Back in the command center, Adrian stared at the screen. The difference was clear. Earlier before the AC-130, the mass of zombies was too solid for it to be disrupted. Now, it was scattered.

"...Copy, Spectre One," Adrian said. "Return to base."

"Copy. RTB."

Inside the gunship.

"Breaking orbit," the pilot said.

The aircraft leveled out, slowly pulling away from Forbes Park, leaving behind a battlefield that had been completely reshaped.

Below them, the defenders were still fighting, but still wondering who was helping them.

In the ground, the two guards were still firing on the zombies. It was manageable now since the zombies were reduced to smithereens.

"Yow, who do you really think helped us from above? You said it was an AC-130...could it be the Americans?"

"Yes, but there’s no way the Americans would help us willingly in that. I don’t know. Just shoot the zombies and don’t think too much," the second guard replied, firing another controlled burst toward a runner trying to break through the debris.

The first guard didn’t answer.

He just kept pulling the trigger.

The difference was clear.

Before, it was survival.

Now, it was cleanup.

Below them, the streets were filled with bodies. Some still moved, dragging themselves forward, but most of the mass that had threatened to overrun the wall was gone.

"Reloading," the first guard said, swapping magazines.

"Make it quick," the second replied, scanning the street.

Further inside the compound, defenders were pushing forward again, reclaiming ground they had just lost minutes ago.

"Advance! Advance!" someone shouted.

Gunfire continued, but it was no longer desperate, it had rhythm now.

Meanwhile, deeper inside the compound, the Mayor and Jayson moved quickly through the corridor, stepping over broken glass and discarded equipment. The sound of gunfire still echoed around them, but it was different now.

Less intense.

More spaced out.

The Mayor noticed it.

"What the hell was that Jayson?" he asked, glancing back toward the direction of the explosions earlier.

Jayson didn’t slow down.

"That was from above, sir," he said. "Heavy ordnance. Not ours."

The Mayor frowned.

"Above?"

They reached the garage area where the armored LC300 was parked, engine already running, headlights cutting through the dim space.

Two armed men stood beside it, waiting.

Jayson walked straight to the rear door and opened it.

"Sir, we need to move, despite what happened, the zombies are still too many for us to handle."

The Mayor didn’t get in.

He stood there for a second, staring past Jayson, listening to the gunfire outside. It wasn’t the same anymore. It came in bursts. Short. Controlled. Not the panic from earlier.

That alone annoyed him.

"...Too many?" he said slowly, turning his head toward Jayson. "A while ago you were telling me we were about to get overrun."

Jayson didn’t answer right away.

He kept his posture straight.

"We were, sir."

"Then why does it sound like we’re winning now?" the Mayor asked, his tone sharper.

Another burst of gunfire echoed from outside, followed by a shout.

"Clear this side! Push forward!"

The Mayor let out a short scoff.

"That doesn’t sound like losing to me."

Jayson glanced toward the entrance of the garage, then back at him.

"Sir, whoever fired that... they broke the swarm," he said. "But that doesn’t mean we’re safe."

The Mayor walked past him, slow now, not in a hurry anymore. He stepped out just enough to see the compound beyond the garage.

Men were moving again.

Not running.

Not fleeing.

They were advancing.

Clearing.

Taking back ground.

Bodies of the infected were scattered across the streets, piled up where the explosions had hit the hardest. Some still twitched. Most didn’t.

The Mayor observed it for a few seconds.

Then he smiled slightly.

"...So this is what it takes to save this place," he said. "Someone else does the hard work."

Jayson stayed silent.

The Mayor turned back toward him.

"You panicked too early," he added. "You made it sound like we were finished."

"Sir, we were—"

"We weren’t," the Mayor cut him off. "If I say we’re not finished, then we’re not finished."

Jayson clenched his jaw slightly but kept his voice steady.

"Yes, sir."

The Mayor stepped closer to the vehicle but still didn’t get in. Instead, he leaned slightly against the door, looking back toward the eastern side.

"...Find out who did it," he said.

Jayson blinked.

"Sir?"

"Whoever fired those rounds," the Mayor continued. "I want to know who they are."

He tapped the side of the armored door lightly.

"That might be difficult, sir. If it was a gunship, that’s military grade. Not something—"

"I didn’t ask if it was difficult," the Mayor said, his tone dropping. "Besides. I have friends in the military. We can simply ask them to rescue us."

Jayson stayed quiet for a second.

Then he nodded.

"Yes, sir."

The Mayor pushed himself off the door and stepped back into the garage, his pace slow now, controlled. The urgency from earlier was gone. He moved like everything outside was already under him again.

"...Get them on the line," he said. "Any of them. I don’t care who. General, colonel, even a captain if that’s all you can reach."

Jayson followed him, pulling out a radio and a phone at the same time.

"Yes, sir."

The Mayor continued walking, glancing once more toward the open side of the garage where the compound stretched out.

Men were still firing.

But now they were winning.

He could see it.

Small groups of zombies being cut down.

Bodies being dragged aside.

Positions being re-established.

Order coming back.

"...Look at them," the Mayor muttered. "They fall apart the moment pressure drops."

Jayson didn’t answer.

He focused on the phone, trying to get a signal.

"...No network," he said. "Radio might reach something, but it’s not guaranteed."

"Then keep trying," the Mayor replied. "You don’t stop until someone answers."

"Yes, sir."

A man ran into the garage, breathing hard, rifle in hand.

"Sir!" he shouted. "Eastern side is being secured. We’re pushing them back."

The Mayor didn’t even look at him.

"Of course you are," he said. "You should’ve done that from the start."

The man hesitated.

"...Yes, sir."

"Get back out there," the Mayor added. "And don’t come back unless it’s fully cleared."

"Yes, sir!"

The man ran off again.

The Mayor finally turned and sat inside the LC300, resting his arm on the door, pistol still in his hand.

"...Amateurs," he muttered.

Outside, another controlled burst of gunfire echoed, followed by a shout of confirmation.

"Clear!"

Jayson lowered the radio slightly.

"Sir... if that gunship came back, or whoever sent it—"

"They won’t," the Mayor cut him off. "People like that don’t stick around. They hit, they leave. That’s how they operate."

He looked toward the sky again, though there was nothing there now.

"...But they saw this place," he continued. "They saw everything."

Jayson frowned slightly.

"Sir, what do you mean?"

The Mayor smirked faintly.

"I mean we’re not hidden anymore," he said. "And if they were willing to fire like that... they’re not just passing by."

He tapped the side of the door again.

"So we prepare."

"For what, sir?"

"For whoever comes next," the Mayor said.

He leaned back slightly, calm again.

"Double the guards. Lock down all entry points. I want scouts out by sunrise. Anyone within five kilometers, I want to know."

"Yes, sir."