The sound seemed to emerge from everywhere at once, from the throats of every zombie simultaneously. It was as if the entire city had transformed into a monstrous beast, roaring in fury. The buildings seemed to tremble, and the windows vibrated in sync with the uniform howl that pierced the air.
The noise was so deafening that Junior and Sheep felt their eardrums might burst at any moment, and their hearts pounded as if ready to leap out of their chests. Zombies from every corner began to manifest with unrestrained aggression.
It was as if they had lost all control of their actions, as if something had inflicted a piercing, internal pain so unbearable that the only way to silence it was through an eruption of rage and fury.
And nothing could stop them. They collided with one another, assaulted vehicles, crawled across the ground, scaled walls, and destroyed everything within reach.
In mere seconds, the entire city seemed to writhe in agony, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of beasts roaring and tearing through everything.
Junior and Sheep had never seen anything like it in their lives. Their bodies froze completely, their chests constricting as they found themselves engulfed in a tornado of utter brutality and chaos.
“Stir the hornet’s nest…” Junior muttered under his breath, gazing from the top of the bridge at the hellish chaos unfolding before him. “Maybe that’s what she meant?”
Unfortunately, there was no time to form theories or speculate. Chaos delivered its shard of danger without delay.
A metal gate in the parking lot of a nearby house was torn off its hinges by a ferocious blow. The sound of the gate scraping against the pavement caused a ruckus, ending in erratic flips before coming to a halt.
The perpetrator of this destruction was a massive creature, roused from its slumber, emerging from the darkness of a disheveled garage.
Its stature was terrifying, with bulging muscles and thick, leaden skin. Compared to its enormous body, its head seemed small and elongated. It walked heavily, leaning its torso forward and using its oversized, powerful knuckles as supports. The thunderous sound of its footsteps echoed like a ghostly drumbeat through the street.
Like the other loose beasts around, its rage was uncontrollable, insatiable, and untamable. It stumbled out of its dwelling, emitting guttural roars and swinging its arms wildly at anything in its path. This destructive creature made no distinction, even among its own kind. The collective fury had blinded it completely.
When it encountered two other zombies, it extended its massive arms, each hand easily encompassing a skull. With supernatural strength and a swift, brutal downward motion, the zombies’ dark blood splattered across the asphalt on impact.
Stress began to pulse at a point in Junior’s forehead, while Sheep remained frozen, alienated by the overwhelming chaos erupting around them.
All their attention was locked on the monstrous creature, and for good reason—its furrowed gaze, predator-hungry, locked onto them.
There was no warning roar, no signal, nothing. The creature’s ravenous hunger spurred it into a full sprint toward them the moment their eyes met.
Sheep instinctively reached for his motorcycle, and Junior readied his weapon, but both abandoned their plans as the gap of fifteen meters between them and the creature dwindled to barely five in an instant.
They wouldn’t make it. To escape its clutches, they’d have to resort to the most drastic option.
“Jump!” Junior shouted, yanking Sheep’s jacket to pull him off the motorcycle.
The motion felt like it happened in slow motion. Sheep abandoned his bike and took the two steps necessary to reach the edge. He didn’t think about the height, what lay below, or whether he’d land on his feet, back, or head. The only command his brain managed to send to his body in those fleeting seconds was to evade… and try not to get caught by the creature.
Junior hit the ground first, landing on his left arm and rolling several times before coming to a stop. Sheep followed shortly after, using his legs to break the fall, though the impact fell entirely on his knees instead of his feet.
Both groaned in pain, but they knew it was a small price to pay compared to their lives.
There was a third participant in the fall: Sheep’s motorcycle. After being struck by the creature, the vehicle flew through the air, crashed heavily, bounced, and skidded along the pavement until finally stopping several meters away from the boys.
Their eyes met, and the communication between them was nearly telepathic: they had to reach the motorcycle. Carefully and slowly, trying not to make any unnecessary noise, they began to stand.
Sheep glanced over his shoulder and to his right flank. His knees were scraped, the sting of raw flesh burning through his pants, but it was the least of his concerns. His hand reached behind his pants, where a small hatchet was holstered. He twirled it nervously in his hands and looked at Junior.
Junior was still on his knees, focused on unwrapping the bandages around his left arm. He had taken a hard hit and feared the wound had reopened. As the strips unraveled, a scar revealed itself in the middle of his arm, between the shoulder and elbow.
It was three connected lines: two deep horizontal cuts intersected by a diagonal one. Sheep stared in astonishment. He had noticed the bandages before but thought nothing of them. Some people wrapped themselves for style—he knew someone like that in his band. But this was no ordinary scar, and judging by its shape, it was anything but accidental.
Junior finally stood, equipping his hunting knife. He rolled his left shoulder and focused on the goal ahead. He didn’t notice it, but behind him, Sheep spotted graffiti scrawled in red on the tunnel wall:
"Death is not the end. It’s the beginning of freedom."
—The Lord of the Zombies.
The sound seemed to come from everywhere at once, a chaotic symphony of violence echoing across the ruined city. Junior scrutinized Sheep, snapping him back to the grim reality. Around them, the streets teemed with countless monsters, all consumed by a madness that drove them into frenzied destruction. It didn’t take long for the horde to notice the two survivors.
Neither spoke. Their locked gazes conveyed everything:
They had to move.
They had to fight through.
They had to survive.
In unison, they inhaled deeply, steadying themselves, and without wasting another moment, they plunged into the heart of hell.
Junior faced the first obstacle: a blonde-haired man with disheveled locks, arms outstretched, charging at him with the ferocity of a rabid beast. Junior sidestepped, his body pivoting sharply to position himself behind the zombie. A quick scan revealed no visible weak spot, so he grabbed the creature’s shoulder, using his momentum to drag and slam it to the ground.
Without hesitation, Junior sprinted onward.
Nearby, Sheep confronted his own battle. Gripping his short axe tightly, he swung diagonally at a zombie’s neck. He knew the vulnerabilities of these creatures—his time with the biker gang had taught him well. Together, they had cleared countless roads, ridding the district of these monstrosities.
The axe’s blade tore into a blackened heart protruding from the zombie’s neck. The creature let out a guttural roar as blood sprayed in all directions. Sheep yanked his weapon free and dashed forward.
Junior, meanwhile, found himself flanked by two attackers: an elderly man with a thick beard and a woman with short, mangled hair and half her face missing. The young survivor reacted swiftly, closing the distance to the man first. With a quick thrust, he drove his knife into the man’s stomach.
The woman lunged, encircling him from behind. Junior pulled his knife free, flipping the blade into a reverse grip, and plunged it into her chest. Her shriek confirmed he had struck her lethal point, but the old man wasn’t done. Pushing the woman aside, the zombie lurched at Junior, jaws snapping wildly.
Though Junior managed to block the creature’s arms, its gnashing teeth drew perilously close. Before it could bite, Sheep intervened, shoving the undead assailant backward. The man stumbled but remained on his feet. It took a fierce front kick from Junior to finally send him crashing face-first onto the pavement.
Exhaustion began creeping in. They had only fought three enemies, and their bodies were already protesting.
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For the next foe, Sheep avoided direct confrontation. He measured the zombie’s movements, built momentum, and drove his axe deep into its abdomen.
Junior, on the other hand, preferred a push-and-run strategy. The less he had to rely on his knife, the better. With a burst of speed, he barreled forward, using his arms to shove aside a skeletal, emaciated zombie. The force of his charge sent the creature tumbling into another directly behind it.
Sheep swung his axe again, embedding the blade into the skull of a woman approaching from his left. As he wrenched it free, he spun with the weapon’s momentum, striking another zombie on his right with the axe’s blunt end.
Junior reached the motorcycle first, sprinting at full tilt. Spotting another zombie advancing from the front, he vaulted over the bike, delivering a kick that knocked the creature away.
Sheep seized the handlebars, praying the damage wasn’t terminal. To his relief, despite the fresh scratches and dents, the bike seemed roadworthy.
He attempted to mount the motorcycle, but two ravenous zombies charged at him with alarming speed. Sheep couldn’t react in time—but Junior did.
Three gunshots rang out in rapid succession, felling one zombie. Two more shots followed, dispatching the second.
Junior’s precise aim and calm execution with his Beretta had saved Sheep. But the price of salvation was steep: the gunshots echoed through the chaos, cutting through the cacophony of the rampaging horde.
Both men turned their gazes to the same point simultaneously.
Atop the tunnel, a pair of murderous, unblinking eyes glared down at them—two black orbs radiating pure malice.
Sheep ignited the motorcycle’s engine, detaching the pack strapped to its rear. From one of its compartments, he pulled out a revolver and handed it to Junior.
“I drive,” he said with grim determination. “You shoot.”
*****
Samantha inhaled sharply and opened her eyes. Her face was pressed against the muddy ground of a crater in the factory's vacant lot, overgrown with tall grass darkened by a shadowy pall. She had chosen to fall there when the bomb detonated behind her, but now, after losing consciousness for a brief moment, she had no idea if her mission had been successful.
A piercing, high-pitched ringing dominated her hearing, muting all other sounds around her. Using what strength she had left, she pushed against the ground and clumsily managed to get on her feet.
Her gaze darted across her surroundings. First, she took in the overwhelming swarm of infected creatures moving chaotically around her. Then, her eyes landed on the obelisk behind her, now split into two massive fragments lying alongside the factory. Finally, she spotted the distant truck, moving in coordinated circles.
Driven more by instinct than thought, Samantha began walking, her head spinning. As moments passed, her vision cleared, and the muffled cacophony of gunfire and roaring grew sharper. Like the lid of a boiling pot being lifted, the tumult of chaos and terror flooded back into her awareness, threatening to engulf everything in its path.
"Sam!" A voice crackled from her tactical watch. "Sam!"
"Franco, Urso... are you okay?" she asked.
"That's what we want to know, girl!" Urso replied, his voice strained as he swerved to plow through some of the beasts chasing him.
"Where are you?" Franco’s voice chimed in. "We lost track of you after the explosion. I thought that—"
"I'm fine. I'm in one piece, at least. I’m at your nine. No, ten, eleven—here!" she shouted, raising her arms to make herself visible before sprinting toward them.
Urso grinned from the driver's seat as he spotted her. Slamming the gas pedal, he aimed the truck toward her.
The vehicle was a robust Toyota Tundra with a gleaming blue paint job, accented by yellow lightning decals along its sides. The rear cargo area was equipped with a custom storage rack for securing ammunition, weapons, and other supplies.
Urso had spent countless hours upgrading the truck. It featured interior bars to protect passengers, LED lights on the front for improved nighttime visibility, and, most notably, a reinforced steel bumper designed to obliterate any obstacle in its path.
The tires screeched in a controlled skid, swinging the rear of the Tundra around to face Samantha. With agility honed during her time as a professional soccer player, she weaved effortlessly through the horde of monsters closing in on her, as if their feet were rooted to the ground. She reached the truck just as Franco, crouched in the cargo bed, extended a hand to pull her aboard.
The tires shrieked again as Urso floored the accelerator, and the truck roared back into motion. But luck abandoned them when, from the chaos of the infected, a nightmare emerged.
Moving with astonishing speed, unseen by any of the survivors until it was too late, one of the most ruthless predators of the new world closed in.
What Junior called a Parca, Franco’s team referred to as the Immortal Stalker. This creature preferred to move on all fours, accelerating to inhuman speeds. Its aggressive, bloodshot gaze was as piercing as its long limbs and razor-sharp claws. True to its name, it was notoriously difficult to kill.
No encounter with a Stalker was ever good, and not realizing one was nearby was even worse.
The beast burst into action, darting from the shadows cast by its infected kin. Gradually, it became more visible as it weaved toward the truck.
Samantha was the first to notice a shadow streaking through the distance at high speed. Turning, she aimed her firearm in its direction, but all she saw was the chaos of the horde.
Franco broke her focus with a question about her condition after the fall. She glanced at the ex-military leader. With him and Urso at the wheel, she felt she could lower her guard, if only slightly.
She nodded. Though her ankle throbbed with sharp, internal pain—likely to swell later—and her knees, elbows, and arms bore scrapes from her rough landing, she could manage.
Urso interrupted, shouting, "Hold on!"
He stomped on the gas, and the Tundra's engine roared with ferocity. Franco gripped a side bar, peering ahead. They had reached the edge of the lot, where the factory's chain-link gate loomed as their next obstacle.
Crashing through it wasn’t ideal—it would release the monstrous swarm contained within the factory grounds—but stopping wasn’t an option either. Both Franco and Samantha crouched, seeking cover and abandoning their shooting positions.
It was at that precise moment that the Stalker struck.
With terrifying agility, the creature weaved through the infected, exploiting every blind spot as it flanked the truck. Each stride brought it closer, its movements unnervingly precise.
Then, like a predator selecting its prey, it targeted the most vulnerable of the two passengers in the truck bed. In a sudden burst of speed, it leaped.
Neither Franco nor Samantha saw it coming. In the blink of an eye, the Stalker was airborne.
Its decayed jaw, lined with jagged, razor-sharp teeth, opened wide. Its clawed hands snapped shut like deadly traps, locking onto its prey. The final blow was executed with terrifying accuracy.
Blood sprayed across the truck as the most dangerous predator of the new world claimed another victim.
*****
Blood spattered the fender of the motorcycle as the echo of Junior's Beretta shots reverberated through the city, mingling with the desperate roar of the vehicle’s engine, which never relented.
Sheep gripped the handlebars tightly, weaving through obstacles with sharp turns and evasive maneuvers. His deft control over the throttle and gear shifts created a dizzying dance of speed and skill, a mechanical symphony born of survival instinct.
The acrid smell of gunpowder and burnt rubber filled the air, carried on a breeze that heightened the sense of unrelenting danger. As dawn’s first rays reflected off the corners of buildings, they unveiled a macabre tableau: a landscape bathed in blood, shattered bones, abandoned corpses, and grim desolation, all hidden under the night’s shroud until now.
This was chaos and adrenaline distilled into its purest form, a visceral testament to the brutal struggle for survival in a world where violence was the only currency, and life, a spare coin.
At the front, gripping the handlebars and navigating through the inferno, was Sheep. Behind him, Junior, facing backward, acted as the judge and executioner for the monsters daring to close in.
Trailing them relentlessly, like a shadow, was the monstrous beast—a hulking, aggressive, and terrifying predator that never lost their trail. Junior had already tried shooting at it from his perch, but the bullets only seemed to fuel its fury, amplifying both its aggression and speed.
“It won’t stop chasing us!” Junior shouted, frantically reloading the last handful of bullets from his box of ammo.
“It’s a ‘big one’! You can’t kill it with regular bullets!” Sheep yelled back, swerving sharply to plow through a cluster of zombies before turning into a wide, open avenue to gain some breathing room.
“You’ve seen one of these before?”
“What? Haven’t you?”
“Luckily, no!” Junior retorted, snapping the magazine back into his Beretta. He didn’t need to chamber a round—pulling the slide automatically primed the weapon for another barrage of shots. “Do you know how to kill it?”
“No. We never found its heart,” Sheep admitted, the memory of his last encounter with a creature like this flashing through his mind. His group had been forced to abandon their camp to escape.
“Damn it... then it has to be the head.”
Junior set aside the Beretta and pulled out the Ruger Redhawk—a long-barreled revolver loaded with lethal Magnum rounds. He aligned the sights with the monster’s head, waiting for the perfect moment. Steeling himself, he inhaled deeply, focusing on the target.
When the beast’s grotesque face entered the crosshairs, Junior squeezed the trigger. The revolver roared to life, its weight jerking in his hands as the shot rang out.
The bullet tore through the air in a fiery streak, slamming into the creature’s skull with devastating force. Junior watched through the sights as the monster collapsed backward, its blood painting the asphalt in a gruesome display.
A mixture of astonishment and relief washed over Junior, and he let out a triumphant laugh, shouting in elation. But as quickly as his spirits soared, reality pulled them back down.
The motorcycle’s speed waned, eventually coming to a complete stop.
“What the hell are you doing?” Junior demanded, turning to see the answer: a massive, suffocating horde of infected blocked their path.
Sheep spun the bike around, attempting to escape, but he barely advanced a few meters before they were completely surrounded. Emerging from the chaos, the relentless giant monster loomed before them, cutting off their escape.
With a brutal charge, the beast struck the motorcycle without mercy, sending both Junior and Sheep flying in opposite directions. Despite the violent crash and the somersaults their bodies performed mid-air, adrenaline and sheer willpower forced them to scramble to their feet almost instantly.
The scene around them was dire. On one side, the frenzied horde, driven by collective madness, surged toward Sheep. On the other, the monstrous giant—now sporting two bullet wounds in its forehead, one slightly larger than the other—tore the motorcycle apart with feral rage, reducing it to shards of twisted metal.
The beast then turned its unforgiving gaze on Junior, its black, vengeful eyes seething with hatred and an insatiable hunger for vengeance.