A bitter wind howled through the ruins, weaving through the twisted steel and broken concrete like a ghost of the past. The sky hung heavy, the color of dying embers, casting long shadows over the bridge ahead. It stretched before them, a skeleton of rusted beams and shattered asphalt, barely clinging together over the abyss.
Elisa stood at the edge, scanning the treacherous path. The bridge wasn't just broken—it was dying, much like the world around it. Chunks of concrete had collapsed into the depths below, leaving jagged holes in their path. Some sections were held together only by rusted rebar, others slanted at unnatural angles, as if one strong gust of wind would send them crumbling.
Far below, through the gaps, they moved.
The undead. Crawling, shifting, their bodies tangled in the wreckage. Hundreds, maybe thousands. If they fell, there would be no getting out.
Elisa tightened her grip on her rifle. "This is our only way forward. We move carefully. One at a time."
No one argued.
The survivors stepped onto the bridge, moving in single file, balancing over fractured concrete and twisted rebar. Every step was a risk. The bridge groaned beneath them, the sound deep and ominous, like a wounded beast warning them to turn back.
Halfway across, Evelyn's foot slipped. She gasped, arms flailing—Elisa grabbed her. Their eyes met for a heartbeat, fear flashing between them.
"Got you," Elisa whispered.
Evelyn nodded quickly, her breath unsteady. Then they kept moving.
Then came the sound.
A low, guttural howl.
It came from behind.
Elisa's blood ran cold. Slowly, she turned her head.
Through the dust and fog, they were coming.
From the far end of the bridge, shadows shifted. Figures emerged from the wreckage, shambling forward—not just shambling.
Moving. Fast.
A cold dread settled in Elisa's stomach.
Then—another sound.
A deep, metallic snap.
The bridge shuddered violently.
A piece of rusted steel broke away, tumbling into the abyss below.
The bridge was failing.
Elisa spun toward the others. "Run! Now!"
The survivors sprinted forward, their careful steps forgotten. The bridge trembled beneath their weight, cracked asphalt breaking apart with every desperate footstep.
And behind them—the undead surged forward.
Gunfire echoed across the canyon. Every bullet counted. Elisa fired, aiming for heads, for legs—anything to slow them down. But for every one that fell, more appeared, crawling over the bodies of the fallen, clawing their way forward.
Marcus cursed. "Too many! They're cutting us off!"
Elisa glanced back—he was right. The undead were flooding onto the bridge, pushing closer with every second.
The metal beneath them shifted.
Evelyn stumbled. A section of the bridge collapsed, taking a wave of undead down with it. But more kept coming.
Marcus slowed.
His breath came out steady, his hands tightening around his last grenade.
Elisa's eyes widened. "Marcus—"
He turned to her, face calm.
"Keep moving."
"No!" Evelyn's voice cracked. "We can make it—"
Marcus smiled at her. "Someone has to do it."
Dr. Castellanos grabbed his arm, desperate. "Marcus, no—"
He pulled away, gaze steady. "It's for the survival of the human race."
Elisa clenched her fists. "You don't have to do this—"
"I leave it up to you." He exhaled. "Don't let my sacrifice go to waste."
Then he turned, stepping toward the oncoming horde.
The undead lunged at him.
He raised his rifle, firing one last time.
His voice carried over the wind.
"Live. Survive. Remember me."
A metallic clink as he pulled the grenade pin.
Then fire.
The explosion roared across the bridge, a blinding flash of light. The shockwave sent bodies flying—undead and metal alike.
Elisa barely dragged Evelyn across the last few feet before the final collapse.
Silence followed.
The others stood, gasping for breath. Dr. Castellanos wiped at her eyes, but said nothing. Evelyn trembled, staring at the smoking wreckage.
Elisa turned back, staring at what remained.
Nothing. No body. No grave. Only fire and falling dust.
Slowly, they dug a small hole in the dirt near a rusted sign. In it, they placed Marcus' rifle, his dog tags. A marker for the dead.
Dr. Castellanos whispered, "How many more?"
Elisa swallowed hard. "As many as it takes."
They had to keep moving.
But before she turned, her eyes flicked upward.
She had been doing this a lot lately. Looking up, searching for something—someone.
A shadow. A figure.
She had seen it before. Was it real? A hallucination? A ghost watching from above?
But tonight—nothing.
She exhaled, pushing the thought away.
And above, hidden within the sky, the Traveler watched.
No sorrow. No amusement.
Just watching.
Another world. Another story.
He had seen it before. He would see it again.
And so, the survivors moved on.