Untouched by the Outbreak

It had been three days since the workers began their relentless task of creating a waterway. The biting cold of winter made everything harder, but the workers had no choice. The brutal wind whipped at their faces, and the earth they dug was frozen solid in many places, making even the excavator struggle.

They knew they had to finish before dawn, or they would be left exposed in the cold—an easy prey for the undead.

The base, a distant dome-like structure, seemed so far away, yet it was the only thing keeping them alive. The workers were caught between the freezing wilderness and the rigid control of the government. There was no escape, only survival through obedience.

The squad leader, bundled up in a heavy coat, sat comfortably in a lounge chair near a heater, puffing on his cigarette. He watched the workers toil, his breath visible in the cold air. A smug look crossed his face as he took a sip from his flask. He had no worries—the specimens, genetically enhanced zombies, were on patrol, keeping any regular zombies at bay. None dared to come near.

The leader flicked his cigarette ash to the side. "This winter's got nothing on us," he muttered, watching the workers struggle with the frozen ground. The cold didn't bother him as long as the heater worked and his drink stayed warm.

Nearby, the excavator groaned as it dug into the hard, frozen earth, making slow but steady progress. The workers, shivering and exhausted, glanced anxiously at the horizon. They knew their time was limited. Once the sun set, temperatures would plummet even further, and they would be forced to stop for the day.

The leader smirked, looking over at his men. "Let 'em freeze. We've got the specimens. Nothing's coming close. We're untouchable."

The workers, hearing the leader's words, pushed harder despite their fatigue, knowing that their only chance of survival was to complete the job—before the ice, the zombies, or the government broke them first.

One of the workers, shivering and exhausted, finally snapped under the weight of the cold and the endless labor. His breath came out in ragged puffs as he threw his shovel to the ground, glaring at the squad leader lounging in comfort near the heater.

"Why the hell are we doing this in the middle of winter?!" he shouted, his voice hoarse from days of cold air and frustration. "This is insane! We're freezing out here while you sit and smoke! You're all cowards!" His voice echoed over the frozen ground, catching the attention of the other workers, who nervously glanced at each other but kept their heads down.

The squad leader, lounging in his chair with a smug grin, took one long drag from his cigarette before flicking it aside. Without a word, he stood up, pulled out his sidearm, and calmly walked toward the shouting worker.

The worker stood his ground, his face red with anger and cold, but the fear in his eyes was unmistakable. "You think you're untouchable?" he spat. "We're the ones keeping you alive!"

The leader didn't respond. His eyes were cold, emotionless. He raised his gun, pointing it directly at the man's forehead. The worker's breath hitched, realizing too late that he had crossed a line.

Bang.

The gunshot rang out, silencing everything around them. The other workers froze, staring in shock as the man fell backward into the snow, a small red bloom spreading across the white ground. The wind howled, carrying away the sound of his body hitting the frozen earth.

The squad leader holstered his weapon without so much as a glance at the body. He turned back to the rest of the workers, who stood silent and trembling.

"Anyone else got a problem with winter?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

No one dared to speak. They picked up their tools and continued working, their hands shaking from more than just the cold. The leader walked back to his heater, lighting another cigarette, satisfied.

"That's what I thought," he muttered, sitting back down. The dead man's body was left to freeze where it fell, a grim reminder of what happens to those who defy the government's orders.

The other soldiers looked on as the body of the worker crumpled to the ground, blood staining the white snow. Rather than shock or concern, they exchanged amused glances, grinning at each other.

The other soldiers, watching the scene unfold, exchanged amused glances. They chuckled darkly, clearly unbothered by the sight of the dead worker in the snow. To them, it was just another problem solved.

"One less mouth to feed," one of them sneered, flicking a bit of ash from his cigarette.

"Yeah, more food for us when we get back," another soldier added with a grin, leaning against the side of the APV.

The atmosphere among the soldiers was disturbingly light, as though the cold-blooded murder they had just witnessed was a normal part of their daily routine. They were hardened, cold men who had long since stopped viewing the workers as anything more than expendable labor.

Just then, the squad leader's radio crackled to life. He sighed, reluctantly picking it up and pressing the button.

"Squad Leader here. Go ahead," he said lazily, leaning back in his chair as if he hadn't just killed a man moments before.

"This is Command. Report on the status of the operation. How is the waterway progressing, and what's the performance of the specimens?" a crisp, authoritative voice asked through the static.

The squad leader smirked, glancing at the workers who were toiling away under the cold, digging with their heads down, trying not to attract any more unwanted attention. Then his gaze shifted to the thirteen specimens that were spread around the perimeter, standing tall and intimidating. None of the regular zombies dared come close, as usual.

The specimens, with their genetic enhancements, kept the entire area secured.

"Waterway's coming along," he replied with an arrogant tone. "Using the excavators has sped things up. As for the specimens, they're doing exactly what we expected—keeping the area clear of any undead. No sign of mutants or creepers. We're in control out here."

There was a brief pause on the other end before the voice responded, "Good. Keep up the pace. We need that water supply as soon as possible. And remember, those specimens are valuable assets. Don't let them get damaged."

The squad leader rolled his eyes, though there was a hint of smugness in his expression. "Yeah, yeah. Don't worry. The specimens are fine. We're untouchable out here."

With that, he cut the transmission and tossed the radio aside, standing up to stretch. He looked over at the workers again, still toiling away in the bitter cold, and then back at his men, who were laughing amongst themselves.

"Looks like it's all going according to plan," he said with a smirk, lighting another cigarette.

For the soldiers, it was just another day of asserting their dominance, using fear and force to keep everything running smoothly. They had the power, and they knew it. As long as the specimens were with them, they believed nothing could touch them.

One of the soldiers, irritated by the gaze of a nearby worker, clenched his jaw. He felt a surge of anger rise as the worker dared to look in their direction before returning to his task. The soldier, already bored and agitated, stood up abruptly, glaring at the worker.

"Hey!" he shouted, his voice sharp as a whip. "You want to join your dead friend, huh?"

The worker froze, fear flashing in his eyes, but he kept his head down, continuing to dig as though ignoring the soldier might save him.

But the soldier wasn't having it. He stormed over, pulling his rifle from his shoulder, and pointed it directly at the worker's face. The other workers around him went still, not daring to move.

"I said, do you want to join him?!" the soldier growled, jamming the barrel of the gun closer. He was met with silence.

Without another word, the soldier pulled the trigger and fired a shot near the worker's leg, the bullet hitting the frozen ground with a loud crack. Dirt and snow flew up from the impact, but the worker wasn't harmed—just shaken.

The worker flinched, stumbling backward, terror etched across his face, but he didn't say anything. His chest heaved, and sweat beaded his forehead despite the cold air. The other workers remained silent, knowing better than to intervene.

The soldier smirked, clearly enjoying the power he held over them. "That's what I thought. Now get back to work and keep your eyes off us, or next time, I'll aim better."

He turned, laughing as he slung his rifle back over his shoulder, walking away as if nothing had happened. The other soldiers chuckled as well, clearly entertained by the display of dominance.

The worker, still pale with fear, slowly resumed his digging, his hands shaking slightly. The cold, oppressive atmosphere settled back in, with the soldiers watching from above and the workers trapped in their relentless task.