Two complete strangers.

Two survivors searching for salvation.

Two people who not only shared a nickname they hated but unknowingly longed for the same goal: to reach the Golden Nation. Of course, before they could even attempt to achieve it, they first had to survive the night.

"Perfect. We both need help…" Junior repeated, his tone dripping with irony as he cast another glance at the demon tree.

He had traveled a long way with his caravan, and now, seeing his home being torn apart by that aberration of nature filled him with a deep and oppressive sense of helplessness. It was agonizing to watch the chassis bend and twist like an accordion, the wheels dislodge from their axles, and the last shards of glass explode into countless fragments.

"But we can’t keep going this way," continued Junior, his hazel eyes fixed on the young man with the motorcycle. "If we want to get out of this, we have to turn back. Maybe it’s better to leave the city."

"No, no, no! Not a chance!" Sheep interrupted, snapping his head toward the highway behind them. The light from his motorcycle barely pierced the darkness, but it was enough to reveal dozens, maybe hundreds, of silhouettes moving in the shadows.

"The exit is blocked. There are hundreds—hell, thousands—of monsters heading this way."

"What? That’s impossible. It was clear this afternoon…"

"I know what I saw! There’s no time!" Sheep snapped, urgency thick in his voice. "We have to move forward."

Junior’s expression twisted into a sarcastic "Are you kidding me?" as he pointed behind them.

Sheep, so focused on the approaching horde, had failed to notice the horrifying presence of a murderous tree blocking the highway. His face froze in astonishment as he took in the sight: a writhing mass of branches crushing a vehicle with terrifying ferocity.

Though they were far enough to be safe for now, the sinister aura of the tree was undeniable. Its very presence seemed to whisper: "Don’t come closer."

Not something you saw every day.

"What the hell is that?!" Sheep shouted.

"What? Never seen one before?"

"No!" Sheep exclaimed, unable to tear his eyes away from the monstrous tree. A sudden question burst from his lips: "Wait… there are more of these things?"

"Apparently… but it doesn’t matter!" Junior interrupted, snapping him back to the present. "Hey! You need to get us out of here. Listen, if we head back, we’ll find a way out of the city. It’s our best—"

Junior’s voice cut off abruptly as he sensed something approaching at high speed. He raised his weapon and fired.

The shot halted a zombie in its tracks, but it only enraged the creature. Its walk turned into a trot, and then into a furious sprint.

With no time to search for its lethal point, Junior followed the advice of a girl he’d met before. He aimed for the abdomen and fired again. The zombie let out a shrill scream, its knees buckling before it collapsed completely.

The brief moment of relief didn’t last. The surrounding shadows shifted, silhouettes closing in on their position.

"Shit…" Junior muttered.

"Get on!" Sheep yelled, making room on the motorcycle for Junior to climb on. "Now!"

Junior fired six more shots—two at a monster closing in from the right, one to stop the nearest threat on the left, another to slow one coming straight at them, and two more to finish off the left-side attacker, who had risen again. Once the immediate threats were down, he used the brief opening to jump onto the motorcycle.

"Go, go, go!" Junior’s voice was a mix of desperation and command as three more creatures closed in, no more than two steps away. "Now!"

Sheep twisted the throttle, and the rear wheel spun furiously. The friction sent up a cloud of white smoke, enveloping the creatures behind them, and finally, the bike surged forward.

Sheep executed a simple maneuver, veering slightly to avoid the zombies while tracing a wide arc to turn around. They passed dangerously close to the tree, but its branches were too slow to catch them.

A cluster of zombies appeared ahead, forcing them to weave through the group. Sheep managed to avoid contact, while Junior took a shot at one that blocked their path.

They sped through the first available exit, the rear wheel skidding as Sheep sharply maneuvered onto a downward slope leading into the city.

Looking over his shoulder, Junior confirmed Sheep’s warning: the number of monsters pouring in from the south was staggering. They had barely managed to slip past a few isolated groups, but it was clear that if they fell into the clutches of even one, the rest would overwhelm them in seconds.

Fortunately, their nimble and fast motorcycle gave them a crucial advantage. As long as they kept moving, they could eventually find a relatively deserted spot to regroup, reload, and deal with the necessities of zombie survival.

For now, they could focus on steadying their racing hearts and catching their breath. The immediate danger seemed under control.

The worst that could happen had already happened.

Junior, having survived a Reaper zombie and a demon tree, was no stranger to chaos. Even though they were in a city with more infected than any town he’d ever seen, the odds of another unwelcome surprise were slim.

Almost nonexistent.

He exhaled deeply, then asked the rider to find a safe place to stop. There were things they needed to clear up, and it was better to do so in a secure location. Wool Cap agreed to the proposal and began scanning the streets carefully, paying attention to houses, stores, buildings, and fenced-off areas. Junior also joined in the search.

After circling for what felt like an eternity, they finally found a clear spot where they could rest. If only they had known that, within minutes, the city would become one of the most catastrophic and chaotic scenes ever witnessed…

They never would have stopped.

*****

Five people were entrusted with a task that could mark a monumental leap in the ongoing war between humans and the infected. Among them was Samantha Da Silva, the last to arrive at the meeting.

She parked her motorcycle by the fence and joined the group.

"We’ve got two issues," the leader explained as she approached. "The detonation mechanism is broken, and we need to climb up to fix it. And Santini hasn’t responded. That’s a serious concern, and it requires immediate action."

The team leader, Franco Brandon, was a young adult in his late twenties with a military background still evident in his demeanor. His short, slicked-back hair reflected the discipline and dedication instilled during his time in the service.

Franco’s appearance was youthful yet steadfast, his hazel eyes sharp and determined, radiating a focused intensity. While his physique wasn’t overly muscular, it was clear he had honed his agility and endurance—traits he deemed crucial for survival in this new world.

"What’s the status on the watch?" Samantha asked.

Their tactical watches were a marvel of post-apocalyptic technology. Among their many features, they could detect nearby teammates wearing the same device and monitor vital signs such as heart rate and overall health.

"We’ve already checked," Franco replied, absentmindedly tapping his rifle’s stock. The motion seemed to be a subconscious reminder to always be prepared for the worst. "Santini’s heart rate spiked, but his vitals appear stable for now."

"But we don’t know how long that will last," added another man, taller, broader, and more imposing than both Franco and Samantha combined.

That man was Urso Méndez. Rugged and intimidating, with a strong jawline and piercing dark eyes that seemed to scrutinize every corner of their surroundings. His shaved head accentuated the intricate tattoos sprawled across his sun-kissed skin, each one telling a story.

The most recent tattoo, a phoenix rising from the flames, adorned his neck, while the oldest—a roaring tiger—was etched onto his left arm.

Urso idly played with a coin, flipping it into the air and catching it with practiced ease. It was a nervous tic he had developed over the years, a way to channel tension in high-stakes situations.

Despite his imposing exterior, those who knew Urso understood he wasn’t just a walking threat. When he smiled, his face lit up, and a spark of humor and warmth shone through his eyes. That spark, however, dimmed instantly when one of his teammates was in danger.

And right now, that teammate was Iván Santini.

Everyone in the group knew Santini’s task was the riskiest. He had been assigned to install a bomb on a high point of an abandoned factory. But something had gone wrong. He had fallen and was now unable to move.

Franco explained that Santini’s distress signal had been brief before cutting off mid-communication. The urgency was undeniable; they needed to act quickly. That was why Samantha had been summoned to this location instead of continuing her original mission as a long-range support operative.

Samantha listened intently to every word while her eyes scanned the distance.

They stood behind the steel fence marking the perimeter of an old oil factory. The tall, sturdy bars were strong enough to hold back the hundreds of infected that roamed the desolate grounds beyond—a wasteland swallowed by nature’s decay.

But this wasn’t ordinary nature.

The grass and vegetation surrounding the factory were shadowed, their color dulled to a lifeless gray. Blackened branches sprawled outward from a central point: a towering, sinister obelisk.

The obelisk stood over fifty meters tall, resembling the twisted trunk of a malformed tree. Its uneven sides curved upward, converging into a narrow, jagged peak that seemed to pierce the heavens.

The decay radiating from the obelisk had a toxic effect on its surroundings. The grass had become brittle and sharp, the trees stripped of their leaves, their skeletal branches swaying weakly in the air. Even the weeds growing from cracks in the pavement had withered, consumed by the same dark blight.

The air carried a damp, rotting scent that clung to the skin and filled the lungs. It was as if the obelisk’s corruption had seeped into the very soil, spreading its poison through the earth’s veins.

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The structure was a monstrous aberration—a wound in the urban landscape that refused to heal. Its presence defied the laws of nature, and merely gazing upon it was enough to churn one’s stomach.

It was an object of horror, mystery, and curse, all rolled into one. No one knew how the obelisks had come to be or what force had erected them. But one thing was clear—one undeniable truth known by every survivor:

The obelisks had started it all.

The day they sprouted across the planet marked the beginning of the end. Animals, plants, trees, humans—everything was susceptible to infection by these strange pillars.

Still, the obelisks now served mostly as grim reminders of how it all began. They posed no immediate danger, though the infected had an unsettling tendency to gather around them.

In just over a year since their appearance, this would be only the second attempt to destroy one of these obelisks.

But first, they had to rescue Santini.

"What’s the plan?" Samantha asked.

Franco, Samantha, and Urso stood near the first rolling gate granting access to the rear area of the factory.

"I doubt Santini can make it back on his own, so we’ll need the truck to bring him," Franco explained. "You and Urso will handle that—get the truck and bring him back here safely. I’ll focus on fixing the detonator mechanism. All I managed to gather from my conversation with him was that he had to cut the power cables."

"Why did he cut them?" Samantha asked.

"He didn’t answer after that. So I suggest we don’t waste time. He might be in danger."

"Wait, if the issue is just the power, couldn’t I fix it?" Samantha suggested. "I mean, wouldn’t it just involve reconnecting the wires? I’m the fastest among us. I could go directly, fix the problem, and be back here while you two get Iván."

"That’s what I suggested," Urso chimed in, turning toward Franco. "You and I are built for weapons, and Sam here runs like a damn gazelle."

"It’s risky," Franco muttered.

"Nothing’s without risk anymore," Samantha said with conviction. "You know it’s the best call."

"Besides, who’s on sniper duty today?" Urso asked. "The kid?"

"Anna Ocampo, yeah," Franco replied, glancing toward a high vantage point in the distance.

Urso noticed a tiny red dot suddenly dancing over the coin he was flipping between his fingers. His grin widened.

"Phenomenal. Nothing to worry about, then!"

Franco exhaled heavily but eventually relented.

"Fine. Do it as quickly as possible and meet us back at the truck. We’ll wait as long as we can."

Samantha nodded. "Trust me."

*****

Iván Santini had been a man of impeccable appearance. Tall and lean, his slicked-back black hair revealed a broad, untroubled forehead he wore with confidence. His intense blue eyes stood out against his sun-kissed skin, giving him an air of refinement.

Despite his polished exterior, Iván had a playful side. Known for his sharp wit, he was a master of clever humor and beloved by his friends. Before the apocalypse, he had been a successful professional with a passion for philanthropy. He dedicated his time and wealth to global charitable organizations, embodying kindness and generosity.

It was difficult for Franco to reconcile that image with what lay before him now: Iván’s intestines being devoured by a pack of six ravenous zombies.

"Franco, let me do it. I won’t let you down, friend. I need to do this—not just for me or the team, but for all of humanity," Iván’s words echoed in Franco’s mind, spoken just before the mission’s tasks were assigned.

The scene was gruesome, to say the least. No one ever got used to seeing someone they knew in such a wretched, inhuman state. It seemed Iván had fallen from the factory roof and, with the last of his strength, crawled toward safety behind a door.

Unfortunately, what awaited him on the other side was another group of those wretched monsters. Now they tore into him, clawing at his flesh, ripping strips of skin with their teeth, and gnashing ferociously, bones cracking with every bite.

These creatures felt no remorse, no compassion. They were driven purely by an instinct to commit the worst atrocities. Iván’s lifeless gaze would become yet another haunting image that would rob Franco of sleep for nights to come.

As Urso’s gunshots echoed through the air, accompanied by the unholy screams of the infected, Franco rushed to close the door and contacted Samantha through his tactical watch.

Amid the cacophony of gunfire and guttural roars, Franco shouted to be heard: "Iván’s dead! Finish the job and get back to the truck so we can leave!"

He glanced upward at the towering obelisk looming over them.

The structure leaned ominously, pressing against the factory’s highest point. The ground around it was cracked, and the surrounding rubble—remnants of the factory’s destroyed corner—made approaching the obelisk’s base on foot impossible.

The only way to interact with the towering pillar of death was from the factory roof. For this reason, Franco’s team had prepped a route ahead of time.

Two cylindrical towers stood against the building’s southern side, near the corner where the obelisk rested. They had once transported cargo across the factory floor. The towers stretched to the roof, connected by a slightly inclined conveyor belt.

Accessing the towers required climbing a ladder affixed to one side—a route both Samantha and Iván had taken. The path continued across the conveyor belts, which served as makeshift bridges to the factory roof where the obelisk loomed.

Once on the roof, Samantha found the detonator: a small box connected to a series of wires leading to explosives. The obelisk itself was riddled with attached bombs, each ready to fulfill their deadly purpose.

She examined the device carefully, searching for any sign of malfunction. At first glance, everything seemed in order. The design was identical to the training model they had practiced on weeks prior. Every team member had been required to learn the system thoroughly for moments like this.

But something caught her attention: the power cable had been cleanly severed. Samantha frowned, trying to make sense of it.

That was odd. Raising her watch to her mouth, she called Franco.

"Franco, now that I think about it… doesn’t it seem strange that Iván would cut the cable on purpose?"

While waiting for his response, she used a tool to strip the wire ends, exposing the inner threads. She readied some insulating tape to reconnect them.

"Sorry, can’t hear you!" Franco’s voice crackled through the chaos, accompanied by the relentless chatter of his rifle. The battle below seemed to have reached its peak.

She hissed dismissively.

“Nothing… it doesn’t matter. I’m almost done,” she said, more to herself than to him.

She finished the repair much faster than she had anticipated, and the mechanism flickered—a clear sign that power was flowing once more.

“All set!” she said, standing and moving toward the conveyor belt.

With swift steps, she approached the edge of the first tower and placed a foot on its surface. Then, to confirm everything was functioning as expected, she turned back to the panel on the box. If all was working correctly, they should have a little under ten minutes to get away from the blast.

Unfortunately, as her eyes scanned the numerical display, a shadow of terror overtook her expression. The true reason Santini had cut the cables became glaringly obvious.

The countdown showed less than fifty seconds.

“Shit!”

“Great!” Franco’s voice came through the watch. “That should give us enough time to—”

“We have to go!” she shouted, spinning toward the conveyor with urgency. “Now!”

But as if the situation wasn’t dire enough, the moment Samantha set her foot on the conveyor, the structure trembled beneath her. An instant later, everything blurred. Gravity betrayed her balance, and she fell into the void.

*****

After circling aimlessly for some time, Junior and Sheep finally decided to stop at the top of a tunnel. From there, they admired the breathtaking view stretched out before them.

The summit extended on either side, forming a sort of bridge suspended over the city. The wind caressed their faces, offering a much-needed coolness to their sweat-soaked brows.

The first rays of the approaching morning sun began filtering through the buildings. The height wasn’t particularly dramatic, but it still allowed them to enjoy the open view of a long avenue cutting through the city below.

“Well…” Junior said, climbing off to stretch and reload his weapon. “We need to get organized.”

“Yeah…” Sheep agreed, adjusting his cap. “Sorry, with everything going on, I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself. I’m Ren—”

“We’re not safe yet,” Junior cut him off, his lips pressing into a forced smile. “I think it’s better to wait until we’re sure… that we’ll stay safe. You get me?”

“Okay…” Sheep replied, a bit puzzled. “Whatever you say. So, where are you headed?”

“Southeast. I heard there’s a big shelter there. You?”

“North. I’ve also heard of a big shelter. Though they call it a nation for some reason.”

Junior was focused on his hands, his fingers elegantly and fluidly loading bullets into his magazine. But when he heard the word “nation,” his attention shifted sharply to Sheep.

“Did you say nation? Wait…” He thought it through. “Are you looking for the Golden Nation?”

Now it was Sheep’s turn to look surprised.

“Yes! Are you?”

“Yes…!”

Junior remembered his map. He had grabbed it from the caravan before fleeing. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a crumpled, well-worn piece of paper. Unfolding it, he showed it to Sheep.

“And this is…?”

“It’s the actual location of the Golden Nation! We just need to follow this route!”

“But that’s not what they said on the radio.”

“Yeah, yeah… I know. I thought I had to head north too, but then I met this girl. She was from Áurea, I think her name was…”

*****

Samantha clung desperately to the edge of the conveyor belt.

She cursed under her breath as she fought, not just to keep from falling, but also to steady her racing heartbeat.

As her breathing began to stabilize, her strength returned, and she started to climb slowly. Her mind worked frantically to keep panic at bay, but it was an impossible task. The situation was far too critical.

She only had a few seconds before the bombs would detonate.

*****

“Seriously?” Sheep asked, reacting to the whole story. “And how can you be sure that girl was from Áurea?”

“10.”

“Well…” Junior rummaged through his pockets for another item. “I guess this proves it.”

“9.”

Junior showed him a card. It bore a signature, along with the logo and name of the Golden Nation.

“Come on, you don’t think I went to a print shop to make this, do you? Something like this can only come from a secure place,” Junior reasoned, flashing a smile. “A nation.”

“8.”

“Still… What was she doing in your caravan? How did she get there? Coincidence? Destiny?” Sheep inquired, his tone skeptical. “I don’t know. What if she was lying?”

“7.”

“I assure you, that’s my first thought about anyone. But with her… I don’t know. She didn’t seem like she needed to lie. She just left, didn’t even look back.” Junior rubbed his chin, thoughtful. “She also said something I didn’t quite understand. Something about ‘stirring the hornet’s nest.’”

*****

With the last of her strength, Samantha managed to climb back onto the conveyor belt. Her mind raced with countless thoughts at once. Franco and Urso were below, locked in a brutal and violent battle against dozens of those monsters. Meanwhile, she tried to calculate blindly how much time it would take her to descend and how much time was left before the explosives went off.

To her dismay, the numbers didn’t add up. She wouldn’t make it.

“6.”

“Franco…” she said, unable to move as her body trembled uncontrollably. “Go back to the nation! Do you hear me? Go back now! I’m not going to—”

“5.”

“Are you insane? I’m not leaving you here!” Franco barked, shouting from the back of the truck. “Come on! You can do this! I know you can!”

“4.”

“There’s no time!”

*****

“Stir what?” Sheep asked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“3.”

“No idea…” Junior snapped. “I just know she emphasized getting to the nation as fast as possible.”

*****

Samantha pressed forward on the conveyor belt, its downward slope forcing her to carefully gauge each step to avoid falling again. Despite knowing deep down she wouldn’t make it, she clung to the last shred of hope to keep moving.

Franco clenched his fists.

“Jump!” he yelled from the truck, his voice carrying without the need for the watches. “Jump now!”

“2.”

“It’s too high!”

Samantha tried to close as much distance as she could, but the race against time had already ended… with a clear winner.

“1.”

*****

A deafening explosion shook the ground with such force it seemed capable of toppling any nearby structure. The blast’s roar reverberated across the city, a thunderous howl rising to the heavens.

Junior and Sheep turned toward the sound.

“What the hell…?” Junior muttered, staring at a plume of smoke spiraling into the distance.

And then, as if the explosion wasn’t terrifying enough, a moment later came the most horrifying mass scream of all time. Every monster in the city unleashed an ear-splitting, blood-curdling howl in unison…

And hell opened before them.