Ethan Graves zipped up his hunting pack, checking his gear one last time. The scent of gun oil lingered in the air, mixing with the faint smell of pine from the outdoor supplies stacked in the corner of his small New York City apartment. A bolt-action rifle rested against the wall, its polished wood gleaming under the harsh fluorescent light. Ethan was meticulous; everything had to be in order. He was ready for the thrill of hunting season, the one time of year he could escape the chaos of the city and immerse himself in the tranquility of the wilderness.
As he packed, the television flickered in the background, playing the usual news drivel. He barely registered the words of the anchor as he focused on his gear. The media always found something to panic over—earthquakes, hurricanes, political scandals. But today, something in the air felt different. The buzz in the newsroom had an edge, a sense of urgency that tugged at the corners of his attention.
"Reports are coming in from around the globe," the anchor said, her voice rising slightly. "Multiple countries are experiencing strange sinkholes opening up, and there have been sightings of—"
Ethan paused, glancing at the screen. Images of chaos filled the broadcast: streets littered with debris, people running in terror, and monstrous figures emerging from the shadows of collapsing buildings. He frowned, his instincts kicking in. This wasn't just another news cycle; something catastrophic was unfolding.
"—creatures unlike anything we've seen before. Eyewitnesses describe them as undead, ghoulish, and horrifying. We advise everyone to stay indoors and lock your doors—"
The picture changed to a live feed from Times Square. A massive sinkhole had swallowed an entire block, its jagged edges like the maw of a great beast. From its depths, shadowy forms crawled into the light. Ethan's heart raced as he leaned closer to the screen. They were there—zombies, rotting figures with decayed flesh and hollow eyes, dragging themselves toward the camera. The camera shook as people fled, but there was nowhere to run. Ethan felt an unsettling chill creep up his spine.
"Holy—" he muttered, his voice trailing off as he gripped the edge of the table. One of the creatures lunged at a man, its jaw unhinging wide before tearing his throat out. Blood sprayed across the screen, bright red against the dull gray of the city.
The news anchor's voice cut off in a choked scream. Static.
Outside, sirens wailed, blending into a cacophony of chaos that filled the air. Gunshots echoed in the distance, a staccato rhythm that signaled the unraveling of civilization. Ethan's instincts kicked in, sharpening his focus. He couldn't just sit here.
He rose to his feet, his heart pounding in his chest. The city had always been a hunting ground—an urban jungle filled with danger. But this was different. This was a hunt for survival.
With practiced precision, Ethan grabbed his rifle and slung the bag over his shoulder. He had been preparing for this moment, honing his skills through years of hunting and self-reliance. Now, he would put those skills to the test against the nightmares spilling into his world.
He paused for a moment, scanning his small apartment. It was just a space filled with memories—a couch that had seen too many late-night movies, a kitchen that held the remnants of quick meals. There was nothing left to hold him here. With a final glance, he stepped out the door.
The hallways of his apartment building were eerily silent, a stark contrast to the chaos outside. Ethan moved quickly, descending the stairs two at a time, every instinct screaming at him to keep moving. As he reached the lobby, the heavy front doors stood ajar, swaying slightly as if inviting him into the fray.
He stepped outside into a scene from a nightmare. The streets were filled with debris, overturned cars, and people running in all directions. The once-bustling city had transformed into a war zone. Shouts of terror filled the air, punctuated by the distant sounds of gunfire and the guttural growls of the undead.
Ethan's gaze locked onto a group of terrified civilians huddled together near a street corner. They were screaming as a pair of ghoulish figures staggered toward them, arms outstretched. A sense of detachment washed over him, a familiar emotionlessness that had kept him sane through years of solitude. He didn't feel pity or fear; he felt the instinct to survive.
Raising his rifle, he took aim at the nearest creature, its decayed face twisted in an expression of hunger. He squeezed the trigger, and the shot rang out, echoing through the streets. The bullet struck true, and the creature crumpled to the ground.
The survivors turned to him, eyes wide with a mix of hope and fear. "Help us!" one of them screamed, a woman with wild eyes and a bloodied shirt.
Ethan took a step back, his gaze darting to the other creature, which was now focused on him, snarling and advancing. He fired again, taking it down with a well-placed shot. The street fell silent for a brief moment, the chaos pausing as the body hit the ground.
He didn't have time to process their gratitude. "Run!" he shouted, urgency driving his words. "Get to safety!"
As they fled, Ethan turned to assess his surroundings. The street was filling with more of the undead, a horde pouring out from the shadows. He moved swiftly, searching for a path through the chaos. He had to find a safe place to regroup, a location where he could think.
He darted into an alley, the stench of decay overpowering as he maneuvered through the narrow passage. His heart raced, each beat reminding him of the fragility of life. Just ahead, a door to an old shop stood slightly ajar. Without hesitation, he slipped inside.
The interior was dark and cluttered, remnants of a once-busy retail space now overtaken by dust and shadows. Shelves lay overturned, and merchandise lay strewn across the floor. Ethan quickly scanned the area, looking for anything that could be of use.
He moved deeper into the store, coming across a small arsenal of baseball bats, kitchen knives, and old hunting gear. He grabbed a sturdy bat and a few knives, feeling more equipped to face the nightmare outside. With his rifle slung over his shoulder and the bat in hand, he felt a flicker of resolve.
But the fleeting moment of calm shattered when he heard the sound of shuffling footsteps approaching. The undead were coming, drawn to the noise. Ethan quickly moved toward the back of the store, searching for a way out. He found a door that led to a small storage area. He pushed it open, slipping through just as the first of the creatures staggered into the shop.
The back alley was dimly lit, but he could see a fire escape ladder hanging overhead. Climbing was his best option, so he wasted no time in scaling the rickety metal rungs. His muscles strained as he hoisted himself up, adrenaline surging through him.
Ethan reached the rooftop, breathing heavily as he surveyed the streets below. The chaos had intensified; the undead roamed freely, hunting for any sign of life. He crouched low, staying hidden behind a raised ledge.
From this vantage point, he could see how the city was spiraling into madness. Fires burned in the distance, casting flickering shadows that danced across the rubble. He spotted groups of survivors banding together, but they were quickly overwhelmed as the creatures continued to pour out of the sinkholes.
Suddenly, a shout drew his attention. A group of armed men—militia, perhaps—were trying to fend off a swarm of zombies. They fired their weapons, but the creatures kept coming, relentless and insatiable. Ethan knew that the survivors wouldn't last long against such overwhelming odds.
"Get back!" one of the militia men yelled as he fired his weapon, but his voice was lost in the cacophony of screams and gunfire.
Ethan felt the familiar tug of duty, the urge to intervene, to help. But what could he do against so many? He was one man, and he had no real power—only his skills as a hunter. Yet the thought of standing by while others perished ignited a fire within him.
He took a deep breath, steadied his rifle, and aimed down at the horde. One shot—just one—could change the tide. He focused, blocking out the noise, the chaos, and the fear. With a single pull of the trigger, he took out one of the creatures that had just reached the militia.
The shot rang out, echoing through the chaos. The militia man glanced up, catching sight of Ethan on the rooftop. "Up there! Cover us!" he shouted, firing his weapon in Ethan's direction.
Ethan didn't hesitate. He began picking off the zombies one by one, each shot a small victory in the midst of despair. He could see the fear and determination in the faces of the militia as they fought back, gaining some ground as the undead fell.
But the numbers were against them. For every creature that fell, two more emerged from the shadows. Ethan felt the weight of desperation creeping in. He had to act, to find a way to make a real difference.
With a surge of resolve, he climbed further along the roof, searching for another way down. He spotted