The helicopter bucked and roared, a metal beast battling the bruised dawn sky. Below, the sprawling, broken expanse of New York City shrank into a dying panorama of smoke plumes and distant, flickering fires. The roar of the rotors was a physical hammer against Iris's skull, vibrating through her bones. She pressed against the reinforced window, watching the city become a memory, a monument to ruin. It wasn't just a home that fell; it was a promise. A lie.
She was wedged tightly between David and Alex. The air in the cramped cabin was thick with the smell of fear, sweat, and something acrid – disinfectant or scorched metal. Alex, pale and wide-eyed, stared blankly into the middle distance, still absorbing the impossible nightmare he'd witnessed. His expensive suit was rumpled and stained, his face gaunt, a shadow of the sharp analyst from One World Trade. He looked just like any other survivor now, clinging to the desperate hope of rescue. David, on her other side, was a grim silhouette, his arm wrapped around her protectively, his gaze fixed on the dwindling cityscape below. The silence between them was thick with unspoken horrors, a new, terrifying understanding. Iris's secret was out, at least to Alex, though she suspected David was already crafting the narrative to explain away the impossible.
The few other passengers – a handful of shell-shocked soldiers, their uniforms torn and bloodied, and a few terrified civilians – huddled together like broken dolls. No one spoke. No one dared. They were just bodies, moving from one hell to the next, clinging to the thinnest thread of hope.
The flight felt endless, a torturous journey over a landscape that blurred into desolate, empty stretches. Eventually, the pilot's voice crackled over the intercom, clipped and unreadable. "Approaching designated drop zone. Fort Hamilton. Expect heavy traffic on approach. No guaranteed recovery beyond perimeter."
No guaranteed recovery beyond perimeter. The words hung in the air, a chilling reminder that their "rescue" was merely a transfer, a temporary stay of execution.
The helicopter began its descent, the ground rushing up to meet them with surprising speed. They dropped, not into absolute wilderness, but into a heavily fortified military base. Dust and dry leaves exploded around them as the landing gear hit with a jarring thump that rattled their teeth.
Fort Hamilton. From the air, it looked like a bastion of order. Barbed wire snaked across its perimeter, glinting dully in the weak morning light. Fortified walls loomed, manned by armed patrols. The orderly lines of tents, the parked military vehicles, the disciplined movements of soldiers – it was a stark, almost unbelievable contrast to the chaotic inferno of New York they'd just fled. It felt, momentarily, like stepping into another world. A world where safety was still a possibility.
As they disembarked onto the tarmac, heavily armed soldiers moved with grim efficiency. David's old comrades, Major Evans and Captain Miller, detached themselves from a bustling command center. They met David with grim nods, their faces etched with the same weary horror he carried. There were no enthusiastic reunions, just a brief, silent acknowledgment of the hell they'd all just endured.
"Smith. Good to see a familiar face," Major Evans grunted, his eyes sweeping over Iris and Alex. "Follow Corporal Barnes. He'll get you processed."
They were quickly ushered into a vast, utilitarian hangar repurposed as an intake center. The air here vibrated with the low hum of generators, the restless murmurs of hundreds of new arrivals, and the curt commands of medics and officers. It felt like organized chaos, a stark contrast to the pure, unbridled anarchy of the city.
The next few days at Fort Hamilton were a strange, unsettling blur, a crucial, yet deceptive, reprieve. It was a chance to breathe, to rest, to eat real, albeit bland, military rations. For the first time in what felt like forever, Iris slept without the constant, gnawing fear of a zombie lunging from the shadows. The base was clean, relatively well-supplied, and for now, blessedly free from immediate zombie threats. It felt like an unnerving calm before a storm.
All new arrivals underwent rigorous medical evaluations. Iris's heart hammered during her turn. She pulled her long sleeve carefully down, covering the silvery scar on her arm. The medics, overwhelmed with incoming patients and focusing on the obvious CNV symptoms, performed quick checks – temperature, visible injuries, asking about coughs or disorientation. Iris showed no fever, no cough, no viral load. She appeared perfectly healthy, if a bit shaken. The medics cleared her without suspicion, and a wave of profound relief washed over her. Alex, too, despite his previous proximity to Ground Zero, passed his check-up. David watched her like a hawk, his silent vigilance a constant reminder of their shared secret.
David, restless and driven by decades of military instinct, immediately began to gather intelligence. He sought out old contacts, listened intently to the chatter of the soldiers and officers, piecing together fragments of information. The scope of the global collapse was far worse than he'd imagined. Cities were falling worldwide, governments had fractured, and the desperate efforts to contain the CNV were failing. He overheard hushed conversations about research teams frantically searching for "anomalies" or "survivors with unique resistances"—chilling words that intensified his paranoia about Iris. He knew the moment anyone learned the truth about her, she'd cease to be his daughter and become an asset, a specimen, a tool.
Recognizing that in this new world, civilians were liabilities without training, David wasted no time. One evening, after lights out in their barrack, he pulled Iris and Alex aside, his voice low and firm. "We don't know how long this place will hold. You two need to be able to defend yourselves. Really defend yourselves. We start tomorrow."
Alex, surprisingly, didn't argue. The brief days of 'safety' here, coupled with the sheer overwhelming experience of One World Trade, had shattered any lingering illusions of the old world. He gripped the scavenged knife David had given him back in the city, his hands already calloused, his eyes now holding a wary readiness. He knew David was right. Their survival depended on it.