Paris sat in the back of the van, watching as Travis’s house faded into the distance, swallowed by the darkness of the night. Her heart was heavy with pain and anxiety, her mind a storm of questions without answers. It seemed like no matter how hard they fought, there was no escape from the horror that had engulfed their world. She glanced at her brief case; the box still unopened inside. It contained the only clue she had to how all of this had started. Should I open it now? she wondered. What am I waiting for?

She looked around the van. Steve, Jake, and Janice had drifted into an uneasy sleep, their bodies finally succumbing to exhaustion. Eli sat near her, staring out the window in silence. Paris tightened her grip on the brief case strap. She felt a wave of determination wash over her. I have to do something. I have to help them. I have to stop this.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud pop, followed by the van jerking violently to the side. "Travis!" Martha screamed; her voice filled with fear as she grabbed onto her son. Travis gripped the steering wheel, fighting to keep control as the van swerved. Jake, lost in a sudden flash of memory, but snapped back to reality almost instantly, his hand clutching the seat in front of him.

Steve let out a grunt of pain as his leg slammed against the seat. Janice hit her head against the window but managed to stay conscious, gripping Martha’s seat for support. Paris held the seat in front tightly, her heart racing as the van finally skidded to a stop on the side of the road.

“Everyone okay?” Travis asked, his voice tense as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

"Yeah, we’re fine," Eli said, checking on the others. Janice rubbed her head, trying to shake off the dizziness. Martha patted Travis’s arm, her voice trembling. "My Booger saved us."

Steve winced, trying to adjust his leg. "I'm still here. Hurting, but alive." He forced a smile, though the pain was evident in his eyes.

Travis climbed out of the van to inspect the damage. Eli followed close behind, while Jake grabbed a flashlight and scanned the area. Paris stayed in the van for a moment, watching as Travis knelt beside the tire. He cursed under his breath.

“Flat tire,” he muttered. “We can’t patch this up.”

Eli frowned. "Do you have a spare?"

"Yeah, in the trunk," Travis said, opening it and pulling out the tools. Jake stood a few feet away, his flashlight beam dancing across the dark road, but something in his eyes suggested his mind was elsewhere.

As Paris climbed out of the van, her suitcase still strapped across her back, she noticed Jake's distant expression. He seemed lost in thought. "Jake?" she called softly, but he didn’t respond. His gaze was locked on something far away, beyond the darkness.

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"Jake!" she called louder, stepping closer. He blinked and shook his head, finally snapping out of his trance.

"Sorry," he said, his voice hoarse. "I was just... thinking."

"About what?" Paris asked, her eyes scanning the shadows that surrounded them.

"I don’t know," Jake admitted, rubbing his temples. "Something from before. A memory, maybe. But it was gone before I could make sense of it."

Paris opened her mouth to respond when she heard Eli’s voice.

“The spare’s flat too!” Eli called out; frustration thick in his voice. “We’re stuck.”

Before Paris could even process the situation, Jake’s flashlight caught movement in the distance. At first, it was just a shadow, but then it became clear. A figure emerged from the darkness. Then another. And another.

ZedHeads.

Jake’s heart raced as he counted at least a dozen of them, their grotesque forms shuffling towards the van.

“ZedHeads!” Jake shouted; his voice sharp with panic.

Travis banged on the van’s windows. "We got to run!" he yelled, grabbing his mother’s hand. Eli and Jake rushed to help Steve, who grimaced in pain but managed to stand with their support. Paris and Janice stayed close, following Travis as he led them down the road, away from the approaching danger.

The group ran, their breath ragged and hearts pounding. The sound of groaning and shuffling feet echoed in the night behind them.

Up ahead, the outline of a small town appeared. Its streets were empty, the buildings dark and abandoned, just like the rest of the world. They could only hope there was some kind of shelter, some place to hide from the horrors that followed them.

“There!” Travis shouted, pointing to a building at the end of the street. A sign hung above the door: Macon Georgia’s Finest Hunter’s Shop.

The group sprinted towards it, adrenaline fueling their legs as the ZedHeads closed in. They tried the doors, but they were locked. Travis banged on the windows, but there was no response. Eli and Jake searched desperately for something to break the glass, but before they could find anything, a figure appeared from the shadows behind the shop.

A tall, muscular man with a shaved head and a thick mustache stepped forward, a shotgun resting on his shoulder. His eyes were cold, and his voice was even colder.

"You’ve got five seconds to leave," he said, his voice a low growl. "One... two..."

"Wait!" Paris cried, stepping forward. "Please, we need help! They’re coming!"

The man’s expression didn’t change. He continued counting, his finger resting on the trigger. "Three... four..."

"Please!" Martha’s voice cut through the tension, her old hands trembling as she clasped them together in front of her. "My Booger... my son... please, we just need shelter."

For a moment, the man’s hard exterior faltered. His eyes softened, just slightly.

"Alright," he said, lowering the shotgun. "Get in. Quickly."

The group rushed inside; the door slamming shut behind them just as the ZedHeads reached the shop. They pounded against the walls, their grotesque moans filling the air as the man bolted the door.

The group stood in silence, their bodies shaking with exhaustion and fear.

The man turned to face them; his expression unreadable.

"Thank you, sir!" Paris softly expressed their gratitude, her voice trembling.

The man didn’t answer. He simply stared at them, his eyes dark and full of secrets.

And then, in the cold silence of the night, the question hung in the air: Who was this man? Was this place truly safe, or had they just stepped into another nightmare?