Junior found himself alone again, but a determined smile spread across his face. Fueled by the blazing fire of newfound hope igniting within him, he sprinted back to his vehicle at full speed.

The exhaustion had vanished completely. After countless stumbles during a grueling, long, lonely, and torturous journey, he had finally done it. He now knew where the Golden Nation was.

At last, he was going to fulfill that promise.

He tore the map from the wall, tossed it onto the glove compartment, started the engine, switched on the lights, released the handbrake, and just as he looked ahead—

The final obstacle was there.

At the end of the street, a silhouette stood.

It was skeletal, tall, slightly hunched, and wandered aimlessly, its gaze vacant and its feet dragging with each step. Despite the night’s shadows and the distance between them, the vehicle’s headlights illuminated enough for Junior to catch a glimpse of its face—

The face of death itself.

Its jaw was unnaturally large, protruding, with rows of jagged teeth twisted outward. The creature’s mouth hung slightly open, occasionally grinding its teeth with a sound that was equal parts guttural and eerie.

Its skin was a sickly gray, decayed and putrid, with sections revealing muscle fibers beneath. The proportions of its limbs were grotesquely distorted. While its ribcage was broad and its abdomen unnervingly narrow, its elongated arms and legs added to its menacing appearance.

The result was clawed hands instead of fingers, and predator-like feet with enlarged heel bones, granting it unmatched traction and speed when hunting prey.

And then there were its eyes. Lifeless yet deadly, sunken beneath darkened shadows, they seemed like the yawning mouths of twin abysses, staring into the end of time.

Junior’s breath hitched.

He knew this creature. Intimately. It was as if they were old, unwanted friends. Every time he saw it, no matter how much time had passed, the same torrent of fear surged through his chest and electrified his body.

Some zombies were different—uniquely dangerous, uniquely deadly. During his time with his old group, Junior had encountered many of these distinct creatures. They’d even named them.

As one of the first to face the monster standing before him, Junior had been given the honor of naming it.

He had chosen “Reaper.”

Not because of its physical resemblance, though it was fitting. It didn’t carry a scythe, nor did it need one. The name came from something far worse—

Its immortality.

Junior had never seen a Reaper zombie die. Even if its “lethal point” or “black heart” was hit, somehow, it always got back up.

Luckily—if such a word could apply—these creatures weren’t common in the district. The only viable strategy when encountering one was to stay silent and escape.

But not this time.

This time, he had to be faster and strike first. He swallowed hard, his resolve unwavering. Without a second thought, he slammed his foot on the accelerator and released the clutch. The caravan’s rear wheels screeched, and in an instant, it sped forward.

He didn’t shift gears. Everything had to be done in first gear. He needed maximum acceleration in this short stretch. The vehicle surged forward, pinning him against the seat as the engine roared at maximum RPM, unleashing a deafening racket.

The creature halted, twisting its neck toward him. For a moment, its skeletal visage gleamed in the headlights. Its once emotionless, detached, and alienated gaze became instantly consumed by rage.

The monster took the full force of the impact. Its body was hurled down the street, tumbling violently before coming to a halt after countless brutal somersaults. Junior slammed on the brakes, but the caravan had taken severe damage, leaving a new and far more prominent dent on its hood.

Then something happened that he hadn’t anticipated: the engine, strained from the collision and excessive effort, suddenly gave out and died. The lights, fortunately, stayed on.

Were it not for those lights, Junior wouldn’t have noticed the zombie he had just hit charging back at him at a terrifying speed. Propelled by its powerful legs like some unholy predator, it hurtled toward him, hell-bent on revenge.

“Goddamn it—!” He didn’t even have time to finish the curse.

The monster had closed the distance, readying itself for the final strike. It tensed the muscles in its legs and leapt with unnerving agility, claws extended toward its prey.

Junior froze, unsure of what else to do.

In the last desperate heartbeat of a moment, he noticed that the caravan’s door was still ajar. Fueled by raw survival instinct, he abandoned the driver’s seat and dove outside.

His shoulder slammed into the asphalt, and his body tumbled uncontrollably across the ground. As he rolled, he heard the windshield shatter into hundreds of fragments. Pain fueled by adrenaline drove him to his feet, and he broke into a frantic sprint. His rash decision to ram the monster had come with its price, and now he was paying the consequences.

His panicked strides carried him away from the vehicle, ready to abandon it entirely if necessary—until he spotted a group of five other creatures shambling toward him.

Before they could notice him, he darted back toward the rear wheel of the caravan, seeking cover.

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The guttural growls and furious howls of the Reaper filled his ears, a haunting reminder that the monster wouldn’t let him go so easily. The creature burst out of the caravan’s wreckage with terrifying speed, scanning the area near the rear as though it already knew where Junior was hiding.

Luckily, Junior’s survival instincts kicked in, prompting him to slide under the vehicle just in time. And there, lying flat on his back beneath the chassis, he held his breath.

Death itself felt as though it were inches away, brushing against his toes, ready to claim him.

Flattened against the cold ground, Junior began to inch backward, dragging himself with his shoulders in agonizingly slow and silent movements toward the center of the caravan. But as he moved, he heard a faint scraping sound—his holstered weapon bumping against the asphalt.

He tried to reach down and adjust it, but the motion sent a sharp spike of pain through his shoulder, nearly bringing tears to his eyes. The fall had done more damage than he’d realized, leaving his muscles strained and tender.

He exhaled softly, trying to steady his nerves, but the guttural growls of the Reaper reverberated around the vehicle. Junior turned his gaze toward the most terrifying figure—the Reaper itself—easily identifiable by its shrill, gut-wrenching screeches and the rapid, predatory pacing of its feet.

Junior knew he needed to reach the hatch under the caravan to climb back inside. But the distance felt insurmountable. He was pressed against the rear right wheel, his shoulder dangerously close to being exposed.

He had to move.

Twisting his shoulder first, then his hips, he pushed with his leg, lifting his body slightly and inching forward until his knees bumped against the vehicle’s undercarriage.

“Crrriik.”

The sound of his weapon sent a chill through his body. He instinctively held his breath, his eyes darting around to assess the situation. Shadows of feet shuffled above, a sight he would’ve preferred not to see. The Reaper was still circling the vehicle, exhausting every option in its hunt.

Junior seized the fleeting opportunity. Exhaling softly, he began to move again.

“Crik.”

He had never hated his weapon more than in that moment. Every scrape felt unbearably loud, but the noise of the other zombies gathering around the caravan offered him a temporary shield of ambient sound.

But for how long?

Each passing second was a gamble. He knew creatures like the Reaper were unnervingly clever—it wouldn’t leave until it had found its prey.

He pushed his body further toward the hatch.

“Criiik-kik.”

The sound this time was deafening.

“Argh! Aaack!”

His entire being froze.

One of the zombies had heard. Frantically, Junior scanned the cluster of rotting feet, searching for the distinct grayish tone and elongated toes of the Reaper.

But he didn’t see it.

“Did it leave?” he wondered.

He tilted his head back—and froze.

Staring back at him were two black, bottomless eyes, like pits of eternal darkness. Its dead, sinister gaze delivered a clear and undeniable message: No.

“To hell with the pain,” Junior told himself as his body twisted instinctively. His fingers found the rough grip of his Beretta, his shoulder protesting fiercely as he raised the weapon.

Pain meant nothing now. He aimed the gun over his head and fired—once, twice, three times. Then twice more in rapid succession.

Finally, after a moment’s hesitation, he fired a sixth shot, this one more deliberate.

The bullets struck the monster’s face. Several pierced its jaw, shattering teeth. One embedded itself in its skull without fully penetrating, while others ripped through its cheek.

The beast recoiled, its breathing ragged and rapid as it shook its head in a stunned frenzy. Junior didn’t waste the opportunity. He dragged himself the remaining distance to the hatch and shoved it upward.

It didn’t budge.

He braced himself, applying more strength. Something heavy—a corpse—was blocking the way. With a final push, he dislodged it, climbed inside, and shoved the body back down to buy himself precious seconds.

Scrambling toward the driver’s seat, Junior started the engine. The caravan roared to life, and he floored the accelerator, feeling the weight of a corpse crunching beneath the rear wheels.

He swerved, knocking aside the zombies that lunged for him, and sped off toward the highway.

But the danger wasn’t done with him yet.

“Raaaahhhrrr!”

Junior glanced in the rearview mirror, his stomach sinking.

The Reaper clung to the underside of the caravan with one claw, its skeletal body flailing as it tried to climb aboard.

“Come on, you son of a bitch!” Junior growled, grabbing his weapon again.

He fired over his shoulder, one hand on the wheel. The Reaper’s clawed grip faltered briefly, but it didn’t stop.

Junior swerved the caravan violently, jolting the creature back. But it held on.

Frustrated, he jerked the wheel again, harder this time. The Reaper finally lost its grip, tumbling onto the asphalt.

Relief flooded him—until his gaze returned to the road ahead.

Rising ominously from the highway was a grotesque tree, its branches coiled like dark, viscous tendrils around the road. Bodies hung from its trunk, embedded in the bark as if the tree itself had claimed them as trophies.

Junior’s hands tightened on the wheel as his mind raced.

“What the hell is that thing?”

His mentor’s words echoed in his memory:

“Stay away from it, Junior. Whatever it is, it’s not just dangerous—it’s lethal.”

Junior couldn’t stop in time, and the collision was brutal.

The rear of the caravan wobbled violently after the impact, its tilt overwhelming the pull of gravity until it finally tipped over, crashing onto its side.

The Reaper had let go just before the vehicle tumbled. It skidded across the asphalt, twisting uncontrollably before coming to a halt.

But that wasn’t enough to quell its insatiable bloodlust. Its mangled body contorted grotesquely as it regained its balance, steadying itself and setting its sights on the overturned caravan once more.

"So… is it toxic or something?"

"No. It’s a killer."

Junior, meanwhile, struggled to stay conscious. The relentless barrage of impacts from being tossed around inside the caravan had left him battered, bruised, and barely able to think. By the time the vehicle stopped, he found himself almost folded in half, his legs sprawled awkwardly over the kitchen sink.

Directly in front of him was the hatch.

By sheer luck—or perhaps grim fate—the hatch provided him with a clear view of the Reaper as it advanced toward him, its malevolent aura palpable even from a distance.

"Why keep it so close to the community? Can’t we just leave or destroy it?"

The Reaper reached the hatch, baring a row of jagged teeth in what could only be described as a disturbingly sadistic grin. It pushed one clawed foot inside, then its torso, inching forward like a predator savoring the moment before the kill.

Just as it was about to seize him, its body was violently thrown backward.

"Here, it can’t hurt us, boy. It’s only a danger if you get too close. Besides, there’s something else—sometimes, it’s better this way."

Junior couldn’t see what had happened, but he could imagine it vividly. As he lay there, gasping for air, his bruised and battered body screaming in protest, he found comfort in the thought of those countless dark branches crushing and devouring the Reaper.

But he also knew one indisputable truth: if he didn’t regain his strength and escape quickly, he would be next.

His eyelids chose that exact moment to betray him, closing despite his best efforts to keep them open.