Weapon System in Zombie Apocalypse-Chapter 159: I Deserved That

Erika crouched motionless for a few more minutes, ears perked, eyes scanning every corner of the shattered skyline. The Warthog had long since vanished behind the smoke, its roaring engines now just a ghost echo across the city. But its devastation remained. Streets that were once crawling with Bloomspawn now lay scorched and silent. Twisted bodies, burned husks, and shattered buildings formed a grotesque battlefield beneath her.

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She adjusted her grip on the rifle and swallowed hard. The gunmetal taste of fear had dulled into something else now—weariness, maybe. Resentment. Survival instinct.

But mostly, exhaustion.

Her knee ached from the run. Her ribs still throbbed from where she'd slammed into a broken table earlier trying to avoid a patrol. She couldn't keep doing this.

The radio on her chest crackled once—softly, as if testing her. She hesitated. Then, with slow fingers, she reached for it and pressed down the mic button.

"Echo-7…" Her voice came out hoarse, cracked. She coughed, cleared her throat, and tried again. "This is Echo-7 to MOA Command… requesting air extraction. I repeat, requesting air extraction. Hostile activity has ceased. Area is quiet. I'm alive… but not for long if I stay out here."

She let go of the mic and waited. Static at first. Then—

"Echo-7, this is MOA Control."

Erika felt her heart skip.

"Erika," the voice continued. Marcus. Calm, steady. "We're receiving your signal. Hold position. Patching through to Supreme Commander."

A beat passed. Then another voice came on.

"…Erika." Thomas.

She didn't respond immediately.

"We've been tracking you. Saw you make it through the blast zone. You held out longer than anyone expected." There was a pause. "I'm approving your extraction. Hang tight. Black Hawk in the air in five."

She should've felt relieved.

Instead, she clicked the mic once for acknowledgment and said nothing else.

The sky above was still dimmed by soot and red haze, but in the distance, a familiar sound began to rise—like thunder cutting through fog. The distinct chop of rotor blades. Fast. Purposeful.

She stood slowly and stepped toward the rooftop's edge. Her legs felt like lead, but she forced them to move. Below, the streets were quiet. No signs of patrols. No movement in the shadows. The Bloom had been pushed back. For now.

The Black Hawk appeared over the eastern skyline moments later, its dark silhouette gliding low over a ruined tower. A green flare burst from its undercarriage as it signaled approach.

She took a deep breath and pulled a flare from her belt. With a flick of her wrist, she struck the cap and raised it high. Bright green smoke spiraled up from her hand as the helicopter drew closer, circling once before hovering above the rooftop.

Wind kicked up debris and ash. The downdraft forced her to squint, one hand shielding her eyes as a crewman lowered the winch line. The soldier wore the gray-green of Overwatch, helmet low, face obscured behind goggles and respirator.

"Hold tight, ma'am!" the crewman shouted over the roar.

She clipped the line to her harness and gave a thumbs-up. The winch engaged, pulling her skyward. As she ascended, the city seemed to fall away beneath her—its ruined streets and pulsing vines, its broken towers and burning smoke. She didn't look down again.

The crew pulled her into the cabin. The door slammed shut, muffling the rotors.

"Vitals look good," the medic said quickly, scanning her with a handheld device. "You're one hell of a survivor."

Erika didn't answer.

She sank into the seat across from the door, rifle resting against her knees. The others on board didn't speak either. The crewman across from her gave a silent nod of respect.

As the Black Hawk banked west toward MOA Complex, she watched the world blur past below. The Bloom was everywhere. Creeping through the city like veins through rot. But for now, the skies belonged to Overwatch.

She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes.

Back at the MOA Complex

Thomas stood beside the helipad, arms crossed, watching the chopper's approach. Marcus stood nearby, headset still on, tracking the aircraft's vitals and onboard feed.

"She made it," Marcus said.

"She always had a chance," Thomas replied quietly.

The Black Hawk touched down with a light thud. Its side doors slid open, and the crew began to disembark.

Erika stepped out last.

Her boots hit the metal pad and stopped.

Helmet still on, rifle still slung over her shoulder.

Thomas stepped forward.

And Erika also stepped forward—and as Thomas was about to greet her, there was a resounding sound that shocked everyone nearby.

SMACK.

"Don't you abandon me out there!"

Erika growled, low and predatory, her voice like gravel as Thomas's cheek stung beneath her palm. His head turned slightly from the force of it, but he didn't flinch. He didn't step back either. He just stood there and took it.

Everyone froze. The ground crew, the medics, even Marcus stopped mid-step near the helipad terminal. No one dared say a word.

Erika's shoulders rose and fell rapidly, her rifle still slung but forgotten, her face flushed not from the heat—but rage.

"You watched me," she hissed. "You watched me through your drones. You heard me. You knew I was still alive."

Thomas didn't respond right away. His expression was hard to read—stoic, but not emotionless. His hand never moved to his cheek. He just looked at her.

"I gave the order based on risk," he finally said. Calm. Controlled. "The perimeter was in danger. You know that. You were trained to understand that sometimes we can't—"

"Bullshit!" she snapped, stepping even closer now, voice cracking. "I wasn't asking for a damn parade, Thomas. I was asking not to die alone."

He opened his mouth again, but Erika didn't let him speak.

"After everything? After I put my trust in you?" Her voice dropped now, quieter, but sharp enough to cut steel. "You couldn't even say my name when Marcus told you I was the last one left."

Thomas lowered his gaze for a second—just a second.

Then he sighed. "You're right."

That stunned her more than another excuse would've.

"I thought if I waited just a little longer, the threat would pass. I gambled on silence, on you staying hidden long enough for us to stabilize the perimeter. But you're right—I should've pulled you sooner."

Erika blinked, breathing still uneven. Her eyes were glassy now, but no tears fell.

"You're the Supreme Commander," she said bitterly. "But you made me feel like I was nothing."

Thomas took one slow step forward. He didn't raise his hands, didn't reach out.

"You're not nothing. I failed you. And I can't undo that." He paused. "But I can make sure it never happens again."

Erika stared at him for a long moment.

Then she shook her head.

"Just… don't talk like I'm some asset in your report." Her voice was lower now. "Don't pretend that night didn't happen."

Thomas hesitated—but then nodded. "I remember. Every second."

Another long silence passed between them before Marcus finally stepped in.

"We should get her to medbay," he said, voice cautious, carefully neutral.

Erika didn't resist when the medic gently tapped her arm, but her eyes never left Thomas as she turned away.

As she walked toward the main entrance, the tension in the air slowly loosened. People returned to work, footsteps echoed again, conversations resumed in hushed tones.

Thomas stood alone near the edge of the helipad, one hand tucked behind his back, the other still by his side.

Marcus returned to his spot beside him.

"Sir?" he asked quietly.

Thomas didn't look away from where Erika had disappeared into the facility.

"I deserved that."