The world felt foreign.
Curtis Manning had lived through hellish operations before. He had seen things that most men could never even fathom. He had been trained to keep his cool, no matter the environment, the mission, or the cost. But nothing in his extensive military experience had prepared him for this—waking up in an empty hospital with no one around, in a world where the dead walked and the living were slowly disappearing.
He had scavenged for supplies in the military outpost outside Macon, Georgia, and was now heading south. The city behind him was nothing more than a graveyard, a place where life had been snuffed out by an invisible enemy. The air felt thick with the scent of rot, the stench of things long gone.
Curtis walked down the dirt road, a bag of MREs slung over his shoulder, his rifle held at the ready. His eyes scanned every shadow, every potential threat. His training had never been more relevant. His instincts were sharp, his mind calculating every move before he made it. The world outside Macon was just as eerie as the one he had left behind.
But this wasn't just some lost mission. This was survival.
The roads were eerily quiet. No cars. No sign of life at all. The occasional abandoned vehicle stood like monuments to a time before, but they were empty. Broken. Useless. Curtis had learned quickly that the key to surviving wasn't just being strong, but being adaptable. He wasn't a stranger to scavenging, but the stakes were higher now. This wasn't a military operation—this was life and death.
Hours passed. The sun was starting to dip low on the horizon, and the air had grown colder. Curtis wasn't sure where he was heading, but he knew he needed shelter for the night. He couldn't afford to be caught out in the open. He needed a place to rest and plan his next move.
He spotted a small, rundown gas station in the distance. It was as good a place as any to take cover for a while.
As he approached the station, his eyes narrowed. The windows were broken, and the building was covered in grime. It looked abandoned, like everything else he had seen. He approached the front door slowly, checking for any signs of life. The world had changed, and people no longer acted like people.
The door creaked as Curtis pushed it open, the scent of stale air and decay hitting his nostrils. The inside was dark, the only light coming from the fading sun outside. A few empty shelves stood against the walls, some overturned, some partially stocked. Curtis moved in, cautious but resolute. His fingers brushed over the shelves, picking up a few cans of beans and bottled water. He didn't bother with the snacks. Food wasn't a luxury anymore. It was fuel for survival.
As he searched the shelves, Curtis's eyes caught something else. A set of keys hung on a hook near the counter. His heart quickened. Maybe there was a vehicle out back, something he could use to get further south. It was a long shot, but he was starting to run out of options.
He moved quickly toward the counter, checking the keys to see if there was any indication of which vehicle they belonged to. His fingers brushed the metal of the keyring, and that's when he heard it.
A soft shuffle. A scrape.
Curtis froze.
His senses went on full alert, and his hand instinctively reached for the handgun at his side. The noise came again, this time louder, more deliberate. A groan.
Not good.
He took a slow, silent step back, moving toward the door he had just entered through. His heart pounded in his chest as he realized the sound was coming from behind the counter. A low, guttural moan echoed through the small station.
It was one of them.
Curtis's training kicked in. The threat was close, and he had no intention of letting it get the drop on him. He quietly dropped to a crouch, moving toward the counter with practiced stealth. He had to get the jump on it before it even knew he was there.
The groan grew louder as he crept closer, his eyes never leaving the area behind the counter. And then, suddenly, it appeared—a walker, a grotesque shell of a person, its face slack and drooling. Its skin was pale and slick with the decay that Curtis had come to associate with these... things. It moved with an unholy, slow grace, its hands reaching for the air as though it could smell the living.
Curtis's breath caught in his throat, but he didn't hesitate. His military training took over. He moved in quickly, his pistol aimed at the back of the walker's head. One clean shot.
The gunshot echoed in the small gas station, the sound too loud in the otherwise silent world. The walker's head exploded in a mess of blood and bone, and it fell to the ground, lifeless once more.
Curtis didn't flinch. He never did. It was just another job to be done. Another thing to survive.
The silence in the gas station was deafening. He holstered his gun, then turned back to the counter, finding the keys to a nearby truck that had been abandoned in the parking lot. It wasn't much, but it would get him further down the road. The road ahead was still unclear, but he had to keep moving.
He grabbed the keys, and before leaving the station, he took one last glance at the body of the walker on the floor. It was strange. In his line of work, he had killed many people—many enemies—but this felt... different. There was no personal vendetta here. Just survival.
Curtis stepped outside and approached the truck. He tried the door, but it was locked. Not a problem. He was used to getting into places he wasn't supposed to be. A quick glance around ensured there were no other threats nearby, and he went to work on the lock. A few minutes later, the door clicked open, and he slid into the driver's seat.
The truck started on the first try. Curtis didn't waste time. He shifted the truck into gear and drove off into the wasteland that was once his country.
As the miles passed, Curtis couldn't help but think back to the world he had left behind. What had happened to it? What had happened to the people he had once known? His mind drifted back to the military. Had the government been able to contain it? Or had they simply abandoned the fight? The silence on the roads spoke volumes. Whatever had happened, it had been a complete and utter collapse.
But it didn't matter. His mission now was simple: survive.
Curtis had no destination in mind. He wasn't sure where he was going or who he might find. But he knew one thing: he wasn't the only one out here. There were other survivors. There had to be. He just had to find them.
As night began to fall, Curtis didn't stop. He couldn't afford to. There was no telling what lurked in the dark now. No more civilians. No more rules.
Just the dead. And those who had the strength to keep fighting.