Entire sections of ground had been churned into mud, blood, and burning debris from the nonstop bombardment. Destroyed infected bodies covered the approach roads in layers while smoke drifted across the defensive perimeter thick enough to partially block the floodlights.
And still, the swarm kept advancing.
The infected no longer moved in organized masses anymore. The artillery and airstrikes had shattered them into fragmented waves, but somehow that almost made them worse. Smaller groups flooded through every opening they could find, sprinting through drainage canals, crawling over collapsed vehicles, smashing directly into barricades.
They came from everywhere.
Inside the western trench network, one infantry squad was already on its last ammunition crates.
"Barrel change!" the M240 gunner shouted.
