Molotov cocktails were a staple of protest coverage and terrorist attacks.
Easy to make—just a glass bottle, flammable liquid, and a rag.
Common materials.
But devastating when used.
One throw could engulf a target in flames, causing massive burns and eventual death.
That was why Brian had chosen them.
They were ridiculously simple to make.
He shrugged off his backpack and carefully pulled out three bottles.
One was empty.
The other two were half-filled with gasoline, their mouths sealed with duct tape.
Even through the glass, the pungent smell was unmistakable.
He’d had the foresight to move everything else into Sarah’s pack.
Otherwise, all their supplies would reek of fuel.
Sarah wrinkled her nose.
“Ugh.
That’s disgusting.” She pinched her nostrils shut.
“Deal with it.” Brian peeled the tape off the bottles, releasing an even stronger wave of fumes.
He stuffed strips of cloth into the openings.
Then he checked both pistols and the assault rifle, reloaded the magazines, and handed one pistol to Sarah.
“Things are about to get dangerous.
Take this.” She nodded and took the weapon.
Ready now, Brian stepped to the office window and scanned the factory floor.
The place was a graveyard of stacked cars and rows of storage racks.
In the gloom, he could make out a few infected figures shuffling among the debris.
“Stay close.” He grabbed the three bottles, motioned for Sarah to follow, and crept to the door.
He turned the knob with excruciating care.
Creak.
Even with all his caution, the sound cut through the silence like a gunshot.
Brian froze.
He stood perfectly still, listening.
When no infected came rushing, he exhaled and eased the door open.
They hugged the wall, moving as silently as ghosts.
They stopped at an open area near the corner and slipped into the shadows.
“Here.
This is where we do it.” Brian crouched, setting the bottles down.
He handed one to Sarah.
“I’ll use the empty bottle to draw them in.
If there are a lot, wait until they’re grouped together, then we both throw.
Got it?” “Got it.” Sarah took the bottle, then frowned.
“Why didn’t we use that open space we passed back there?
Wouldn’t that have been better?” Brian shook his head, pointing at the rows of wooden pallets and cardboard boxes stacked on the racks.
“If we fought there and those things set the place on fire, we’d be trapped.
No fire extinguisher, no escape.
That’s called making a bad situation worse.” Sarah didn’t fully understand, but she nodded anyway.
“Ready?” Brian glanced over his shoulder at something behind them, then picked up the empty bottle.
He rose slightly, aimed, and hurled it onto the open floor.
CRASH!
The glass shattered, the sound echoing through the cavernous space.
RAAAGH—!
The noise woke every infected in the factory.
Howls erupted from every corner.
Footsteps thundered from all directions as the horde converged on the sound.
Brian’s eyes widened.
Over twenty infected, all swarming together.
But he hesitated.
Something was wrong.
No evolved infected among them.
Where were they?
The infected were starting to scatter.
He couldn’t wait any longer.
He and Sarah lit the rags simultaneously and hurled the bottles.
The Molotovs arced through the air, spinning in a beautiful, deadly spiral.
They smashed into the crowd.
Gasoline sprayed.
The flames caught instantly, turning the cluster into a blazing inferno.
Dozens of infected became living torches.
They thrashed, slapping at the flames in panic.
The fire didn’t hurt them directly—they felt no pain—but it threatened the fungus inside them.
Their bodies knew the danger even if their minds didn’t.
But gasoline fires don’t go out with slapping hands.
Within seconds, the flames had destroyed the fungus from within.
The infected collapsed one by one, their bodies roasting, filling the air with the stench of burnt meat.
A few infected on the edges had escaped the flames.
They ignored their dead comrades and began fanning out, searching for the source of the attack.
Brian wasn’t about to let them scatter.
He stood up, raised his assault rifle, and opened fire.
His aim was terrible, but the sheer volume of bullets tore through the remaining infected in seconds.
At that same moment, two low hisses sounded from behind him.
Two evolved infected lunged from the darkness.
Sarah had been watching the rear.
She raised her pistol and fired at the first one.
Its fungal plating absorbed the first round, but the second bullet punched through its skull.
It dropped.
The second evolved infected was exposed.
Sarah pulled the trigger again.
Click, click.
Empty.
She’d burned through her entire magazine.
The creature saw its opening.
It hissed and charged.
But mid-sprint, its foot caught on something.
It tripped, crashing hard to the concrete.
Sarah dropped the empty pistol and grabbed the knife beside her.
She was ready to fight.
She wasn’t going to let anything get past her.
Then she saw it.
The infected had fallen because of a tripwire.
A thin rope, tied between a wooden crate and a rack leg.
She didn’t hesitate.
She stepped on the creature’s back and drove the knife into its skull.
Done.
Brian turned from the front line and saw the two corpses behind him.
He walked over and patted Sarah’s shoulder.
“You okay?” “Huh?” She snapped out of her daze and looked up at him with wide, admiring eyes.
“When did you set that trap?
How did you know they’d come from behind?” “I didn’t know.” Brian rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed by her attention.
“Just…
covering all the bases.” He reached out and squeezed her cheeks.
“Quit looking at me like that.
Let’s get this place cleaned up.
Stock what we need, rest here tonight, and leave at first light.” She swatted his hands away.
“Fine, fine.” As they set to work dragging bodies out of the factory, something else was happening miles away.
On the southern outskirts of town, a convoy of military trucks had pulled up.
One of them broke away from the formation, heading toward the lakeside house where the other survivors were camped.