" Jason shouted.
Elara cursed. "We have one last option."
"What?"
She handed Asher a small device.
A trigger.
"What is this?" he asked.
"Failsafe. I left explosives in the bunker. If we detonate it while they're inside…"
"We kill them," Ethan finished.
Asher stared at it.
His hands trembled.
Then Mia placed her hand over his.
"It's okay," she said softly. "He's not your coach anymore."
Asher closed his eyes.
Then he pressed the button.
The explosion lit up the sky.
The truck was thrown forward by the shockwave. Fire chased them down the road before finally dying in the dirt and ash.
They lay there in silence, hearts pounding, smoke drifting behind them.
The chant was gone.
So was Ramirez.
Or so they thought.