The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over Sanctuary as the survivors scrambled to reinforce their defences. The air buzzed with tension, every movement tinged with the urgency of impending danger. Corey and Ornelas had barely caught their breath from the morning’s patrol when they were called to assist with the preparations.
As they worked alongside other survivors, hammering nails into wooden barricades and stacking sandbags along the perimeter, Corey couldn’t shake the feeling that time was running out. The attack earlier in the day had been a warning—a glimpse of the terror that was closing in on them. And the knowledge that the dead were becoming something more than mindless monsters gnawed at his nerves.
Palesa approached them, her expression grave as she handed Corey a box of ammunition. “D’Souza wants everyone armed and ready. We don’t know when they’ll strike, but it could be any time.”
Corey nodded, accepting the box and passing it to Ornelas, who began distributing the bullets to the others. “What about the other camps? Have we heard anything from them?”
Palesa’s face tightened with worry. “We’ve tried to reach out, but communication’s been spotty at best. The last transmission we got was from a camp to the north—same story. Faster, smarter zombies. They were overrun in minutes.”
Corey’s heart sank. He had heard that the other camps had been their lifeline, a network of survivors sharing resources and information. If they were falling, one by one, then Sanctuary was more vulnerable than he had realised.
“We have to be ready,” Palesa continued, her voice firm despite the fear that lingered in her eyes. “Whatever happens, we stick together. That’s the only way we survive this.”
Corey nodded, his resolve hardening. “We will.”
As the day wore on, the preparations continued. The camp was a hive of activity—people securing their shelters, stockpiling supplies, and reinforcing the walls. Children who had once played freely now stayed close to their parents, their wide eyes reflecting the fear that had gripped the camp. Everyone knew what was coming, and no one was under any illusions about the gravity of the situation.
As dusk approached, Captain D’Souza called a meeting in the central yard. The survivors gathered, their faces illuminated by the flickering light of torches. Corey and Ornelas stood near the front, their weapons ready, their eyes fixed on the captain.
D’Souza’s voice was steady, but there was an edge of urgency to his words. “We’ve done all we can to fortify Sanctuary, but we’re not dealing with the same threats anymore. These new creatures are faster, stronger, and smarter. They’re not just attacking—they’re hunting. And if they come for us tonight, we need to be ready.”
A murmur of fear rippled through the crowd, but D’Souza silenced it with a raised hand. “We’ve faced worse before, and we’ve survived. We’re not going down without a fight. We’ll have patrols on every corner, and I want everyone armed and vigilant. If you see anything, you shout. If they break through, we fall back to the inner compound and make our stand there.”
Palesa stepped forward, her voice clear and calm. “Stay close to your groups, don’t stray from the main paths, and keep your weapons ready. We’ve got supplies stockpiled in the inner compound—enough to last us a few days if we need to hold out. But remember, we’re stronger together. If we fight, we fight as one.”
As the meeting broke up, Corey caught sight of Ntlentle Moloi, the girl he had heard about from the others. She was standing near one of the barricades, her expression unreadable as she listened to the final instructions. Something about her seemed out of place—like she was holding back from the rest of the group, a secret weighing heavily on her shoulders.
Before he could approach her, Ornelas tugged at his arm. “Corey, we should get to our post.”
Corey nodded, casting one last glance at Ntlentle before turning to follow his brother. They made their way to the eastern edge of the camp, where a group of survivors was already gathering to stand watch. The air was thick with anticipation, the tension almost palpable as the sun dipped below the horizon, plunging the world into darkness.
They took their positions, eyes scanning the surrounding shadows, ears straining for any sound that might signal the approach of the dead. The minutes dragged on, each one more agonising than the last. The quiet was suffocating, broken only by the occasional rustle of wind through the trees or the distant howl of some unseen creature.
As the night deepened, Corey’s senses went on high alert. Every flicker of movement, every whisper of sound sent a jolt of adrenaline through his veins. His machete was gripped tightly in his hand, ready to strike at the first sign of danger. Beside him, Ornelas was equally tense, his bow drawn, an arrow nocked and ready to fly.
Then, from the darkness, came the first sign of trouble.
A low, guttural growl echoed through the night, faint but unmistakable. Corey stiffened, his eyes narrowing as he tried to pinpoint the source. The growl was followed by the sound of shuffling feet—more than one, moving quickly through the shadows.
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“They’re coming,” Ornelas whispered, his voice barely audible.
Corey nodded, his heart pounding. He signalled to the others, and the group fell into a tight formation, weapons at the ready. The growling grew louder, joined by the unmistakable sound of snarls and guttural cries. The dead were closing in.
Suddenly, they appeared—emerging from the shadows like spectres, their eyes glowing with a malevolent intelligence. These were not the slow, shambling zombies of the past. These creatures moved with a terrifying speed, their bodies twisted and gaunt, their movements fluid and predatory.
Corey’s breath caught in his throat as the first of them lunged forward, its jaws snapping hungrily. He swung his machete with all his strength, the blade cleaving through the creature’s neck with a sickening crunch. But there was no time to celebrate the kill—more were coming, faster than he could have imagined.
“Hold the line!” D’Souza’s voice rang out over the chaos, but it was clear that the situation was spiralling out of control.
The creatures were relentless, their attacks coordinated, almost strategic. They darted in and out of the shadows, striking with lethal precision before retreating just as quickly. The survivors fought back with everything they had, but for every creature they brought down, two more seemed to take its place.
Ornelas loosed arrow after arrow, each one finding its mark with deadly accuracy. But even he was beginning to tire, the sheer number of enemies overwhelming their defences.
“They’re too many!” someone shouted from the other side of the camp, panic rising in their voice.
Corey gritted his teeth, refusing to let fear take hold. He struck down another creature, then another, but the horde just kept coming. The night was filled with the sounds of battle—screams, growls, the clash of steel against bone.
And then, just as it seemed the tide might turn against them, Corey heard it—a sound that made his blood run cold.
A loud crash echoed from behind, followed by the panicked shouts of the survivors stationed at the gate. Corey’s heart dropped as he realised what had happened.
“They’ve breached the gate!” Palesa’s voice was filled with urgency as she raced towards the inner compound, shouting for everyone to fall back.
Corey grabbed Ornelas’s arm, pulling him away from the front lines as the horde surged forward. The eastern barricade was collapsing under the weight of the attack, the creatures pouring through like a flood.
“We have to get to the inner compound!” Corey shouted, his voice barely audible over the din.
Ornelas nodded, his face pale but determined. Together, they fought their way through the chaos, dodging the snapping jaws and slashing claws of the creatures that now swarmed the camp. The screams of the fallen echoed in their ears, but they couldn’t afford to look back.
As they reached the inner compound, Corey cast a quick glance over his shoulder. The outer defences were crumbling, the creatures overrunning the camp with terrifying speed. The survivors who hadn’t made it to the inner compound were being cut down where they stood, their cries for help swallowed by the relentless advance of the dead.
They stumbled into the inner compound, where D’Souza and Palesa were already organising a last stand. The gates were slammed shut behind them, but it was clear that it was only a matter of time before the creatures broke through.
“We need to hold them off until dawn!” D’Souza shouted, his voice hoarse from the strain. “That’s our only chance!”
Corey took up a position near one of the barricades, his breathing ragged as he prepared for the final assault. Ornelas was at his side, his bow drawn, his face set in grim determination.
The inner compound was their last line of defence. If it fell, there would be nowhere left to run.
But as the dead pressed in, their numbers seeming endless, Corey couldn’t shake the feeling that something even worse was coming. The creatures they had fought so far were terrifying enough, but he had seen the intelligence in their eyes, the cunning in their movements.
They were planning something. And when they made their next move, it could be the end for all of them.
As the first creature slammed against the inner gate, the survivors braced themselves for what felt like the beginning of the end. The gate shuddered under the impact, the metal creaking ominously. Corey tightened his grip on the machete, every muscle in his body tense with anticipation. He knew that if the gate fell, the creatures would be upon them in seconds.
“Hold the line!” D’Souza bellowed, rallying the defenders. His voice was a lifeline, cutting through the fear that threatened to overwhelm them all.
Palesa moved through the ranks, her face a mask of determination as she handed out the last of the ammunition and supplies. “Remember, we’re stronger together. Do not let them break you. Fight like hell!”
The dead were relentless, their grotesque forms smashing against the gate in waves. Corey could hear the twisted growls and snarls of the creatures on the other side, their hunger and fury palpable. They were pushing with everything they had, the force of their attack threatening to tear the gate from its hinges.
“They’re going to break through!” Ornelas shouted, his voice tinged with panic as he loosed another arrow, taking down a zombie that had managed to claw its way over the outer barricade.
Corey knew his brother was right. The gate wasn’t going to hold for much longer. But he refused to let despair take root. “We’re not giving up!” he shouted back, his voice strong despite the terror gnawing at him. “We hold them here, no matter what!”
The gate buckled again, the metal bending inward as the creatures hammered against it. Corey could see the fear in the eyes of the survivors around him, but he also saw something else—a fierce determination, a refusal to let these monsters take everything they had fought so hard to protect.
And then, just when it seemed the gate might give way, there was a moment of eerie silence. The pounding stopped, the growls faded, and the creatures fell back from the gate. It was as if they were retreating, pulling back to regroup.
“What’s happening?” Palesa whispered, her eyes narrowing as she watched the dead withdraw. “Why are they stopping?”
A chill ran down Corey’s spine. This wasn’t right. The dead never stopped—not unless they were planning something.
“Stay sharp,” D’Souza ordered, his voice low and tense. “This isn’t over.”
Corey’s gaze swept over the inner compound, his senses on high alert. The creatures had pulled back, but they were still out there, lurking in the darkness just beyond the walls. He could feel their presence, could almost hear the gears turning in their twisted minds as they prepared for their next move.
And then, from the shadows, a new figure emerged.