The next few days felt different. The usually chaotic atmosphere of Jenna's gang was now tinged with a sense of unease. Carl's warnings about other zombie groups lingered in the air like a dark cloud. Jenna, despite her usual spacey demeanor, started to feel the tension.
While walking through an abandoned grocery store, she heard something that stopped her in her tracks: groaning. But it wasn't coming from her gang—it was distant, unfamiliar.
Carl froze beside her, his body tense. "Did you hear that?"
Jenna nodded, wide-eyed. "Are they here for the soup?"
Carl's patience was wearing thin. "Not just the soup, Jenna. The supplies, the territory. They're closing in."
The groaning grew louder, and soon enough, a group of mutated zombies came into view. They were larger, more muscular, and their eyes glowed faintly with a strange light. Jenna's zombie gang started growling, but Carl raised a hand, stopping them from engaging.
"Not yet," Carl said quietly. "We need to figure out what they want."
Jenna, her hands nervously fidgeting with an old can of beans, stared at the approaching zombies. "What if they want everything?"
Carl shot her a look. "That's exactly what we need to avoid."
But the tension in the air was palpable. The new group stopped a few feet away, their leader stepping forward—a towering figure with dark, swirling energy around him. He didn't speak, just glared at Jenna and her group with eyes that seemed to pierce right through them.
Jenna fumbled, her heart racing. "Carl, do we…say hello?"
Carl gave her a deadpan look. "No, Jenna. We don't say hello."