A couple of days had elapsed since the harrowing attack that had left the survivors reeling. The lobby, once a haven, now bore the scars of the battle – big green garbage bins strategically placed to barricade the majority of the breaches, fending off the relentless biters that prowled outside.
Julie and Marcel stood sentinel at the makeshift barricade, their weapons poised, vigilant for any encroaching threat. The tension in the air was palpable, the duo ready to repel any potential danger.
Within the shelter of one of the rooms, Zach lay unconscious, his body recovering from the trauma. Maddy, with her head resting on the bed's edge, slept nearby, while Jug and Zoe kept a watchful eye on their injured companion.
"It's safe to say he won't turn," Jug remarked quietly, his gaze fixed on Zach. Zoe, adjusting her jacket, nodded in agreement. Jug, eager to learn more about Zoe's past, asked, "You were a cop before all of this, right?" Zoe confirmed, "A very good one," a hint of pride in her grin.
Jug, nursing his healing leg, chuckled. "You've been shot before?" he inquired, and Zoe shook her head. "Not yet."
A groan emanated from the bed, stirring Maddy from her slumber. Zach opened his eyes slowly, groaning in discomfort. Maddy, adopting a tired but comforting tone, reassured him, "Hey, calm, lay down." His eyes drifted to the stump where his hand once was, and his breathing trembled. "One of my worst nightmares just happened." He looked at Maddy.
"I'm sorry. I wish there was more we could've done," Maddy expressed regret. Zach, gazing at his missing hand, responded, "No. I'm glad you guys cut it off. Otherwise, I'd be buried right now," a grateful grin spreading across his face. "Is everyone okay?"
Zoe shook her head, her solemn expression betraying the gravity of their losses. "40 of us are dead, including many of our residents, people we let in, our people," she revealed, a momentary hesitation before she continued, "Lilah and Carter are unaccounted for, and Sarge is dead."
"Oh," Zach muttered, absorbing the somber news. He turned to Maddy, concern etched on his face. "What are the others doing right now?"
Meanwhile, Cody, Aya, Aryton, Ed, Raven, Guts, and Mr. Peterson assembled on the side where others had climbed in and out. Aryton brandished a disc, exclaiming, "This should be entertaining." Aya, exchanging glances with Cody, advised, "Don't swing too much, alright?" Aryton wielded a menacing baseball bat adorned with nails. "I made this bad boy last night."
Guts, holding a black boombox, set the tone for their unusual mission. "Let's get this party started!" he chuckled, placing the boombox nearby. Aryton inserted the disc into the boombox, and as the familiar rock music from the 1970s-1980s resonated.
The haunting growl of a biter echoed through the desolate hallways, drawing the attention of the survivors. As the music played on, more biters staggered towards the open window, lured by the melodic rhythm that had become an unwitting trap. Cody gripped his crowbar tightly, a determined glint in his eyes, while Raven showcased a fluid twirl of his mace, ready for the impending onslaught.
The first biter teetered over the windowsill, its descent abruptly halted as it landed headfirst, a grotesque spectacle of black brain matter splattering across the unforgiving pavement.
A macabre ballet unfolded as subsequent biters followed suit, meeting their demise with each bone-crushing impact.
A biter landed on the grisly pile of fallen comrades, its outstretched hands reaching for Cody. With swift precision, Cody swung his crowbar down, the resounding crack signaling the demise of the approaching threat.
Beside him, Mr. Peterson plunged his knife into a biter's head, extracting it with practiced ease amidst the chaotic descent of the undead.
"Back up!" Raven's urgent command prompted a strategic retreat as the fallen biters began to rise, their ominous growls signaling an impending attack.
Undeterred, Raven lunged forward, his mace a deadly whirlwind as it struck a biter's forehead, leaving a massive dent that spelled its doom. A swift spin and an upward swing dispatched another biter, its jaws crushed under the brutal force.
Guts, muscles tensed, unleashed a powerful punch that sent a biter sprawling to the ground. With a single, authoritative stomp, he ended its existence, the grisly crunch echoing in the air.
Cody, not one to back down, advanced, his crowbar cleaving through the air with precision. Ed, wielding a machete, joined the deadly dance, bringing his weapon down on a fallen biter with a decisive strike.
In a nod of acknowledgement, Cody rotated his crowbar to its sharp end, jabbing it into a biter's eye with grim determination.
Ed, undaunted, confronted two approaching biters, his machete gleaming as it cleaved through the air. Aryton, following his lead, approached the second biter from behind, driving his nail-laden weapon into the top of its head. Black blood oozed from multiple wounds as Aryton swung again.
Under the solemn shade of towering trees, Andy stood amidst three freshly dug graves, a shovel in hand. The weight of recent loss lingered in the air as Bob approached, genuine concern etched across his face. "The bitten dude didn't make it?" Bob's question hung in the quiet air, and Andy's somber nod conveyed the harsh truth. "He lost too much blood and passed from it," Andy replied, the words carrying the weight of the inevitable.
Bob's hand found a place on Andy's shoulder, a gesture of shared grief. "We tried our best. Why don't you get some sleep?" he suggested, offering a small but reassuring smile. Andy accepted the invitation, acknowledging the need for respite in the wake of heartache. Meanwhile, Rose sat on a makeshift bench, her eyes reflecting a mix of concern and anticipation. Turning her attention to Bob, she inquired, "Do you know when they will be back?"
Bob's frown revealed the unsettling truth. "No clue. We haven't heard from them," he admitted, his uncertainty adding another layer of tension to the already fraught atmosphere. Rose let out a sigh, her hopes momentarily dampened. "Oh." In an effort to provide solace, Bob enveloped her in a comforting hug. "It's gonna be okay, alright? They'll come back; they always have."
Unbeknownst to the trio, a mysterious figure, clad in camouflaged armor, silently observed from the concealment of the trees. Binoculars in hand, the observer scrutinized the camp before stowing the device in a pouch. Retrieving a walkie-talkie, the figure spoke into it with a hushed urgency. "There's about 6 adults right now and dozens of kids. What do you want us to do, sir?"
A deep, authoritative voice responded after a brief pause. "Clear them." The command reverberated through the air, triggering a domino effect. Soldiers, concealed in the intricate patterns of camouflage, materialized around the observer, each cocking their guns with a chilling synchronicity. The ominous directive hung in the air, casting an ominous shadow over the unsuspecting camp.