"What should we do, sir?" asked the soldier driving the truck, his voice trembling with fear.
"Shut up, I'm still figuring it out," the commanding soldier snapped, his brow furrowed in deep concentration.
In the back of the truck, the civilians huddled together, their faces pale with fright as they listened to the exchange. The soldier's words about a giant zombie lurking nearby sent shivers down their spines, and they feared for their lives.
But then, to their immense relief, the giant zombie began to lumber away from the front of the truck. The commanding soldier let out a sigh of relief, the tension in his shoulders easing as his heart rate slowed.
The commanding soldier let out a relieved sigh, his tense shoulders easing as he addressed the soldiers huddled in the back of the truck. "Is everyone alright?"
"Yes sir," came the chorus of voices from the soldiers in unison.
"Good to hear," the commanding soldier replied before turning to the driver. However, his gaze fell upon a troubling sight. The driver's neck was streaked with blood, the crimson stain seeping into his shirt. Amidst the chaos of evading the zombies, this injury had gone unnoticed. Only now, in this moment of respite, did it become apparent.
"Hey, what's wrong with your neck? You're bleeding," the commanding soldier exclaimed, his concern evident in his voice.
"What do you mean, sir?" The soldier driving glanced over, confusion knitting his brows as he struggled to comprehend the commander's words. His hand absentmindedly reached up to his neck, brushing against a warm, sticky wetness. He looked down, startled, to find a smudge of blood staining his fingers.
"What happened to your neck?" The commanding soldier's voice cut through the air, sharp and demanding.
"Oh, sorry, sir," the soldier driving stammered, his gaze flicking back to the road ahead. "Just a scratch from a scuffle with a zombie. Had me pinned for a moment there."
The commander's eyes narrowed, his expression shifting to one of concern mixed with suspicion. Without a word, he retrieved his pistol from his pocket, the metallic click of the trigger echoing in the tense silence that enveloped the truck's cabin.
"Huh, no sir, I ain't one of them, please believe me, say, I ain't one of them, I was just a little scrap on my neck, nothing more, sir," shouted the soldier driving the truck, fear hinted in his voice.
The commander soldier turned to look forward and saw the giant zombie starting to walk towards them again. Their voices had attracted it once more. But the commanding soldier knew they didn't make that loud noise. Then he turned towards the soldier driving and looked at his neck. Wait, it couldn't be. Could it be that the giant zombie can smell blood?
The Giant zombie started walking towards the direction of the soldier driving the car, which made it clear that the zombie was being attracted to him due to the blood dripping from his neck.
"So I was the one that attracted the zombies to us, I was the one that is putting everyone in danger," the soldier driving the truck said in his mind.
"Sir, I am sorry, I didn't know my action would put everyone in danger, I will make it up to you, sir," said the soldier driving the truck.
"What did you mean by that?" said the commanding soldier, confused at what he had meant by that.
Then the soldier driving ran out of the driver's front seat and took off the trigger of the grenade he had held in his hands. He ran further away from the giant zombie while screaming out loud to attract his attention. He made sure he ran to the end of the underground road before he was caught by the giant zombie. He dropped the grenades he had in his hands and smiled, saying, "farewell." Then a big explosion happened.
The commanding soldier felt pity on himself because he was about to execute a soldier that could sacrifice himself for the wellbeing of everyone. He could only say a few words while tears dripped from his eyes, "I am so sorry for almost trying to kill you."
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"What the hell, isn't that where the truck is headed? We better hurry it up before it's too late," said soldier 1, his boots pounding against the pavement as he raced toward the truck, with Daniel and his friends in tow.
Their progress came to an abrupt halt as they turned onto a street teeming with zombies, too many for them to handle alone.
"Let's find another way; there are too many for us to handle alone," Daniel suggested.
They veered in another direction, only to find themselves still surrounded by the undead.
"Damn it, the zombies are everywhere we turn! How are we supposed to reach the truck now?" Soldier 1's frustration was palpable.
"I get it, you want to reunite with your squadron, but the problem is, no matter where we go, we're always outnumbered," the old man said, his face grave with concern.
"Shouldn't we at least try to find a place with fewer zombies, or maybe try to break through?" Daniel suggested, his voice tinged with desperation.
"What the hell, are you crazy or something? We've only got two guns and a flamethrower! That's a death wish waiting to happen. We'll end up as zombie chow if we try that," the old man retorted, his tone laced with frustration.
The old man let out a heavy sigh as he surveyed the desolate surroundings. Spotting a lone drink vending machine nearby, he trudged towards it with determined steps. With a swift kick, the machine rattled, causing several cans to tumble down into the dispenser. Scooping them up, he made his way back to where Daniel and the others were gathered, his weathered face set in a determined expression.
"Drinks, anyone?" he offered, holding out the cans. "Might as well make the best of this situation since we won't be able to move for a while."