Stalker stood there, gun in hand, facing his zombified wife. Her limping gait and growls echoed a haunting symphony in the desolation around them. His hands trembled as he aimed the gun, tears streaming down his face, each drop an emblem of his despair.
In that vulnerable moment, he felt the weight of his failure, the bitter taste of not finding them in time. His finger hovered over the trigger, the quivering gun a reflection of his turmoil. "I'm sorry," he whispered, voice choked with grief.
Cob intervened, restraining Stalker and wresting the gun from his trembling grip. "You shouldn't be the one to do this," Cob asserted, turning the gun towards Stalker's wife.
Stalker averted his gaze. "Do it," he urged, a mixture of pain and resignation in his voice. Cob nodded, approaching her with a heavy heart.
The gun pressed against her temple, "I'm sorry." Cob uttered a final apology before pulling the trigger. The world was momentarily engulfed in the sound of the gunshot, and Stalker's wife crumpled to the ground, her lifeless form leaking black blood.
Stalker winced at the noise, his eyes returning to her motionless body. Yet, amidst the tragedy, a yellow piece of paper protruded from her pocket. He knelt, picked it up, and unfolded the note.
Andrew approached, a frown etched on his face. "Brother," he spoke softly. Stalker opened the note and read the heartbreaking words, each line a testament to the tragedy that unfolded.
"Stalker?" Jackal's concerned voice reached him. The weight of the revelation pressed on Stalker, the world around him blurring as voices turned into distant echoes.
He unexpectedly pulled out his knife and swiftly headed into the hotel. "Stalker!" Jackal followed, and Andrew, aware of the urgency, instructed, "I'll find him, you stay with the others."
Stalker navigated the halls, a surreal scene of death and decay. Approaching the collapsed stairs, he stared at the broken passage before redirecting his attention to a window. The butt of his blade shattered the glass, and he sheathed the weapon.
Perching on the window's edge, he scanned the surroundings—biters roaming the halls, some ascending the stairwell. All of them, once his people. Determined, Stalker broke into the third-floor window.
Andrew, pursuing him, pleaded, "Brother, calm down!" Unperturbed, Stalker ignored the plea, scaling the window to the third floor. "Stalker!" Andrew called, a less proficient climber.
Stalker entered, finding a gruesome sight. Biters feasting on survivors, one still alive despite the brutality. Unleashing a violent fury, Stalker eliminated the threat, black blood staining the walls.
Another biter approached, Stalker's blade swiftly silencing its growls. A survivor, barely recognizable, was twitching on the floor, entrails sprawled across the carpet. Stalker ended the man's suffering with a decisive stab.
Stalker's whistle pierced the tense air, drawing the attention of the biters. His eyes focused on a hand axe near a fallen survivor. Sheathing his knife, he picked up the axe with a determined grip.
Approaching the group, Stalker swung the axe, each blow accompanied by a grunt and the macabre symphony of black blood splattering. Bodies fell, and the relentless assault continued.
A biter dared to seize Stalker's arm, but he countered, grabbing it by the shirt while dispatching another assailant. The swing of his weapon sprayed brain matter and black blood across the walls.
Pinning the gripped biter, Stalker delivered a series of ruthless blows, creating a grisly tableau. Dropping the lifeless form, he swung again, the axe penetrating the side of a biter's head.
Meanwhile, Rudy stood by the door. "Everyone, get into this corner and do not make any noise," he instructed, earning quick compliance from the children.
Rudy, ever resourceful, peeked outside. The biters roamed, oblivious. Pulling out his knife, he emitted a soft click with his tongue, luring a lone biter. Swift and silent, Rudy dispatched the creature through a crack in the door, dragging it inside.
After a pause, Rudy turned back to the group of biters, gently closing the door. Employing a blanket from the bed, he shrouded the biter's face, tying it securely.
"We're going to use the monsters as camouflage," Rudy explained. Some kids voiced their disgust. "I know. That's why we are going to use these sheets." He rushed to the closet, collecting spare sheets and fashioning makeshift disguises with holes for heads and arms.
"What's next, sir?" one kid inquired. "Don't look," Rudy cautioned, clenching his knife and swiftly plunging it into the biter's stomach.
Half an hour passed, the room filled with tension. Rudy smeared the biter's innards over himself until he deemed it enough.
He eyed the kids. "Do we all smell like them?" Their nods affirmed. "Great. Now, do not make a noise. We have to be really quiet." With a reassuring smile, Rudy clenched his knife, the door opening slowly.
Andrew ascended the windowsill, a risky venture into the unknown, his eyes fixed on the third floor. The gritty surface beneath his fingers offered little reassurance as he moved upward, praying he wouldn't plummet onto the harsh pavement below.
Climbing with precision, Andrew reached the fourth floor windowsill, casting a quick glance at Stalker fiercely battling through the relentless biters. The chaotic scene unfolded like a grim dance of survival.
Entering the building, Andrew swiftly drew his blade, an extension of his determination. A lone biter, drawn to his presence, limped forward. In a fluid motion, Andrew swung his blade with practiced precision, severing the threat before it could advance further.