The midday sun scorched the asphalt of the Imperial Marina parking lot. The heat made the air shimmer over the abandoned cars, and the smell of sea salt mixed with the foul stench of melting tar.
At the gate to Pier 4, a group of four survivors was trying to force their way in.
"Break it, now!" the woman shouted. She was blonde, with tangled hair plastered to her forehead, and she held a tire iron with trembling hands.
"The lock is hardened steel!" replied Marcos, the largest of the group. He wore a greasy tank top that barely concealed his gut, and he was hammering the metal lock repeatedly with a construction hammer, making a metallic clang that echoed dangerously across the silent shoreline.
"Someone's coming," warned the skinny guy watching their rear, his voice cracking with fear.
The group stopped and turned toward the mall's side exit.
A man was walking toward them. He didn't seem panicked or scared, which was strange in itself given the situation where everyone was either running or terrified.
He appeared to be about 27. He had short, military-style blond hair, lightly stained with soot, that glinted in the strong sun. His face was angular, with a jaw marked by stubble. However, what unnerved the group wasn't his appearance, but his eyes. They were blue, but showed no sign of emotion. They were focused and methodical, scanning the perimeter like a radar.
He wore a black tactical jacket open over a gray t-shirt and cargo pants. In his left hand, he carried a crowbar stained with thick, dark blood.
"Who is he?" whispered the fourth member of the group, gripping a rusty machete.
"Doesn't matter," Marcos growled, trying to appear brave but gripping the hammer tighter. "There's four of us."
The stranger stopped ten meters away. He didn't seem the least bit concerned or afraid of them; he looked like he was just out for a walk.
"You're making too much noise," said Leon. His voice was calm, as if he were just chatting with a neighbor.
Marcos took a step forward, puffing out his chest. "Get lost! We saw it first!"
Leon ignored the aggressive posture. His eyes shifted away from the group for a second, looking at the gate behind them and then at the Parker boat rocking at the end of the pier.
"That boat is mine," Leon said, turning his gaze back to Marcos. "Get away from the gate."
Marcos let out a nervous laugh, looking to his companions for support.
"Your boat?" he mocked. "Wake up, rich boy. The world's ending. Nothing has an owner now. The boat belongs to whoever gets in it first. And there are four of us. You're just one guy."
Leon didn't answer. He didn't change his expression or his tone of voice. In one fluid motion, his right hand went to his waist and came back holding the Glock.
He didn't point the gun directly at them, but kept the barrel low, ready to raise and fire in a fraction of a second.
Silence fell over the group like an anvil. Marcos's smile vanished, and the hand holding the hammer began to tremble.
"I have eighteen bullets," Leon said, maintaining eye contact. "There are four of you. The math doesn't favor you. Leave."
The woman pulled Marcos's arm, her eyes wide and fixed on the gun.
"Marcos, he'll shoot! Let's go, we'll find another way!"
"No!" Marcos snarled, desperation overcoming his fear. He was sweating profusely. "We need to get off the island! That boat is our only chance! If we turn our backs, he'll kill us!"
Leon saw the muscles in Marcos's shoulder tense. He was going to attack. It was the logic of a cornered animal, striking before being struck.
Leon tightened his finger on the trigger. He didn't want to waste ammo, but he wouldn't hesitate.
However, before the first blow could be struck, a sharp sound cut through the air from the direction of the waterfront promenade.
It was a guttural, ragged snarl, full of hate, followed by the unmistakable sound of dozens of bare feet slapping the hot asphalt at high speed.
Leon didn't even need to look. The noise of the hammer on the gate had rung the dinner bell.
"Too late," Leon said.
The two men watching the rear screamed.
From the sunlit promenade, a horde of twenty infected came running. They were fast. Under the sun, they moved with tremendous agility, their arms windmilling, their mouths open and full of black teeth, running like demons.
"Oh god!" the man with the machete dropped his weapon and ran to try and climb the tall gate fence, slipping in his panic.
"The gate! Open it!" the woman shrieked, uselessly pounding on the lock.
Marcos looked at the rapidly approaching infected, then at Leon, paralyzed by indecision between fighting or fleeing.
Leon made the decision for them. He couldn't waste time opening the lock while the horde arrived.
"Get back!" Leon ordered.
He aimed at the silver lock and fired.
BANG.
The sound of the shot was deafening. The lock exploded, twisted metal flying to the side.
Leon kicked the gate, forcing it open violently.
"Run!" he shouted.
It wasn't charity. If they ran down the pier, they'd be bait. The infected would attack the slower, easier targets, giving Leon the precious seconds he needed to reach the boat and cast off.
The group didn't think twice. They scrambled to get through the open gate, pushing each other. Marcos, using his strength, was first, running desperately down the wooden planks of the pier toward the Valkyria.
Leon entered last, swinging the gate shut and looping the chain back on haphazardly, though he knew it wouldn't hold the horde for long.
He turned and sprinted.
His physical conditioning was superior. Within the first few meters, the blonde woman tripped and the fourth man hesitated, trying to pull her up. The guy with the machete, who was further back, could already feel the horde at his heels.
Leon didn't stop. He passed the three of them like a blur, leaving them behind as a meat shield between him and the infected.
The wood of the pier was old and creaked under his boots. Ahead, Marcos was already nearing the boat.
Leon saw Marcos leap onto the stern of the Valkyria. He slipped, fell, got up, and began pulling on the locked cabin door.
"Open! This damn thing won't open!" Marcos yelled, pounding the tempered glass with his fist.
The other three survivors were running behind, but the infected had already knocked down the gate. The first infected, a skinny, dark-skinned runner, leaped onto the back of the machete-wielding guy.
A gurgling scream echoed, but Leon didn't look back.
He reached the boat. Marcos was still there, trying to break the cabin window with the hammer. He saw Leon coming and turned, brandishing the hammer with eyes wide with madness.
"It's mine! I got here first!" Marcos bellowed.
Leon didn't slow down. He used the momentum of his run. He jumped from the pier to the deck, lowering his left shoulder.
He hit Marcos in the chest like a battering ram.
The man expelled all the air from his lungs at once and was thrown backward, his back hitting the low stern gunwale before tumbling into the marina water with a loud splash.
Leon ignored the man in the water. In a quick motion, he crouched and released the stern line tethering the boat to the pier. There was no time to go forward and release the bow line; the engine would have to handle it.
He took the keys from his dimensional inventory, unlocked the cabin door, and entered, locking it immediately from the inside.
Outside on the pier, the screams were horrific. The horde had reached the woman and the other survivor. Blood sprayed high, streaking the cabin glass.
Something bumped against the hull. A wet hand appeared on the gunwale. Marcos was trying to climb back aboard, screaming something incomprehensible.
Leon went to the control panel.
There was no normal ignition key. Where the keyhole should have been, there was now a smooth, bluish metal plate, pulsing with a faint light. The System had altered the Valkyria.
Leon placed his hand on the plate.
[Vessel Detected: Valkyria] [Owner: Commander Leon] [System Core: Absent] [Available Reward: First Link Free] [Install Basic Navigation Core?]
"Yes," Leon said.
The panel glowed intensely. The metal vibrated under his hand. The engine, which had been cold and dead for days, roared to life with a sound that didn't resemble internal combustion, but rather the deep, powerful hum of a turbine.
[Core Created Successfully] [Hull Fortified: Level 1] [Propulsion: Hybrid (Fuel/Soul Energy)]
Leon pushed the throttle lever forward.
The propeller churned the water violently. The Valkyria lurched and shot away from the pier, leaving behind Marcos, who was trying to hold on and ended up being swallowed by the wake, remaining behind along with the screams and the massacre on the dock.
Leon held the helm, feeling the boat cut through the bay's waves. The wind hit his face, washing away the smell of death.
He was at sea. He was in his territory.
A new window appeared, hovering over the ocean horizon.