I peered through the dirty glass of the double doors.
It was a mess hall.
Overturned tables, scattered trays, rotting food smeared across the surfaces.
The stench of decaying meat and dried blood was so strong it seemed to cling to my throat.
Several infected wandered aimlessly, bumping into chairs and tables.
Something felt off—despite the gunfire echoing through the hallway, the zombies here didn't seem alerted.
That was strange. They were always drawn to sound, and yet no horde came stumbling in our direction.
There was only one explanation.
The hallway and surrounding rooms had soundproofing.
The reason? Most likely the mess hall itself.
One of the loudest places in a military base.
With dozens of soldiers talking, plates clattering, and cooks shouting orders, it made sense they had installed some kind of noise barrier to prevent the racket from disturbing the rest of the facility.
That meant no sound reached us.
And the same applied to the other side.
The gunfire, the screams, the bodies dropping—none of it would have alerted whoever was beyond that final set of double doors.
"Knives," I whispered.
Everyone understood immediately—no shots, no noise, just blades.
I took the lead, sliding my katana from its sheath. The others followed, gripping their combat knives.
Ryan covered the rear.
We eased the door open.
No immediate reaction from the dead—a good sign.
Controlled movements, steady breathing, precise steps.
We moved between the overturned tables, past trays of rotting food.
The sticky floor creaked faintly under our boots, but the zombies didn't seem to notice.
The first one stood in our path.
A former Russian soldier, uniform torn, neck twisted at an unnatural angle.
The katana sliced in a single motion.
His head rolled onto a table, and his body collapsed to the floor without a sound.
We kept moving.
Another obstacle.
Lee stepped up, grabbed a zombie by the chin, and drove his blade into the base of its skull. The body went limp instantly.
We maneuvered around a pile of overturned chairs, avoiding the fallen corpses.
Richard crouched low and slit a creature's throat before it even registered our presence.
We were almost at the exit.
That's when the mistake happened.
From behind the kitchen counter, one of the hiding Russians spotted us.
His eyes met ours.
He was holding a pistol.
The bastard hesitated for half a second.
Then he pulled the trigger.