K-Day +1555 days | 12th Military Region | Amazon
D-day - 5
2265 hours 

Deserted streets in a warm equatorial night, orange and yellow lamp-posts precariously light the way among abandoned vehicles, spreaded rubbish and flooded streets.

“ONE, TWO, THREE!” The sound of ragged pants and boots impacting the asphalt echoed throughout the night.

A lone man runs through the deserted thin streets, behind him a dark bestial crowd followed in pursuit.

“ONE, TWO, THREE! COME GET ME, YEAH!” The man yelled through his burning lungs. 
A Submachinegun in one hand with the other hand being left free, a boonie hat on his head made his silhouette apparent and easy to find in the foggy warm night.
Behind him the tall dark grotesque creatures followed, their once humanoid shape destroyed and reformed into a myriad of animalistic and bestial shapes, as if deliberately aimed at making a mockery of the human body and inspiring horror upon the ones that were fated to fight those beasts.

Down the street in a crossroads, a Tank and an infantry squad lays patiently in the dark, the mighty steel beast, a Tamoyo II tank with a 90mm gun and an IR spotlight fixed to the turret.

Inside the tank an eerie red-light illuminates the veteran crew, their faces glued to the periscopes and sights, trying their hardest to see outside their domestic bunker.

“You think Henrique is coming? I think his luck has run out.” The Loader, a young half indio,Tiago says, with a concerned sweaty face.

“I’m sure he’s coming, just like yesterday, and the day before” The commander opined, wiping the sweat off his forehead and adjusting the old analogic periscope.

“Here comes the fujao, lock the ambush!” A shushed yet energetic voice came from the Tank’s radio.

“I told you” The commander said, victorious over his comrade’s cynicism.

“In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, Amen.” The crew said together, doing the sign of the cross and kissing their dog-tags in the end.
On the other side of the street, Henrique the runner, also called a fujao, was running for his life while laughing out loud, happy to see friendly silhouettes in the next crossroads, happy to receive the dopamine and adrenaline that comes from these bold maneuvers.
The monsters behind him were many,  if he stopped for even a second he would be overrun, he still had to run to the tank and the soldiers, in another life he could have become a professional athlete.

“ONE, TWO, THREE, SHOOT ME IF I FALL! HAHAHAHA” He said out loud through his ragged pants to alert his comrades and taunt the enemy.

The red eyes and grotesque silhouettes followed him closely, too many, around 50 of them, their heads turned into open maws, their bones turned into blades, their un-life turned into weapons.

“Always so smug” The gunner, Pablo, said, one hand in the gun controls the other in a hand crank in the turret’s wall, to preserve the element of surprise the engine had to be turned off, thanks to it’s old construction the Tank lacked an APU (Auxiliary power unit) so the use of any electronic systems was forfeited in exchange for sound discipline.

Through the periscopes the commander could see the solitary black runner and the crowd of monsters in pursuit.
“LOAD, High Explosive!” He commanded
The sound of a round entering the breech was heard punctuated by the metallic sound of the breech being closed.

“PRONTO!” Tiago the loader exclaimed.

The commander hoists himself up the opened hatch, an old M2 Machine Gun waits for him there.
The commander puts his right hand up in a fist gesture while making eye contact with Henrique. Henrique nods , the commander opens his hand commanding Henrique to the ground.

As soon as Henrique’s athletic body impacts the warm asphalt a sudden torrent of lead, tracer and explosive comes to life, lighting up the night.

The grotesque beasts are turned into red mist one by one, their groans being muted by the staccato of automatic fire, the alarm system of multiple cars in the far side of the street begins blaring, the HE rounds of the Tamoyo creates small craters upon impacting the walls of nearby buildings or the black asphalt, sending fragments into the enemy.

All this while Henrique crawls his way back to the friendly line, below the yellow-green tracers flying over his head, like stars in the midnight sky.
The turret was filled with smoke from the co-axial and main gun. The gunner, Pablo, was cranking the turret as hard as he could, the turret slowly moving stubbornly responding to his commands.

“CEASE FIRE, CEASE FIRE!” The commander exclaimed over the echoes of bold firepower.

The monsters were turned into red mist and broken bodies, the street was turned into a parody of a WW1 no man’s land, in the distance the sound of alarms from stubbornly functioning cars. Despite all these years they still blare their sirens, a great inconvenience if you want to keep yourself hidden.
The soldiers were reloading their rifles, wiping the sweat off their faces.
Henrique quickly stood up and moved to one of the sandbag entrenchments

“Water, Water!” He said through his burning lungs.

While he drank the contents of a canteen the Tank commander gave the order to pack up, the soldiers moved on top of the tank, holding themselves firm to the turret and engine bay.

“Good Job, Henrique” The Tank commander said “Driver, get us out of here” 
The tank engine roared to life, a small dark cloud of smoke left the exhaust.

The tank moved it’s way through the wounded street filled with dark corpses, the men riding on it being thrown around on-top of it on every turn.