A cloud of dust rose from the asphalt. The Stalker flexed its hind legs, launching itself with a powerful leap. Its eyes, two black orbs brimming with rage, locked onto its prey as its body began its descent. The speed of its fall created such aerodynamic resistance that the tattered scraps of fabric clinging to its form, remnants of its former life, flapped violently in the wind.
It was the guttural, high-pitched growl emanating from its ferocious jaws that gave Samantha her only warning in those last seconds. Seconds that stretched into an eternity as she watched, with her final breath, the gaping maw filled with jagged teeth growing larger, and claws curving toward her.
Small and nearly imperceptible, a scarlet light suddenly flickered, twinkling like a distant star, and settled over the Stalker’s left eye. Samantha saw it for just an instant—barely a second—before the next thing she perceived was a deafening blast from afar. The sharp whistle of a bullet slicing through the air ended with a void suddenly carved into the Stalker's head, leaving a perfect hole in its eye.
The scarlet light returned to Samantha's view. She watched, her breath catching in her throat, as the creature staggered back to its feet, once again seeking them out, only to be met with another shot from the distance. This time, the bullet pierced its remaining functional eye.
Franco silently praised the sniper’s incredible skill. He knew the infamous resilience of Stalkers, and the mental focus required to blind one while moving and at such a considerable distance. Not even the best marksmen from his old military squad could pull off something like this. The talent on display was worthy of a medal of honor.
Finally, Urso slammed through the gate, steering them toward the city. Samantha, meanwhile, raised her tactical watch to her mouth and spoke.
*****
"Anna... Thank you, my friend!" Samantha's voice rang through the tactical watch. "You're the best! The absolute best damn shot ever! We're heading to the Nation! Please, get back safe!"
Anna Ocampo smiled, chewing a piece of gum that had long since lost its flavor. Gathering her belongings, she slung her rifle over her shoulder and took one last glance down from her perch atop the water tower where she'd been stationed. Her work there was done.
She wiped the sweat from her brow and began descending the ladder. Anna was a petite, strikingly beautiful 26-year-old with a rebellious yet stylishly tousled haircut that gave her an air of defiance and charm. Some strands were dyed a deep red, hidden among her natural black locks, bouncing lightly with each step she took.
She wore fitted crimson-oxide pants that perfectly contrasted her worn boots. Her shirt clung to her athletic frame, accentuating her toned figure, while a gleaming belt buckle completed her ensemble.
Her boots clacked against the metal grating as she descended the ladder, bypassing the building entirely. She navigated the terrace, weaving between tattered laundry lines, and crossed to the adjacent building via an improvised bridge of planks reinforced with thick metal sheets. She repeated the process until she reached an emergency staircase marked with a red bandana tied to the railing—a marker pointing the way to her next destination.
Before the world fell apart, Anna had endured endless teasing for always being the smallest in her friend group. This led her to adopt a stoic expression at a young age. Over time, she pursued a career in physical education, sculpting a formidable physique that was evident in the way she handled her weapons—especially the massive Barrett rifle slung across her back.
Though the world around her lay in ruins, Anna always seemed to remain composed, calm, and in control of her emotions. She wasn't one to openly express herself anymore. After a tragic event in her past—one she kept buried as her deepest secret—she found it difficult, almost impossible, to show vulnerability.
Finally, she jumped down the last stretch, bending her knees to absorb the impact. The Barrett rattled against her back as she landed on solid ground in a narrow alleyway. Both exits were blocked: one by a towering pile of debris, and the other by an overturned truck.
She slipped through a gap in the wall ahead, emerging into a spacious parking garage. If she recalled Franco's instructions correctly, her escape vehicle was on the second floor.
"Listen, Ocampo," Franco’s words echoed in her memory. "We only have one motorcycle, and Samantha will take it since her tower is farther away. We'll drop you at your sniper position with the truck, but if this works, the city's going to be chaos, and we might not be able to come back for you. Don’t worry—we’ve set up your escape vehicle. It's a powerful ATV parked on the second level. Got it?"
Snapping her fingers in realization, she corrected herself—it was the second floor, not the third. She reached a metal door and pushed it open, its rusted hinges groaning in protest. Inside, a spiral staircase wound its way upward, encased by cracked walls adorned with graffiti.
When she reached the second floor, she pushed through another heavy door and found the ATV parked in an empty space directly ahead. Anna paused, taking a moment to absorb the view of a broad avenue stretching before her dark, hazel eyes.
The sun was setting behind a distant building, casting everything in a warm orange glow. The main avenue stretched as far as the eye could see, flanked by destroyed buildings and lined with rubble.
The scene below was chaotic, to say the least. She had never witnessed such a mass of creatures, frenzied and out of control. They tore through everything in their path, no longer hunting with purpose but smashing and destroying indiscriminately with savage ferocity.
Entranced by the hypnotic chaos below, Anna stood still, her gaze distant as she took in the destruction unleashed by the monsters. Then, something caught her eye in the distance.
A motorcycle zigzagged through the horde. Survivors? Maybe from the Nation? She couldn’t be sure, but she couldn’t remain idle. Especially not when she noticed one of their main pursuers was a creature known to her group as a "Demolisher," though its more infamous name resonated louder:
Titan.
She grabbed the strap crossing her chest, and with a swift motion, her Barrett rifle was in her hands. There was no time to activate the laser device. She got into position, aimed ahead, aligned the crosshairs on the Titan's head, held her breath...
And fired.
She didn’t need to keep watching; she knew she’d hit her mark, buying the survivors a precious moment of reprieve. But she had to alert the others immediately. Even if she could take down the Titan, the avenue was far too packed with creatures for anyone to escape safely.
Her finger tapped her tactical watch, opening the city map. She marked a point of interest with precision.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
*****
The watches of Urso, Franco, and Samantha vibrated and flashed simultaneously. All three glanced at the alerts with a mix of concern and curiosity as they continued their journey back to the Nation.
“It’s an alert from Anna...” Samantha said, leaning forward, her worry evident. “Do you think something’s happened to her?”
“Damn it...” Franco muttered, his tone tight with urgency. “Looks like she’s calling for backup. Urso! Let’s head—”
He didn’t finish. The Tundra’s tires screeched as Urso veered sharply, changing direction and plowing through a cluster of zombies in the process.
“Already on it, Brandon!” Urso barked, slamming his foot on the accelerator. “The alert’s at the crossroads on Avenida Libertad?”
“Libertad and Paz, to be exact,” Franco confirmed, glancing at his watch to double-check the coordinates.
“Good! You two, gear up for war!” Urso shouted.
Without hesitation, Samantha complied, swinging open the side compartment that housed their most powerful weapons.
“That girl needs us!”
*****
The situation grew increasingly desperate for Junior and Sheep, both trapped between two equally dangerous and ferocious forces.
Spread out in every direction, but most concentrated behind them, a thick, seething horde of monsters writhed in a relentless symphony of rage. Their fury was directionless, indiscriminate, as they trampled one another, clawing, pounding, and attacking without compassion for anything or anyone.
On the other side stood the beast Sheep called "Big Guy," towering like a terrifying mountain of muscle, blood, and frenetic rage, venting its frustration by tearing Sheep’s motorcycle apart piece by piece.
Sheep frantically scanned for a way out, but the streets were blocked, and the crowd surged closer with increasing frenzy. He had to act. Along the avenue’s shoulders, endless rows of abandoned vehicles lined up, weathered by time’s relentless decay. He remembered seeing his bow fall somewhere nearby when the creature had launched the motorcycle’s rear wheel skyward.
Gripping the axe in his trembling hand, he forced his way forward to retrieve it.
Junior stood ready, though his hand shook uncontrollably, making holding the revolver a near-impossible task. The weapon seemed to vibrate in his grasp, reflecting the fear bubbling inside, threatening to spill over.
His eyebrows tensed, arching into a pure expression of terror when his eyes met the creature’s once again. The beast charged with an unrelenting speed, the sound of the motorcycle’s remaining fragments echoing as it barreled toward him.
Junior felt the oppressive weight of fear compressing his chest. He ran, vaulting onto a car hood, and tumbled off the other side, landing hard on his back with a brutal thud.
The creature leaped effortlessly after him, its massive jump shaking the asphalt and rattling nearby vehicles as it landed. Junior twisted his body, scrambling to his feet as fast as he could and sprinting back toward the open street.
The monster shadowed his every move, smashing through two cars as it closed the distance, finally catching Junior with terrifying ease. Just as it had dispatched zombies earlier, its colossal hand enveloped Junior’s skull and drove him forcefully into the ground.
Junior managed to brace with his arms, but the impact nearly sent him into oblivion. A sharp, piercing pain echoed through his body, accompanied by a ringing that reverberated in his head, leaving him disoriented. His forearms bore the brunt of the blow; the sting of blood seeping out was tangible. He barely managed to gulp a breath of air.
Then, once again, he felt his body lifted into the air, a horrifying scream of agony escaping his lips. He hung limply like a ragdoll, the tips of his toes barely brushing the ground, his arms dangling lifelessly.
Another blow like that, and his body wouldn’t hold out.
Meanwhile, Sheep fought off wave after wave of monsters, each throwing itself at him with merciless aggression. His hand clenched the axe’s handle so tightly that sharp, shooting pain coursed through his fingers with every swing.
Suddenly, he spotted something familiar wedged beneath a nearby tire. Moving quickly, he ducked down and retrieved his bow, feeling its familiar weight settle in his hands.
This was his best chance at survival.
The zombies lunged with ferocity and speed. Sheep drew his bow with practiced precision, the quiver strapped to his belt always within reach. He fired an arrow with deadly accuracy, striking one of the monsters in the head and sending it sprawling backward… only for it to rise moments later.
Sheep climbed onto a car hood, searching for a stable vantage point, and loosed another arrow. The horde, however, was relentless. The monsters were growing faster and more agile with every passing moment. Without his bow, he would have already had to run for his life.
But he held his ground, leaping from vehicle to vehicle, striking with precision, trying to stem the overwhelming tide. Then, in mere seconds, his quiver emptied of arrows… and he was forced to flee.
His stamina began to wane. Exhaustion crept into his body and mind. The zombies pressed in ever closer, showing no signs of fatigue. Sheep knew he needed a plan if he was to survive, but none came to mind.
One of the zombies tackled him mid-sprint, sending them both crashing to the asphalt. Their bodies tumbled together, and Sheep ended up on the bottom.
He stared into death’s face looming over him, its grotesque features twisted into a maddening grin, its guttural screams whispering: “Your time has come.”
Sheep pushed with all his might, but his arms no longer obeyed. The horde gathered around him, their footfalls vibrating the ground and their deafening howls shaking the air.
He squeezed his eyes shut, a single tear slipping free.
Junior drew a breath, a feral knot of anguish tightening in his throat.
Both knew the end was just a breath away, that everything they had lived and experienced was about to reach the final point of its trajectory. Yet neither of them wanted it to end. Not yet. Not now.
As if synchronized, they clenched their fists and gritted their teeth, unconsciously trying to hold on to and savor that last moment. Memories began to flow through their minds.
Junior recalled his old group—the one that had taken him in and taught him everything there was to know about survival. He remembered its members, each one vividly. The laughter, the late-night card games, the shooting practice, the improvised celebrations…
Sheep imagined the wind against his face, riding endless roads, taking in unmatched landscapes alongside his band. He relived their adventures on motorcycles, even the sleepless nights keeping watch to protect the others…
But with those memories also came the tragedies and losses they had endured. Death had always been there, present with every step, awake alongside them every new day the sun rose, waiting for the moment to claim their names and wrap them in the cold shroud of eternal rest.
Junior knew there was so much left to experience, so much to discover, to accomplish, to feel. He wanted to keep living, to uncover what else this world had to offer. And though he felt fear and anguish, there was also a steely determination burning within him to push forward.
Though they both knew their end was near, they weren’t willing to give in without a fight. Even if it meant enduring the crushing blows of violence and the relentless weight of death.
Even if it was just to breathe one second more…
Suddenly, a gunshot rang out in the distance. Junior hit the ground with a hard but manageable thud. The monster had let him go and was now roaring in pure fury, clutching the shattered remnants of one of its eyes.
Another deafening crack erupted, flooding the entire avenue. It wasn’t just one distant, piercing shot anymore—it was many, and much closer. The rain of bullets tore apart the monster holding Sheep, along with the rest of the horde advancing toward him.
Both lay sprawled on the ground in different positions, unable to do anything but witness the flashes of gunfire and hear the enraged howls of dozens of monsters.
The rest happened so quickly it was a blur.
Junior was the first to be rescued after the Titan zombie was blinded by precise, distant shots. Then it was Sheep’s turn, as his rescuers fought off the horde that was seconds away from overrunning him, mowing down nearly the entire block with their heavy machine guns.
It was striking how both of them kept their eyes open throughout the rescue, as if unwilling to miss a second of what was happening. But it wasn’t until their heads hit the cold metal bed of the truck and their minds finally accepted that they were truly safe that they both fell into an instant, automatic, and deep sleep.