The world ended with a whimper, not a bang. One day, the news reported strange attacks—people biting each other, violence spreading like wildfire. A week later, the power grid failed. Now, the only law is survival. I never thought I’d be holed up in an abandoned gas station, counting bullets like they were gold. My name’s Jake, and I’ve been on the run since Atlanta fell. The undead don’t sleep, but I barely do either.
Last night, I heard them—moans echoing through the trees. Raven’s Hollow was supposed to be safe, but the dead don’t respect borders. I barricaded the doors, but the glass won’t hold forever. My only ally is Mara, a former paramedic with a sharp tongue and sharper aim. She’s stitching up a wound on my arm—courtesy of a scavenger who thought my supplies were worth killing for.
“We can’t stay here,” she mutters, tying the bandage tight.
I know she’s right. The gas station is a death trap. But outside? The woods are crawling with biters.
We’ve got one shot: an old pickup truck behind the building. If we can siphon enough fuel, we might make it to the military checkpoint at Redfield. Might.
I peer through the cracked window. Shadows lurch between the trees. Too many to fight.
Mara loads her pistol. “On three, we run.”
The engine roars to life. The dead turn toward the sound. We burst through the back door, sprinting as rotting hands claw at us. I slam the truck door just as a biter rams against it, teeth snapping. The wheels spin, kicking up dirt. We’re moving—but the horde follows.
Mara leans out the window, firing. Each shot drops a walker, but more keep coming.
The road ahead is clear… for now.
I grip the wheel. “We make it to Redfield, or we die trying.”
Mara smirks. “Welcome to the apocalypse.”
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