The Molotov cocktail is a weapon often seen in TV news reports on protests, riots, and terrorist attacks. It's incredibly easy to make, requiring only common household items: a glass container, flammable liquid, and something to ignite it. Its destructive power is significant.
Once thrown, it can instantly set a target ablaze, causing severe burns and often death. This is precisely why Brian chose it—it's just too simple to make.
He unslung his backpack and carefully took out three bottles, placing them on the ground. One was empty, while the other two were half-filled with gasoline. The smell of gasoline was unmistakable, even through the tape sealing the bottle mouths.
Thankfully, Brian had transferred everything else from his backpack to Sarah's before starting this project; otherwise, everything would reek of gasoline.
"Ugh, that smell is terrible," Sarah complained, wrinkling her nose and pinching it shut.
"Just bear with it," Brian replied, tearing off the tape from the bottle mouths. The pungent fumes made him wince, too. He quickly grabbed some rags from his bag and stuffed them into the bottle necks.
After checking the two handguns and the assault rifle, he reloaded the magazines and handed one of the pistols to Sarah. "Things might get dangerous. Take this."
"Okay!" Sarah nodded and took the gun.
With everything ready, Brian stood up and peered outside through the office window. The warehouse was eerily quiet, filled with stacked junked cars and neatly arranged shelves. He could faintly see a few infected figures in the darkness, but couldn't get a clear look.
"Follow me," he whispered, grabbing the three bottles and motioning for Sarah to follow. He approached the office door and twisted the handle as gently as he could.
Creak...
Even with utmost care, the door's creak echoed loudly in the silent warehouse. Brian froze, holding his breath, and listened intently. When he was sure the infected hadn't noticed, he slowly pushed the door open.
They crept along the edge of the warehouse, making as little noise as possible, until they reached a spacious corner. They hid in the shadows.
"Let's take them out here," Brian said, squatting down and handing Sarah one of the bottles. "I'll use this empty bottle to lure the infected. If there are many, we'll throw these when they gather, okay?"
"Got it!" Sarah replied, taking the bottle. She then asked, puzzled, "We passed an open space earlier. Why not use that?"
"That wouldn't work," Brian explained, pointing to the shelves filled with cardboard boxes and wood in the middle of the warehouse. "If we start a fire there and it spreads to the shelves, we'd be trapped without a way to put it out."
"Oh..." Sarah nodded, understanding the logic.
"Let's do this," Brian said, glancing back and picking up the empty bottle. He stood up, aimed, and threw it with all his might toward the open space.
Crash!
The bottle shattered on impact, the sound piercing the silence.
Roar!
The noise instantly roused all the infected in the warehouse. Chilling roars erupted from every corner, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps converging on the source of the noise.
Brian watched in astonishment as over twenty infected gathered in the open space. He hesitated, noticing there were no evolved infected among them. But as the infected were about to scatter, he had no choice but to act. He and Sarah lit the rags on the bottles and hurled them at the group.
The bottles spun through the air, tracing a brilliant arc before smashing into the infected. Shattered glass sprayed gasoline, which ignited into a small inferno, engulfing the infected in flames.
The infected, though fearless of fire, tried to extinguish the flames that threatened the fungus within them. But a gasoline fire wasn't so easily put out. Within seconds, the intense heat destroyed the fungus, and the infected collapsed, their bodies burning and emitting a foul, charred odor.
The remaining unburnt infected, realizing there was prey nearby, prepared to scatter and search. But Brian, determined to keep them together, stood up and unleashed a barrage of bullets from his assault rifle. Despite his poor aim, the sheer volume of bullets quickly dispatched the remaining infected.
At that moment, as Brian was firing, two evolved infected lunged from the darkness behind him. Sarah, ever vigilant, fired at the first one. Though its fungal growth deflected the initial bullet, continuous shots eventually penetrated its skull.
As it fell, the second evolved infected revealed itself. Sarah tried to shoot again, but her pistol clicked empty.
The evolved infected seized the opportunity, lunging forward. But just as it was about to reach its prey, it tripped and fell flat on the ground.
Sarah, realizing her pistol was empty, discarded it and grabbed her dagger, ready to fight the evolved infected. She knew she was outmatched, but she had to protect Brian's back.
To her surprise, the evolved infected had tripped over a cleverly set trap. A thin rope, tied between a wooden crate and the shelf's leg, had caused it to fall. Sarah quickly stepped on its back and drove her dagger into its skull, effortlessly killing it.
She then looked at the trap, momentarily stunned. A thin rope was tied between a wooden crate and the leg of a shelf, forming a perfect tripwire.
Meanwhile, Brian, having taken out the remaining infected, holstered his assault rifle and turned around. He saw the two infected on the ground and Sarah staring at the rope. He walked over and patted her shoulder.
"You okay?"
"Huh?"
Sarah snapped out of her daze, turned to Brian, and said with a hint of admiration, "When did you set that trap? How did you know they'd come from behind?"
"Well... it wasn't exactly knowing. Just being prepared," Brian replied, feeling a bit awkward under her gaze. He scratched his head and said, "Alright, stop looking at me like that. It's getting late. Let's clean up here, get everything ready, and rest for the night. We'll leave early tomorrow."
"Fine, I get it," Sarah pouted, swatting away his hands and following him to clean up the infected bodies.
As they busied themselves clearing the warehouse, on the southern outskirts of the town, a fleet of trucks appeared. One truck, seemingly sensing something, broke away from the convoy and headed toward the lakeside cottage.