Garrison Under Siege: Last Stand Against the Undead Horde!

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The biting wind whipped through the shattered barricades, carrying with it the stench of decay and the guttural groans of the approaching horde. Inside the hastily fortified walls of Fort Haven, Sergeant Major Thorne gripped his rifle, the worn wood a familiar weight in his trembling hands. Rain plastered his thinning hair to his forehead, mirroring the sweat beading there. Around him, the faces of his dwindling squad were a mixture of grim determination and barely concealed terror.

Corporal Eva Rostova, her young face etched with a weariness far beyond her years, adjusted the strap on her flamethrower. 'They're closer, Sarge. I can hear them chewing through the outer defenses.'

Thorne nodded, his gaze fixed on the flickering torchlight beyond the perimeter. Each flicker was a promise of more shuffling feet, more vacant eyes, more insatiable hunger. They had held this position for three days, a tiny island of defiance in a sea of undeath. Supplies were critically low, ammunition even lower. Sleep was a luxury none of them could afford, a fleeting moment of vulnerability to the gnawing dread.

A bloodcurdling shriek ripped through the night, followed by the splintering crash of wood. 'They're through the west gate!' a young private yelled, his voice cracking.

Thorne swore under his breath. 'Rostova, give 'em hell. Davies, Miller, with me!' He didn't need to elaborate. They knew the drill. Every man, every woman, had a role to play in this desperate ballet of survival.

He charged towards the breach, the roar of the flamethrower erupting behind him, a brief inferno in the encroaching darkness. The air filled with the acrid smell of burning flesh, a sound that was both sickening and, perversely, a testament to their fight. But the tide of bodies was relentless. For every one that fell, two more seemed to surge forward, their corrupted forms driven by a primal, unending need. Thorne fired, reloaded, fired again, his movements becoming mechanical, his thoughts a blur of adrenaline and pure, unadulterated will. This was it. The last stand. They would either break the horde, or become another part of its endless, shambling mass.

Garrison Under Siege: Last Stand Against the Undead Horde!

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