"I refuse, Sir. I will turn in my resignation letter tomorrow, and maybe my replacement would agree."

"132 men. That's how many who have died under your command, Major General Kim."

Major General Kim stopped.

"General, you might be my superior, but if you mention that one more time-"

"You know as much as I do that our country's victories in mission comes with regular deaths in the battlefields, outside or inside our vicinities. And you think the government will let your replacement maintain that 20% retreat rate?"

"The 20% mostly come from international affairs, Sir, where our country provides help to other countries in need. I see no urgence to sacrifice our men for such causes."

"Exactly, but do you think the others will think the same as you? I'm willing to bet, your replacement will never call in a retreat if half of the unit is still alive. Our country might be powerful, but we also gain a lot of that influence from helping others and building international relationships. And with the growing population and talent, I don't see why your replacement wouldn't-"

"Cain's an exception, Sir-"

"But you do find him, right? And your unit's performance rose up the ranks? Your missions will decrease yes, but they will get more dangerous. So, why would you outright reject the national lab's offer on enhancing your men's chance of survival?"

Major General Kim bit his lip.

"I accept the offer. But just to some men."

He walked into his office and distributed shuffled cards to the fifty-two men. Please don't be, please don't be.

"Those who get non numbers, raise your cards."

Cain raised an Ace.

Major General Kim's heart missed a beat. Forgive me, kid.

***

Cain swung his hand again. Blood splattered everywhere.

"Hey, above you!"

The man swung his hammer, slamming the zombie's head, but the zombie rose again. Cain lunged forward.

"You have to smash it completely!"

He stabbed the zombie dead and dodged right before the wall behind him fell.

"Run back, run back! To the house!"

Zombies pour down. They ran across the train station and leapt down the bridge, forcing their legs to run as fast as they could. First, dying by getting chewed on seemed like a horrible death. Second, they are sure that this man, Cain, would never wait for them if they every trip.

Cain frowned.

The zombies can coordinate in herds and are harder to kill than he thought. Disabling the leg will disable them, but besides harder in close combat, they'd most likely resort to their arms. While they don't react to pain, they still depend on the brain to function. Hence, if you can't destroy the brain, destroy the brainstem, motor cortex, or basal ganglia. And aiming for the heart – these zombies don't even seem to need blood to function. Then there is also the problem of rapid tissue regeneration. How about severing their spinal cord?

He swung his knife but could barely make a graze on the spinal cord. His knife splintered into pieces. He frowned and stabbed them with the edges instead.

Do they have stronger bones than humans? Well given how they throw over brick walls, it makes sense.

Given their behaviourism, a horde would slam themselves against a brick wall day and night, and it won't take hours before it collapses. If their bones are like humans, they would have died. A strong metal barricade might last for a full day. A decent lock wouldn't be sufficient if the structure itself collapses.

They snuck into the street and finally reached the church's house. The men fell to the ground. Cain wiped his knife. Juan handed him a drink.

"How is it?"

"As I thought, we must move. Once they sense our presence, they'd break this house down. And we know the bigger the group, the more they are likely to sense us."

"Can't we hold down the house?"

"No. If we're in a remote area, maybe, but we're in the metropolis with endless zombies. Even if we evacuate to say the second or third floor, and limit the access so that the zombies won't be able to climb up, they might all swarm into a frenzy and break the foundation."

Mutters filled the room.

"Do you have a place in mind, then?"

"I do. It'll take several stops, but it's an oasis right between a vast desert and a city. The desert will prevent the zombies from getting a whiff of us, and if they attack from the city, we can easily escape. The city around it provides everything we would need. Since we must go by foot, we'll loot the transportation from those cities and take them to the oasis for safer travel."

"Wait, we can't use transportation?"

"No. As I mentioned, the zombies are very strong and are still travelling in large hordes – if we came across them, we'd be trapped in our vehicles and die for sure. The street is also full of vehicles and ruins from accidents, so we couldn't traverse through them easily. As for food, we needn't worry because we'll be passing cities for a good while."

Cain pulled the whiteboard.

"Here's a plan. There are 200 of us here, so let's move in subgroups of 20. But we'll also spread the destination location, so the zombies wouldn't sense our movement. One post will be filled by 3 groups, or 60 people. We'll form some sort of network, and everyone will be moving forward together. Hence, a movement from post to post will take less than three days."

"How long will the whole trip take?"

"One group, 4 days to 2 weeks tops, but I think we should be able to make it before 2 weeks. Our current supplies will last us for one week, and we can easily loot supplies like we have done."

"Father Cain-"

"I'm not a priest yet."

"But you wore a priest robe-"

"Uh that was cosplay."

"Ok so Father Cain-"

Cain bit his lip. Yea, whatever.

"Will you be leading every group, then?"

"Well... I can't. Once we set a time, three groups should move at once, perhaps separated at most by 10 minutes."

Cain thought for a while.

"Actually, I can, but not for the whole journey. I'll go with the first group up to 30 minutes, meet the next group halfway, and so on."

Everyone cheered.

Juan chuckled.

It has only been a few days since they met Cain, but everyone had quickly felt safe around him. Sometimes he felt really lucky to have met Cain in his missionary entrance mission. Cain was still a recruit in the special ops, and as they walked around trying to navigate the cave tunnels which felt more like a maze, they became acquainted – at least that's the word Cain used. When they separate, Cain left him a note, "I'd love to be acquainted to you. Thank you for sharing the water." Well, if he never met Cain, he'd surely never make it out of the tunnels alive.

The days went by. The groups started moving, led by Cain. He had mapped out the usual rotations of the zombies and their behaviours – with a streak of luck and care, they should be fine.

That is, until the last group came up. A kid wandered off. Cain was already tired, and perhaps felt too safe, that he didn't keep a head count throughout the trip. They only realized he was missing when they got near the post.

The kid's dad begged Cain to let him search for his kid. Cain reluctantly agreed, making sure the rest of the group entered their safe house and walked with him. It didn't take long before they found the kid in the wrong alleyway. They fought off the horde chasing him and ran back. Now, Cain noticed that both the kid and the father sustained a bite mark, but he hesitated.

If what he theorized was true, why haven't he transformed yet while his peers had?

"Hide them," he said, "I'll stay the night and see if you transform."

But the others found out soon anyways.

"What else keeps you from deciding? We saw ourselves that the bitten would turn into zombies!"

"They haven't transformed yet. We can't be sure."

"Then, are you waiting for them to bite us? You might be physically strong, but there's no telling when they'll turn and if you'll be able to stop them before they attack us! Are you valuing our lives as less?"

The others rallied in agreement.

"Yeah, ALL people who get bitten transform!"

"Kill them! If we only put them in the next room, they might find a way in!"

Cain stroked his forehead in annoyance. Find a way in? From where? Jumping out the window?

He turned to the father and child. The father was embracing his kid. The kid begged him not to shoot.

Cain closed his eyes.

There was a kid sitting in the dark. A supervisor would drag him out, and say, "Fire!" If he refused, bruises, wounds, and burns in his body would add up, and his rib cage would bulge. If he missed, his ribcage would bulge. If he hesitated, the man would slap his cheeks swollen and eyes shut. So he did, because what else would he do? If he sniped at his own will, the man would say, "Good job!" and return him to the dark room, where he slept, blurring away the faceless strangers. It was like that – if he wasn't firing, he was eating, sleeping – sometimes talking to other kids. Before he knew, he was able to fire at any spot, no matter how fast the target was moving, and now additional men would gather around him just to watch the talent of a kid they heard. Then one day, they asked the kid to shoot a father and a child hostage. The child cried hard. The father said nothing, but his eyes were filled with – plea. Too close to be blurred away in his sleep. "Fire," the supervisor said. The kid grabbed his rifle, shaking, and turned the nose towards the supervisor.

Cain opened his eyes.

The kid pulled the trigger.

He pulled the trigger.

"Sorry."

And with a gunshot, their group went down to 199. The rest passed in a blur. Was he too exhausted? He didn't know. He didn't even know how he could get through all the zombies back to his post.

All he muttered was "he's dead, he's dead, we're down 1."

But Juan understood everything.

"That final destination – you know where it is for sure, right?"

"Yes," Cain closed his eyes, "the orphanage."