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Chapter 35: The Final Choice
The train rumbled through the scorched remains of Palatka, its wheels screeching against the warped steel of the tracks. Smoke choked the sky, casting everything in a sickly orange glow. Wallace gripped the controls, his knuckles white, sweat pouring down his face.
Vanessa reloaded her rifle with shaking hands. "We can't outrun this."
Wallace's mind raced. The infection, the black tide, the whispers—everything they had fought against—it wasn’t just surviving. It was evolving.
Rhodes pulled himself up from the wreckage, his arm bloody from shrapnel. "Wallace, listen to me. There's only one way to end this."
"We burn it all," Wallace murmured.
Rhodes nodded. "There's a junction ahead. If we derail the train there, we can ignite the bioweapon barrels. A controlled detonation might be enough to wipe out the infection. But..."
Vanessa exhaled sharply. "But we'll be right in the blast zone."
A voice slithered into their ears—soft, layered, inhuman.
"You still think you have a choice?"
Wallace turned. Mercer was still hanging onto the side of the train, her melted flesh shifting, reforming, her hollow black eyes boring into him. Her grin widened as her elongated fingers clawed deeper into the metal hull.
"You're already part of us."
Wallace clenched his teeth. "Not yet."
He grabbed Vanessa’s hand, his grip firm. "You jump when I say. Rhodes, you too. No arguments."
"Wallace—"
"That’s an order!"
The junction loomed ahead, the rusted rails curving toward a collapsed bridge. Wallace shoved the throttle forward, sending the train into a final, desperate acceleration.
"NOW!" he shouted.
Vanessa and Rhodes leapt from the train, rolling across the charred dirt. Wallace lingered for half a second longer, watching Mercer pull herself onto the roof of the train, her limbs contorting in unnatural ways.
"You can’t stop the tide," she whispered.
Wallace gave her one last smirk. "Watch me."
He jumped.
The train hit the junction at full speed. The rails buckled, and the locomotive lifted off the tracks, flipping violently before slamming into the ground. The bioweapon barrels ruptured, spilling their contents into the air.
Then the world exploded.
Chapter 36: The Aftermath
When Wallace opened his eyes, all he saw was smoke. His body ached, his ears rang, but he was alive. Barely.
Vanessa was dragging Rhodes out of the rubble, both of them coughing, bloodied but breathing. The wreckage of the train burned, sending thick plumes of toxic fire into the sky.
And the infection... it was screaming.
The black tide writhed violently, the last remnants of its corrupted mass recoiling as the flames consumed it. The voices that had whispered, that had sung their unholy hymns, were now shrieking in agony. The sky above seemed to ripple, as if reality itself was rejecting the abomination.
Then, as quickly as it had begun—it was over.
The tide collapsed in on itself, vanishing into the scorched earth. The shadows dissipated. The whispers ceased.
Palatka was gone.
Vanessa fell to her knees. "We did it."
Rhodes let out a ragged laugh. "Damn right we did."
Wallace exhaled, looking out at the ruined landscape. "But at what cost?"
Silence settled over them. The town was dead. The infection was gone. But so was everything else.
There were no celebrations. No cheers. Just three survivors standing in the ruins of a nightmare.
"What now?" Vanessa asked.
Wallace stared at the horizon, where the first light of dawn was breaking through the smoke.
"We start over."
Epilogue: The Last Words
Weeks passed. Then months.
The government quarantined what remained of Palatka, sealing it off under the guise of a 'containment failure.' The official story spoke of a chemical spill, a tragic disaster that left the town uninhabitable. The truth was buried under classified reports and redacted files.
Wallace, Vanessa, and Rhodes never spoke about what really happened. Some things were better left forgotten.
But sometimes, on quiet nights, Wallace would hear it—just at the edge of sleep.
A whisper.
A song.
A promise.
"We will return."
And deep in the ruins of Palatka, beneath the ash and decay, something stirred.
Waiting.