Red Dot Protocol: Survival of the Logistics Officer

Chapter 8: Newton's First Law of Bites

The truck rattled to a halt at the edge of the Newton Hawker Centre. The air was thick with the scent of charcoal smoke and late-night humidity.

"Why here?" Gabriel asked, his hand still hovering near his holster as he stepped onto the pavement. "You said we were heading for the bunker."

"Because you need to eat, Gabe," Wei Xian replied, sliding out of the driver’s seat. "You’re running on adrenaline and military-grade stubbornness. Besides, this is the last place in the city that feels like normal."

"Normal?" Gabriel gestured toward the flickering neon lights. "Look at the streets. People are clearing out. The police sirens are getting closer. This isn't a meal, it’s a suicide mission."

"One bowl of fish soup," Wei Xian said, walking toward a near-empty stall. "Then we disappear. Come on."

They sat on plastic stools, the center humming with the rhythmic clatter of metal spoons against bowls. A few tables away, a man in a damp business suit was slumped over his noodles, his shoulders heaving with unnatural, jagged breaths.

"He looks like hell," Gabriel whispered, keeping his eyes on the man.

"Don't stare," Wei Xian warned, picking up his chopsticks. "Eat your soup."

"Wei Xian, look at the way he’s shaking," Gabriel’s voice dropped. "That’s not a heart attack."

The man suddenly stood up. His movements were jerky, disjointed, like a marionette with tangled strings. He turned, and the light hit his face. His eyes were milky, the pupils blown wide until the irises were nothing but slivers.

"Hey, uncle? You okay?" a tourist at the next table asked, reaching out a hand.

The man didn't answer. He lunged.

"Get down!" Wei Xian roared, overturning their table with a sharp kick.

The scene erupted into violence. The man slammed his teeth into the tourist’s neck with a sickening, wet crunch. Screams tore through the hawker center like shrapnel.

"What is that? Is that a weapon?" Gabriel scrambled up, his pistol drawn.

"Don't shoot!" Wei Xian grabbed Gabriel’s wrist. "You’ll cause a stampede, and the police will be on us in seconds. Grab a chair!"

"A chair? Are you insane?"

"It’s not a human anymore, Gabe! It’s an infection vector! If you shoot it, you’ll just spray the blood everywhere!"

The infected man whipped his head around, his jaw hanging at an impossible angle. He pushed off the tourist and scrambled across the floor, his fingernails clicking against the concrete like talons.

"It’s fast," Gabriel said, his voice tight. "Damn it, it’s fast."

Wei Xian swung a heavy plastic chair, the legs connecting with the creature’s temple. It crumpled, but was already struggling to stand again. "It doesn't feel pain, and it doesn't stop! Keep moving toward the service exit!"

"What about the others?" Gabriel gestured to the surrounding tables.

People were fleeing, chairs clattering as the panic spread like wildfire. A second diner, a woman in a floral dress, stood up and began to vomit a dark, viscous fluid.

"There’s no saving them!" Wei Xian shouted, shoving Gabriel toward the narrow alleyway behind the stalls. "Not tonight! We need to get you out before the military lock-down hits!"

"I can’t just walk away from this," Gabriel hissed, his eyes darting to a child sobbing near a pillar.

"Gabe, no!"

But Gabriel was already moving. He vaulted a table, swept the child into his arms, and sprinted toward the perimeter of the center.

"Major, stop!" Wei Xian chased after him, sliding through a puddle of spilled broth.

The creature from the table recovered, its movements feline and predatory. It scrambled up a stall wall and dropped onto Gabriel’s back.

"Get it off me!" Gabriel yelled, stumbling. He pivoted, slamming his back against a stone pillar to crush the creature.

The sound of snapping bone echoed through the stall, but the creature’s teeth sank into Gabriel’s shoulder, tearing through his expensive suit jacket. Gabriel howled, swinging his heavy steel-toed boot into the creature’s chest until it stopped moving.

He slumped against the wall, panting, the child clutching his leg.

"You’re bleeding," Wei Xian said, pulling a medical kit from his belt.

"I'm fine," Gabriel said, his face pale. He looked down at the blood staining his shirt—dark, deep, and rapidly darkening. "It got me, didn't it?"

"We don't know that," Wei Xian grabbed Gabriel’s arm, his eyes scanning for the authorities. "We have to go. Now."

"The police are pulling up to the main gate," Gabriel pointed with his pistol. "We’re trapped."

"Not through the front," Wei Xian dragged him toward a grate near the drainage pipe they had used for the bunker. "If we’re going to survive this, you need to stop acting like a soldier and start acting like a ghost."

"My team is going to think I’m dead," Gabriel muttered, stumbling as the pain in his shoulder flared.

"Your team is going to be fighting these things by sunrise," Wei Xian retorted, prying the grate open with his combat knife. "Get down there. If you turn, I’ll kill you myself. Do you hear me?"

Gabriel looked at Wei Xian, his eyes haunted. "You'd really do it?"

"I’ve already lost everything else, Gabe," Wei Xian replied, his voice flat. "Don't make me add you to the list."

They slid into the darkness of the canal just as the first sirens began to wail—a long, mournful sound that cut through the night. Above them, the hawker center was silent, save for the wet, rhythmic tearing of teeth on bone.

"They're starting to howl," Gabriel whispered, huddled in the damp tunnel.

Wei Xian looked up at the grate, seeing the flash of tactical lights sweeping across the ground above.

"It’s not just the airport," Wei Xian said, his HUD flickering with a thousand new infection alerts. "The whole city is screaming."

He pulled his phone out. A single, final message from the military channel blinked on the screen: SECTOR 7 UNDER LOCKDOWN. TERMINATE ALL CONTACT. NO SURVIVORS.

"Gabe," Wei Xian whispered. "They’re not here to rescue us. They’re here to erase us."