Adrian and Rex stood amid the bloodied remains of the infected, the stench of death and gunpowder heavy in the air. Outside, the distant growls of more creatures echoed through the night, a grim reminder that this lull wouldn't last.
"Where are you headed?" Adrian asked, checking his rifle.
Rex adjusted the strap on his ammo bag. "There's a safe zone west of here. Last I checked, there were survivors, but things were getting bad—supplies were low, and tensions were rising."
Adrian frowned. "If it's unstable, why go back?"
"Because staying here is worse." Rex shrugged. "We sit around, we die."
Hard to argue with that.
They scavenged what they could—bottled water, canned food, a box of bullets. Adrian slipped on a bulletproof vest. It wouldn't do much against a bite, but it was better than nothing.
"Let's move," Rex said, pushing open the side door.
The streets were eerily quiet, dimly lit by flickering streetlights. Keeping low, they hugged the walls, moving with careful, measured steps.
After about fifteen minutes, they reached an abandoned highway. Burnt-out cars and scattered debris lined the road, the scent of charred flesh still lingering.
"Hurry," Rex murmured.
They wove through the wreckage, stepping lightly. But as they neared the other side, a guttural groan made Adrian freeze.
Slowly, he turned his head.
An infected slumped against a wrecked police cruiser, its body twitching, lips stained with dried blood. Its eyes were dull, lifeless—until its head suddenly snapped up.
Rex raised his shotgun in a silent warning: Don't move.
Adrian held his breath, gripping his rifle.
Seconds stretched.
Then, the creature convulsed violently. Its mouth tore open, unleashing a bloodcurdling shriek—
The alarm was sounded.
Across the ruins, more low growls answered. One. Two. Ten.
Shapes emerged from the wreckage, crawling, sprinting, converging.
"Run!" Rex barked.
Adrian didn't hesitate.
The dead were awake. The hunt had begun.