hospitals flooded with the sick. Many complained of intense headaches. By mid-morning, thousands were dead. By noon, nearly two thirds of them had come back to life.
At first, it had appeared as though some kind of brain infection had taken hold—driving the infected into a horrible, animal-like rage. But when they began ignoring physical injuries like being struck by cars and being shot by police, suspicions were aroused this was something more.
Wor se, not all the infected had sought medical treatment. Many had stayed home, or even tried to go about their daily business. They collapsed where they were, then rose up and attacked those around them. Others hid inside, out of the light of day.
Then the f irst night came.
The scope of the infection was fully realized then, as thousands of infected poured into the streets, forming murderous mobs that attacked citizens wherever they could find them. The police were quickly outnumbered. Bodies were everywhere. The National Guard was mobilized.
By morning, the infected retreated, leaving behind tens of thousands of bodies. By noon of the second day, many of those bodies rose up. As did countless other infected —somehow exposed to whatever plague had descended on St Louis. Smaller outbreaks flared up all around the Midwest—particularly in Chicago.
The National Guard began patrolling the streets of St Louis, assisting in the clean up, and searching for more infected. The State Police began closing down the highways into and out of the region. Media was everywhere, trying to figure out what was going on.
When the Guard and police began going house to house, they discovered the infected were adverse to daylight. It didn't stop them, but they seemed to dislike it —not enough to hold back from attacking those that came close, though. Casualties continued to climb.
It was then that Colonel Kenslir's unit was tasked with investigating the situation.
Detachment 1039 had existed for over five decades—responding to supernatural and paranormal threats to America at home and abroad. The detachment based in Miami had many specialists, including psychics who could leave their bodies and scout remote locations from the astral plane.
The Ghost Walkers had at first been doubtful mag ic was at play. But when night fell they were able to detect the faint sign of magic hanging in the very air of St Louis. The outbreak was of supernatural origins.
Colonel Kenslir wished they had caught it sooner. Now on the evening of the sixth day of th e outbreak, it seemed as though St Louis was lost. Chicago wasn't much further behind.
Aerial surveillance had shown that the infected who were killed seemed to decompose quickly —growing a kind of mold on their bodies that blossomed into fungal growths. Growths that released spores into the air. And with the infections showing up all across the Midwest, many cities and towns were quickly becoming overrun. The government had no idea how to stop this fungal plague. They didn't even understand it.
That left C olonel Kenslir scurrying around in the dark, searching for clues.
The streets of St. Louis were empty now. The business district downtown was mostly abandoned. Citizens had either fled the city or were hunkered down in isolation. Or infected. Here and the re, green-yellow masses of rotted, fungal-covered bodies lay out in the open, covered in the strange, mushroom-like growths that released spores every few hours.
The Colonel crept along silently, his UMP pressed tightly to his shoulder, ready to fire.
Reaching the end of an alley, Kenslir peeked around the corner, checking both directions. The street was empty and damp. Then a flash of light played across the road in a nearby intersection, and he heard the sound of an approaching vehicle.
Dashing out fro m the alley, Kenslir crossed the street, slinging his rifle around behind him as he ran. When he reached the other side of the street, he vaulted into the air—his leap carrying him up
At first, it had appeared as though some kind of brain infection had taken hold—driving the infected into a horrible, animal-like rage. But when they began ignoring physical injuries like being struck by cars and being shot by police, suspicions were aroused this was something more.
Wor se, not all the infected had sought medical treatment. Many had stayed home, or even tried to go about their daily business. They collapsed where they were, then rose up and attacked those around them. Others hid inside, out of the light of day.
Then the f irst night came.
The scope of the infection was fully realized then, as thousands of infected poured into the streets, forming murderous mobs that attacked citizens wherever they could find them. The police were quickly outnumbered. Bodies were everywhere. The National Guard was mobilized.
By morning, the infected retreated, leaving behind tens of thousands of bodies. By noon of the second day, many of those bodies rose up. As did countless other infected —somehow exposed to whatever plague had descended on St Louis. Smaller outbreaks flared up all around the Midwest—particularly in Chicago.
The National Guard began patrolling the streets of St Louis, assisting in the clean up, and searching for more infected. The State Police began closing down the highways into and out of the region. Media was everywhere, trying to figure out what was going on.
When the Guard and police began going house to house, they discovered the infected were adverse to daylight. It didn't stop them, but they seemed to dislike it —not enough to hold back from attacking those that came close, though. Casualties continued to climb.
It was then that Colonel Kenslir's unit was tasked with investigating the situation.
Detachment 1039 had existed for over five decades—responding to supernatural and paranormal threats to America at home and abroad. The detachment based in Miami had many specialists, including psychics who could leave their bodies and scout remote locations from the astral plane.
The Ghost Walkers had at first been doubtful mag ic was at play. But when night fell they were able to detect the faint sign of magic hanging in the very air of St Louis. The outbreak was of supernatural origins.
Colonel Kenslir wished they had caught it sooner. Now on the evening of the sixth day of th e outbreak, it seemed as though St Louis was lost. Chicago wasn't much further behind.
Aerial surveillance had shown that the infected who were killed seemed to decompose quickly —growing a kind of mold on their bodies that blossomed into fungal growths. Growths that released spores into the air. And with the infections showing up all across the Midwest, many cities and towns were quickly becoming overrun. The government had no idea how to stop this fungal plague. They didn't even understand it.
That left C olonel Kenslir scurrying around in the dark, searching for clues.
The streets of St. Louis were empty now. The business district downtown was mostly abandoned. Citizens had either fled the city or were hunkered down in isolation. Or infected. Here and the re, green-yellow masses of rotted, fungal-covered bodies lay out in the open, covered in the strange, mushroom-like growths that released spores every few hours.
The Colonel crept along silently, his UMP pressed tightly to his shoulder, ready to fire.
Reaching the end of an alley, Kenslir peeked around the corner, checking both directions. The street was empty and damp. Then a flash of light played across the road in a nearby intersection, and he heard the sound of an approaching vehicle.
Dashing out fro m the alley, Kenslir crossed the street, slinging his rifle around behind him as he ran. When he reached the other side of the street, he vaulted into the air—his leap carrying him up
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