《No Rest for the Dead》


 Chapter 1: The Fall of New York City

    Gunshots. Screams. Blood everywhere.


    The city was falling apart. People ran without thinking, crashing into each other, desperate to escape... but where? Nowhere was safe. Their fear only made things worse. The Undead were drawn to the noise, to the panic. Every scream brought more of them.


    Blood streaked the streets. Limbs, torn and abandoned, lay in pools of red. The Undead didn¡¯t just kill... they ripped, clawed, tore people open like paper. Hands plunged into stomachs, pulling out whatever was inside. People weren¡¯t just dying. They were being devoured.


    The slowest had no chance. Children tripped and fell, screaming for parents who were already gone. The elderly, their bodies too weak to run, were the first to be torn apart. No one stopped to help. They couldn¡¯t. Stopping meant dying.


    Cars slammed into each other, metal crushing metal. Some plowed straight into buildings. Alarms blared, horns wailed, but nothing drowned out the horror. The Undead figured out how to break glass. They reached inside, grabbing at drivers, ripping them from their seats. People trapped in their cars could do nothing but scream as hands yanked them out, teeth sinking into their flesh.


    John Cust had just arrived in the city when the world began to fall apart.


    Now, he was running.


    His breath was ragged, his heart pounding so hard it hurt.


    He had no time to think. No time to feel.


    The only thing that mattered was his daughter.


    His fingers clenched around the baseball bat in his hands. He swung when he had to, the crack of bone beneath wood barely registering in his mind. If he stopped, even for a second, he was dead.


    He couldn¡¯t die. Not yet.


    The city was gone. The living were just specks in a sea of the dead. Even above, on the rooftops, the Undead were there, crouched over bodies, feeding like wild animals.


    This wasn¡¯t just a disaster.


    This was the end.


    Blood and death weren¡¯t just everywhere.


    They were everything.


    John Cust burst into his apartment, heart pounding, eyes scanning the room.


    ¡°Amy?!¡± he called, rushing to the kitchen, empty. The bedroom, nothing. The bathroom, still no sign of her.


    His chest tightened. Panic set in. Then, a name surfaced in his mind. Francis.


    He had paid his friend Francis to babysit Amy whenever he was at work or away. Maybe she was with him.


    John grabbed his phone and dialed Francis, his fingers trembling. As the call rang, a scream tore through the hallway.


    John¡¯s stomach dropped.


    Footsteps... fast, frantic... pounded outside. Then came the snarling, the guttural moans of the Undead.


    Someone was running for their life.


    John ducked under the kitchen counter, holding his breath. His heart slammed against his ribs as the sound of the chase faded down the hall.


    The phone kept ringing.


    No answer.


    His grip tightened around the device. His pulse hammered in his ears. Amy. Where was she? Was she safe?


    Panic clawed at his chest, pressing down hard. His vision blurred for a moment. His body shook. He needed to breathe. Think. Focus.


    He forced himself to his feet and stumbled toward the window.


    From the fourth floor, the city stretched out before him... a hellscape of blood and death. The Undead feasted on bodies, their hands pulling at torn flesh. A man sprinted down the street, his movements wild, desperate.


    They were gaining on him.


    John turned away, squeezing his eyes shut. Don¡¯t think about it. Don¡¯t lose it.


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    ¡°I have to find Amy,¡± he whispered, steadying himself.


    But before he could try to find Amy, he must get out of here alive.


    Who knew how many Undead were waiting outside his door?


    He needed supplies. Fast.


    Grabbing a backpack, he stuffed in water bottles, a few cans of food, a kitchen knife, and a flashlight. He slung it over his shoulders, adjusting the weight.


    Then, he gripped his baseball bat. His lifeline.


    Standing in front of the door, he inhaled sharply.


    I can do this. I just need to be fast.


    One last deep breath.


    Then... he turned the knob, flung the door open, and ran.


    As he ran, John barely kept his footing. The hallway was slick with blood, a thick, suffocating scent filling the air. There weren¡¯t many bodies... just the aftermath.


    The screaming from earlier must¡¯ve lured the Undead away. The hall was empty. No movement. No snarling. Just blood and corpses.


    He didn¡¯t stop to think.


    Down the stairs, fourth floor, third, second, first. His legs burned, but he didn¡¯t care. He had to get out.


    Bursting through the exit, he froze.


    Thousands.


    The Undead stretched as far as his eyes could see, a mass of rotting bodies swaying, groaning, searching.


    John cussed under his breath. His stomach twisted. Then... eyes. Hundreds of eyes locking onto him.


    The moaning turned to snarls. The shuffling turned to sprinting.


    Run.


    He bolted into the streets, dodging reaching hands, the air thick with the stench of rot. His baseball bat swung, crack! Skulls caving beneath the force. Blood sprayed. He didn¡¯t stop.


    Run. Run. Run.


    The more he ran, the more they noticed. The more they noticed, the more they chased. And the more that chased him, the more likely one of them to be faster; a former track star maybe, would catch up.


    His breath burned in his chest. His muscles screamed. But only one thought pounded in his head.


    Francis¡¯ apartment.


    It wasn¡¯t far. If he could just-----


    Something grabbed his ankle.


    John hit the pavement hard, air ripped from his lungs. Before he could react, the Undead was on him, growling, snapping, its teeth lunging for his neck.


    The teeth tore into his backpack instead, John''s desperate thrashing keeping it from his throat.


    "GET OFF ME!" he roared, but more were coming. Shadows closing in.


    Then...


    BANG!


    The deafening blast of a shotgun ripped through the chaos.


    BANG! BANG!


    John¡¯s ears rang. The Undead shrieked and crumpled, the stench of gunpowder mixing with death.


    Gasping, he looked up.


    A figure stood over him, shotgun still smoking.


    A man he never knew.


    John blinked in relief.


    The Undead snarled, but the man didn¡¯t hesitate. Another blast. Another body dropped.


    "Get up!" The man barked, grabbing John¡¯s arm and yanking him to his feet.


    John¡¯s legs wobbled. His head spun.


    ¡°Let¡¯s go!¡± the man shouted, grabbing John¡¯s arm and pulling him forward.


    Gunfire roared in John¡¯s ears as the man blasted through the Undead blocking their path. Each shot echoed through the streets, cutting down the monsters before they could lunge. But then...


    An Undead grabbed the barrel of his shotgun. With unnatural strength, it yanked the weapon away, sending it clattering into the stampede of rotting bodies. The gun was gone, swallowed by the chaos.


    John reacted fast. He swung his bat, the crack of impact drowned out by the snarls around them. The Undead¡¯s skull caved in as it collapsed, releasing its grip on the man.


    The stranger shot John a grateful nod before taking off again, leading him toward a narrow alleyway. ¡°In here!¡± he barked.


    John didn¡¯t hesitate. He bolted after him, slipping through the door just as the man slammed it shut and twisted the lock.


    Outside, the Undead screeched and clawed at the walls. Their footsteps pounded against the pavement, directionless. They hadn¡¯t figured out where their prey had disappeared to... ...yet.


    John leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath. His heart slammed against his ribs, his fingers still gripping the bat like a lifeline.


    He turned to the man beside him, who looked to be in his early twenties. Sweaty, out of breath, but alive.


    ¡°Thanks for saving me,¡± John said, his voice rough.


    The man nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. ¡°Yeah, well... thanks for returning the favor. Nice swing, by the way.¡± He smirked. ¡°Baseball player?¡±


    ¡°Former, yeah,¡± John replied. ¡°Name''s John.¡±


    ¡°Mark,¡± the man introduced himself, rolling his shoulders. The room settled into silence, heavy with everything they¡¯d just survived.


    Mark broke it first. ¡°You heading somewhere?¡±


    John hesitated, then sighed. ¡°Yeah. How¡¯d you know?¡±


    Mark shrugged. ¡°Nobody just goes outside anymore. Not unless they¡¯re trying to get the hell out of here... y''know, try to evacuate...¡±


    ¡°Evacuate?¡± John frowned.


    Mark gave him a confused look. ¡°Wait¡­ you didn¡¯t know? Everyone in the city knows about it.¡±


    John shook his head. ¡°I just got back. I was working in another state when everything went to hell. I came back for my daughter. She¡¯s the only reason I¡¯m here.¡±


    Mark¡¯s expression darkened. He hesitated. ¡°Listen, man¡­ I don¡¯t wanna be that guy, but¡­¡± He exhaled sharply. ¡°The chances aren¡¯t great.¡±


    John clenched his jaw, looking away. He knew what Mark meant. He just refused to accept it.


    ¡°I won¡¯t stop looking for her,¡± he said, voice firm. ¡°Not unless I see her alive or¡­¡± He couldn¡¯t even finish the sentence.


    Silence again.


    Then, Mark spoke, his tone softer. ¡°Maybe she got out. The military was evacuating people in choppers a few days ago. I saw a few get lifted out before...¡± He paused. ¡°...well... before everything turned to shit.¡±


    John looked back at him. ¡°You were here when it happened, huh?¡±


    Mark nodded. ¡°Yeah. Two days ago, everything was normal. Yesterday? Geeks started popping up. Today? Almost everyone¡¯s dead.¡± His voice was steady, but there was something hollow beneath it.


    He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.


    "It''s crazy, man..." Mark''s voice trembled. "I saw them eating kids." His breath hitched. "And you know what I haven''t seen? A child infected..."


    John swallowed hard.


    Mark shook his head, his hands unsteady. "That means they didn¡¯t even turn. They were completely devoured. I saw bones, man. Tiny bones in the streets... They... They..."


    His breathing turned ragged. "Oh God¡­ It¡¯s like they¡¯re feasting on us."


    John reached out, gripping Mark¡¯s shoulder. "Hey. We made it out alive. That¡¯s all that matters."


    Mark inhaled sharply, then exhaled, steadying himself. "...Yeah."


    A moment passed before John spoke again. "Why''d you save me?"


    Mark let out a weak chuckle. "Maybe¡­ I guess I¡¯d want someone to do the same for me." He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "I just want to save people before I die. It¡¯s kinda my principle, you know? Even though I¡¯m scared as hell¡­"


    "Ah, damn it... my shotgun..." Mark groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Shit..."


    Silence settled between them.


    Then Mark spoke up. "So... any plans?"


    John nodded, slipping off his backpack and unzipping it. He emptied its contents onto the table: Water bottles, a few cans of food, a kitchen knife, and a flashlight.


    "I need to find the evacuation site," he said. "It''s worth a shot. Maybe my daughter¡¯s there¡­" His voice faltered. Or maybe¡­


    Mark''s words echoed in his mind: I saw them eating kids. The thought of Amy ...his Amy... being one of them, torn apart in the streets, made his stomach twist. He shook it off. No. She''s alive. She has to be.


    "You coming with me?" he asked.


    Mark hesitated. "I don¡¯t know, man¡­ I need to find my mom and dad. They¡¯re in this state. I just¡­ I moved out when I turned eighteen."


    John considered that for a moment. Then, with certainty, he said, "I''ll help you."


    Mark blinked. "Really?"


    "You saved my ass back there," John said. "Least I can do." He glanced at his bag, then back at Mark. "We find your parents first. Then I head for the evac center."


    Mark replies, ¡°Okay¡­¡±


    "REEEEAAAAAGH!!"


    Then... a high-pitched, ear-splitting screech tore through the streets.


    John and Mark froze.


    A man¡¯s voice followed, raw with terror. ¡°Get off me!¡± His screams were guttural, desperate, then drowned out by feral growling and the sickening sound of flesh being ripped apart. A wet, tearing noise. Bones snapping.


    Then...


    Silence.


    Only the shuffling of the Undead remained.


    John¡¯s stomach twisted. ¡°What the hell was that¡­?¡±


    Mark¡¯s face had gone pale. ¡°That¡¯s the one that started the infection here...¡± he whispered. ¡°It''s nothing like the ones you''ve seen today...¡±


    John turned to him. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    Mark swallowed hard. ¡°It¡¯s fast. Faster than anything I¡¯ve ever seen. A car at full speed couldn¡¯t outrun it. It leaps, pounces on you like a goddamn animal. It doesn¡¯t just bite. It tears you apart.¡± His voice shook. ¡°It rips you to shreds.¡±


    John¡¯s grip on his bat tightened. ¡°You said the military was here. How the hell did this thing spread if they had guns, tanks, everything?¡±


    Mark shook his head. ¡°You don¡¯t understand.¡± His breath came faster. ¡°That thing... tore through the military. They didn¡¯t stand a chance. It was leaping between rooftops, ripping through body armor like it was paper.¡± He looked at John, his eyes hollow. "It toys with its victims, John..."


    A cold shiver crawled up John¡¯s spine.


    "It wants you to scream first..."

 Chapter 2: Mercy

    After a few hours of resting inside their hideout, they ate their last meal, emptying everything. They drank and ate like there was no tomorrow because, honestly, there might not be.


    When the last can was scraped clean, they started preparing. John handed Mark the knife and flashlight he had packed earlier. He gripped his own baseball bat, the weight of it familiar in his hands.


    ¡°They¡¯re still in this city. I know it,¡± Mark muttered, rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms.


    John glanced at him. ¡°Then why haven¡¯t you gone looking for them before now?¡±


    Mark sighed. ¡°I was going to, but¡­ y''know, it¡¯s New York. Not exactly easy to just waltz over. I¡¯ve been planning how to get in, figuring out the safest route. We¡¯re only a few blocks away.¡±


    John nodded. ¡°We can do this.¡±


    Mark strapped the flashlight to his hat, adjusting it before exhaling sharply. ¡°Alright. Let¡¯s go.¡±


    By the time they stepped outside, night had settled over the city. They weren¡¯t sure if time made a difference to the Undead, if they slowed down, got more aggressive, or if it didn¡¯t matter at all. But they were about to find out.


    They moved cautiously through the streets, stepping over bodies, past streaks of dried blood. Their target loomed ahead... a modest apartment building just a few blocks away.


    ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± Mark said, pointing.


    ¡°Stay quiet,¡± John whispered.


    The deeper they walked, the more unsettling it became. The city was¡­ empty. No shuffling, no snarling. Just silence. A thick, unnatural kind of quiet.


    Mark slowed his pace, scanning their surroundings. ¡°What the hell¡­? This is weird.¡± His voice was barely above a breath. ¡°How is Brooklyn this¡­ empty?¡±


    John swallowed, gripping his bat a little tighter. ¡°Better than running into a horde.¡±


    Still, something about it felt off.


    A chill crawled up John''s spine. A feeling.


    Then, movement, just out of the corner of his eye. A shadow darting across the street, too fast to be an Undead. Either it was hiding from them¡­ or watching them.


    John¡¯s stomach tightened. He leaned toward Mark, voice low. ¡°Hey¡­ I swear I just saw someone.¡±


    Mark turned to look, but saw nothing. ¡°I don''t see anything but... if it was dangerous, it would¡¯ve attacked already.¡±


    John wasn¡¯t sure he believed that.


    Before he could say anything else, Mark stopped. They had reached the apartment.


    "We''re here," he said, exhaling.


    John glanced up at the dark windows. The building stood quiet, waiting.


    Something was off. He could feel it.


    ¡°Even the buildings are empty¡­¡± Mark muttered as they made their way through the apartment complex, the silence pressing in on them.


    The hallway was still, eerily undisturbed. Dust floated in the air, catching in the glow of Mark¡¯s flashlight. Then, as they reached the right floor, they saw it...


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    A small body slumped against the wall. A little girl. Or at least, what used to be one.


    Her skin was peeling away, raw and lifeless. Her limbs were mangled... except for her right hand, which still twitched, still reached for them.


    Mark swallowed hard. ¡°It¡¯s a child¡­¡±


    John exhaled slowly. ¡°First time seeing one turn?¡±, John gestures Mark to give him his knife.


    Mark nodded.


    John stepped closer, kneeling down to her level.


    Mark stiffened. ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    John didn¡¯t answer right away. He kept his eyes on the child... if she was even that anymore. Her lifeless, cloudy eyes locked onto him, her tiny fingers still grasping for something, for anything.


    ¡°She doesn¡¯t deserve this¡­¡± John murmured.


    Mark¡¯s breath hitched.


    John gripped his knife, his fingers tightening around the handle. ¡°A kid shouldn¡¯t have to be one of them.¡±


    And then, without another word, he drove the blade into her skull. "This is mercy.."


    A sickening crunch. Then stillness.


    John didn¡¯t move for a second. His first Undead kill. And it had to be a child.


    For a moment, neither of them spoke. The weight of it hung over them like a shadow. John avoids thinking that it could happen to Amy... that he would be the one to put her out.


    Then, John gave Mark his knife back and took a slow step forward. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    John wiped his blade clean and followed, but something about him felt different. Maybe something about both of them did.


    Because this? This changed things.


    As Mark stepped into his parents¡¯ apartment, a wet, sickening munching filled the air. Low, guttural growls followed..


    His heart stopped.


    ¡°No, no, no, no, no, NO!¡± Mark bolted toward the bedroom, his pulse hammering in his ears.


    John chased after him, skidding to a stop just behind him.


    And then, he saw.


    An old man and woman. Handcuffed together to the bedframe. But Mark¡¯s father¡­ was already gone.


    His mother was still there. Eating him.


    Mark¡¯s breath caught. His body locked up. His mind screamed.


    ¡°No¡­! NO!¡± His knees hit the floor as the sobs ripped out of him.


    John stood frozen, staring. Mark¡¯s parents had stayed together, even in death.


    Mark gasped between sobs. ¡°I should have been here¡­¡± His voice cracked. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, Mom¡­ Dad¡­ I¡¯m sorry¡­¡±


    John, his throat tight, silently reached for Mark''s knife, in an attempt of trying to take his parents down himself.


    Mark saw, and shook his head.


    ¡°No.¡± His voice was hoarse but firm. He wiped his face and stood, his grip tightening on the handle. ¡°Let me do it.¡±


    John hesitated, then nodded.


    Mark stepped forward.


    His mother kept chewing, oblivious, until Mark spoke.


    ¡°Mom¡­¡± His voice wavered.


    She stilled. Then, slowly, her hollow, clouded eyes locked onto him. A second of silence. A flicker of¡­ something, before she snarled.


    Mark¡¯s breath hitched. His grip tightened.


    Then, he drove the knife into her skull.


    Her body twitched¡­ then slumped.


    Mark¡¯s hand shook, but he couldn¡¯t let go. The knife stayed there, buried deep, as his shoulders trembled.


    John looked away.


    Mark swallowed hard and pulled the knife free. His mother¡¯s body sagged.


    He turned to his father.


    His face was barely there. His throat, stripped to bone.


    Mark¡¯s voice came out a whisper. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Dad.¡±


    The knife plunged down his skull.


    And just like that¡­ they were gone.


    Mark sucked in a shaky breath, his shoulders trembling. His chest felt tight, his hands weak.


    John hesitated before placing a hand on his shoulder. ¡°I¡¯ll give you some time,¡± he said quietly. ¡°I¡¯ll wait outside. Keep watch.¡±


    Mark didn¡¯t respond. Just nodded.


    John stepped out into the hallway, letting the door click shut behind him. He exhaled, rubbing his face.


    Then... movement.


    Across the dimly lit hall, just at the edge of his vision, something shifted.


    His stomach dropped. The figure.


    The same one from earlier. Still watching. Still following.


    John¡¯s grip tightened around his bat. Not an Undead. If it was, it wouldn¡¯t be lurking... it wouldn¡¯t be peeking out from corners, it would be coming straight for him.


    But who? And why?


    He took a slow step forward, eyes locked on the dark shape at the end of the hall. It barely moved, just staring back.


    ¡°Who are you?!¡± John¡¯s voice echoed through the empty building. ¡°Show yourself!¡±


    No response. No movement.


    John¡¯s heartbeat hammered in his chest.


    He gritted his teeth, knuckles white around the bat. ¡°Why are you following us?!¡±


    Still, nothing.


    The door behind him creaked open.


    ¡°Stop shouting, man¡­¡± Mark¡¯s voice was hoarse, the grief still clinging to him. He stepped into the hall, rubbing the tears from his face.


    John turned, gesturing sharply toward the hallway¡¯s end. ¡°Look!¡±


    Mark followed his gaze, but the figure was gone.


    John¡¯s stomach twisted. ¡°What the hell?!¡±


    Mark frowned. ¡°What?¡±


    John scanned the shadows. Nothing. Like it was never there.


    ¡°I swear,¡± he muttered. ¡°Someone was stalking us¡­¡±


    Mark studied him for a moment, then sighed. ¡°Really¡­?¡± His voice was flat, tired.


    John wasn¡¯t sure what unsettled him more. The figure vanishing¡­ or the feeling that it hadn¡¯t really left.


    "REEEEAAAAAGH!!"


    A piercing screech tore through the hallway, echoing off the walls. Was that a man?! Or something else entirely?!


    The sound shattered the eerie silence of Brooklyn. Then came the response... distant at first, a low rumble beneath the city¡¯s hush. But it grew, swelling into a deafening chorus of snarls, guttural moans, and pounding footsteps.


    Thousands. Thousands.


    "What the hell?!" Mark gasped. He barely had time to process what was happening before the first wave of Undead came into view, sprinting down the hallway.


    "Shit! Get back inside!" John shouted.


    They bolted into the apartment, slamming the door behind them. The wood shuddered as the first bodies crashed against it.


    "Help me block it!" John barked, throwing his weight against the door.


    Mark scrambled, shoving a nearby fridge toward the door. The fridge groaned against the floor before wedging into place.


    "That won¡¯t hold," Mark panted, stepping back. His heart pounded against his ribs. "That won¡¯t fucking hold!"


    The first fists broke through the windows. Pale, rotting hands clawed inside, grasping wildly for anything to tear apart.


    John turned, eyes darting to the balcony. ¡°We have to jump!¡±


    ¡°What?! We¡¯re on the third floor!¡± Mark shouted, panic creeping into his voice.


    John didn¡¯t hesitate. ¡°So?! Better than dying in here!¡±


    The fridge groaned, tilting forward as the door splintered behind it. The Undead were coming through.

 Chapter 3: When the Guns Fall Silent

    The fridge buckled, its weight shifting as the door splintered behind it. Any second now, the Undead would pour in.


    John''s eyes darted around the room, searching for anything... ANYTHING... that could save them. His gaze landed on their weapons: a baseball bat and a knife.


    That was it.


    They had two choices. Fight through thousands of them¡­ or jump off the third floor.


    ¡°Fight or jump?!¡± John¡¯s voice cracked with urgency.


    Mark whipped his head around. ¡°What?!¡±


    ¡°FIGHT OR JUMP?!¡± John bellowed.


    Mark groaned, shoving himself against the fridge. ¡°Help me hold this first!¡±


    John didn¡¯t hesitate. He sprinted over, slamming his weight into it. The fridge jolted under the force of another slam from the Undead.


    ¡°Okay¡ªwhile we¡¯re still holding this up, how about we find another way?!¡± Mark gritted his teeth. ¡°One that isn¡¯t jumping or fighting?!¡±


    Their arms were already burning. The groaning mass outside only grew louder, the sound of hands and bodies stacking up against the door like a tidal wave of death.


    John¡¯s mind raced. He scanned the room again. No escape. Nowhere to go.


    Or was there?


    His eyes flicked toward the bathroom.


    ¡°Can we hide?!¡± he asked, breathless.


    Mark strained to hear. ¡°What?!¡±


    John sucked in a sharp breath. ¡°The bathroom!¡±


    Mark stared at him like he had lost his damn mind. ¡°You wanna hide in the BATHROOM?!¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re not smart, right?!¡± John reasoned, his words spilling out fast. ¡°They might not even know we¡¯re there!¡±


    ¡°Are you CRAZY?!¡± Mark¡¯s voice cracked. ¡°What if they DO?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s worth a shot!!!¡±


    ¡°No, it isn¡¯t!¡±


    The fridge tilted. The door groaned.


    ...


    ...


    ...


    They couldn¡¯t hold it any longer.


    John and Mark bolted for the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind them. Their backs pressed against it, hands trembling as they fumbled for the lock.


    Then¡­ silence.


    Maybe, just maybe, the Undead wouldn¡¯t know they were here.


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    John raised a finger to his lips, signaling Mark to stay quiet. His own breathing was shallow, barely there.


    Mark swallowed hard and gave a small nod.


    Then... THUMP!


    The fridge crashed to the floor, the impact shaking the walls. The echo of it sent a cold dread down their spines.


    And then came the sound.


    The frenzied, desperate scraping of hands against wood.


    John had one thought in his mind.


    Amy.


    His daughter. His only family.


    The groans of the Undead filled the apartment, a constant reminder that death was just outside. But among the chaos, something else stood out.


    A growl.


    Feral. Animalistic. Like a predator closing in on its prey.


    Then...


    John saw it.


    The doorknob was turning.


    Mark¡¯s eyes widened, and he shot forward, grabbing the knob with both hands to stop it from moving.


    Then came the scream again.


    "REAAAAAAGHHHH!!"


    A high-pitched, ear-splitting screech that sent chills down John¡¯s spine.


    Then, the scratching.


    Clawed fingers dug into the wood, ripping and tearing at the door. Splinters flew. The whole thing rattled as if it could be torn apart at any second.


    ¡°Shit! We¡¯re dead!¡± Mark¡¯s voice cracked with fear.


    "Just hold the door!" John yelled, pressing his weight against it.


    But as the pounding got worse. The horde started to slam into the bathroom, their bodies stacking up, desperate to get inside.


    Then...


    Gunfire.


    A burst of shots rang out in the distance.


    Then another.


    Then more.


    John and Mark froze. The Undead outside hesitated. Then, in an instant, they turned and sprinted toward the sound.


    The apartment shook as the horde rushed out, their groans fading as they chased the gunfire.


    Silence.


    John and Mark exhaled, their bodies shaking with relief.


    But then¡­


    A growl.


    Low. Deep. Close.


    John¡¯s heart pounded.


    Whatever that thing was¡­ it was still here.


    But as the gunfire drew closer, the creature let out a low snarl¡­ then vanished into the darkness.


    John¡¯s breath hitched. ¡°Is that the military?¡±


    Mark swallowed hard, still gripping the door. ¡°God, I hope so.¡±


    Then, a small military patrol of six entered the apartment.


    Gunfire echoed outside as some of them remained by the entrance, holding off the incoming horde.


    Inside, one of the soldiers raised his voice over the chaos.


    "Echo Team! If there are any survivors, state your names!"


    John and Mark didn¡¯t hesitate. They shoved open the battered bathroom door, hands raised, but still wielding their weapons.


    "I''m John, and this is Mark! We''re not one of them!" John called out.


    A soldier immediately stepped forward, rifle steady. "Are you bitten? Scratched? Any physical contact with the infected?"


    "No, no, we''re fine!" John answered quickly.


    "Any illnesses?" the soldier asked, his voice sharp with urgency.


    "No, we''re fine! In good shape!" John replied quickly. "Please help us, we''re desperate!"


    The soldier didn¡¯t hesitate. "Follow us. Don¡¯t separate!"


    John and Mark nodded and trailed behind as they were led outside.


    Gunfire roared. Five soldiers held their ground at the entrance, firing relentlessly at the horde while another prepared a rappelling rope near the balcony. The hallways were flooded with the Undead, there was no way down but through the air.


    One by one, they began to descend.


    Then it came again.


    That same screech.


    "REEEEEAAAAAAGHHHH!!!"


    It tore through the air, raw and inhuman.


    As they descended, gunfire turned to screams. The soldiers above them shouted in panic. Then one of them was flung off the balcony, his body slamming into the pavement below with a sickening crunch.


    The sounds of tearing flesh followed. Gurgled cries. The relentless, wet ripping of bodies being torn apart.


    And then¡­ silence.


    Echo Team was gone.


    Only one soldier remained.


    As soon as their feet hit the ground, the last soldier clutched his radio, his voice frantic. "Echo Team is compromised, I repeat, Echo Team is----"


    A blur of movement. A flash of claws.


    The creature leaped on him.


    John barely registered what happened before the soldier¡¯s armor was shredded like paper. The thing... an Undead in a tattered hoodie, drove its claws into his torso.


    The soldier didn¡¯t scream and attempted to aim his gun at the creature.


    The creature tilted its head, puzzled¡­ then wrenched its claws sideways, ripping out a mass of flesh and organs.


    The soldier¡¯s agonized wail split through the streets.


    "LOOK OUT!" Mark roared.


    John turned just in time to see an Undead lunging at him, only for Mark to drive his knife deep into its skull.


    "KEEP RUNNING!" Mark shouted.


    More Undead poured into the streets.


    John and Mark ran.


    And ran.


    And ran.


    Then, the unmistakable sound of rotor blades.


    A chopper.


    "LOOK!" John pointed.


    Hope.


    But hope was short-lived.


    "REEEEEAAAAAAAGHHHH!!!"


    The creature leaped.


    Like a bullet, it shot through the air, slamming onto the helicopter¡¯s windshield.


    With one brutal punch, the glass shattered. The pilot barely had time to react before the thing ripped him out of his seat and threw him into the streets below.


    Then, chaos.


    Screams erupted from inside the chopper as the creature tore through the soldiers inside the chopper.


    John and Mark could only watch in horror.


    "Holy shit--" Mark breathed.


    Then, they ran.


    To wherever.


    To nowhere.


    As they ran, their lungs burning, their legs screaming for rest, they finally slowed, staggering to a stop at the sight ahead.


    Brooklyn.


    Or what was left of it.


    A military safe zone¡­ or at least, it had been.


    Now, it was a graveyard.


    The walls meant to protect survivors were crumbling, clawed apart by something far stronger than human hands. A tank sat in the middle of the street, its hull scorched, its turret bent at an unnatural angle. The stench of death clung to the air, thick and suffocating.


    Bodies... military and civilian... lay sprawled across the pavement, torn open, their remains baking under the dim, sickly glow of the fires still smoldering around them. And the worst part?


    Some of them were still moving.


    Not alive. Not dead. Just... mindless.


    John stood frozen, his breath shallow, his hands trembling at his sides. A lump formed in his throat, heavy and suffocating.


    That small flicker of hope, the belief that... somewhere, someone still had control over this nightmare... snuffed out in an instant.


    "They tried," Mark murmured. His voice was barely there, hollow and tired. "They tried to set up a safe zone¡­"


    John swallowed hard, unable to look away.


    "They failed."

 Chapter 4: Trapped in the Wake

    It had been hours since the last time they ran for their lives. Now it''s daytime.


    Now, they were resting in an old, abandoned house in Brooklyn. They were safe. ...at least for the moment. The quiet felt strange. John sat against the wall, his mind busy, thinking about what to do next. Mark laid on the bed, staring at the ceiling, lost in his thoughts. He was thinking about his parents. How he treated them before everything changed.


    After a long silence, John finally spoke up. ¡°Do you think... all the other military safe zones are... overrun too?¡± His voice was soft, worried about Amy.


    Mark didn¡¯t answer right away. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I didn¡¯t even know there was a safe zone in Brooklyn until now.¡±


    John sighed, the weight of worry on his shoulders. ¡°I just hope Amy¡¯s okay.¡±


    Mark turned his head toward John, trying to comfort him. ¡°She will be. The military¡¯s strong. They won¡¯t just fall. ...Right?¡±


    John nodded, but doubt still clouded his eyes. ¡°We¡¯re not sure... but if we want to find out, we have to survive first.¡±


    Mark took off his watch. It was a gift from his father. He stared at it, holding onto it like a lifeline. ¡°My dad... he was a good man. Family came first for him. My mom, though... she had a sharp tongue. Always talking.¡±


    John chuckled softly, understanding. ¡°Sounds like you had a good family.¡±


    Mark smiled a little, the memory bittersweet. ¡°Yeah. My mom would make this terrible meatloaf. My dad would pretend to eat it, then say he had to go to the bathroom. I always knew he was just going to spit it out.¡±


    John laughed, shaking his head. ¡°Sounds like my dad. They were like cats and dogs. My dad would lie on the couch all day, and my mom would yell at him. I¡¯d just watch and laugh as he cleaned the whole house after she told him to.¡±


    Mark¡¯s chuckle faded, and the smile slipped off his face. ¡°Yeah... parents are the best. I miss them.¡±


    John''s expression softened. He could feel the weight of Mark¡¯s pain. ¡°It¡¯s okay... We¡¯ll make it through this. Your parents would be proud of you.¡±


    Mark¡¯s eyes filled with tears, and his voice cracked. ¡°I know... but I wasn¡¯t always a good son. I didn¡¯t always appreciate them when I should have.¡±


    The words seemed to break something inside him. ¡°I just hope they knew how much I loved them... I never showed it enough. I regret it all...¡± The regret hit him hard now. With his parents gone, there was no one left to talk to, no one left to guide him, no one to help him make sense of it all.


    John stayed quiet, listening closely, letting Mark say what he needed to say.


    Mark wiped his eyes. ¡°When I cried, my mom would always ask me what was wrong. My dad... he¡¯d know what to say. He¡¯d take me anywhere I wanted to go, just to make me feel better.¡±


    The room was still for a moment, as Mark¡¯s words hung in the air. John sat beside him, offering his presence. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was all he could give.


    Mark¡¯s voice was quieter now. ¡°I wish I could¡¯ve told them how much they meant to me. I wish I had been a better son. But it¡¯s too late.¡±


    John gently put a hand on Mark¡¯s shoulder, a silent promise of support. He didn¡¯t need to say much more. Sometimes, just being there was enough.


    ¡°...¡±


    A moment of silence stretched between them before Mark finally spoke. ¡°You better find your daughter, man...¡±


    His voice was steady, sure. ¡°I¡¯ll follow you. Forever.¡±


    John looked at him, surprised, but then his lips curled into a small smile. ¡°Thanks, Mark... That means a lot.¡±


    Then... footsteps. Fast. Desperate. Coming from outside.


    John and Mark exchanged glances. They both grabbed their weapons, moving toward the window.


    A woman, wearing a big backpack, was running down the street, two men right on her heels.


    ¡°We gotta help her,¡± John said, already reaching for the door.


    Mark nodded. ¡°Yeah. Agreed.¡±


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    ¡°Keep running, you bastard! I¡¯ll take everything from you!¡± one of the men shouted as he chased her.


    ¡°We had a deal!¡± the woman shot back.


    ¡°Stop, or I¡¯ll shoot!¡± the man threatened, but she knew better. A gunshot would bring the Undead.


    Then... a third man stepped into her path. A suit. A gun. Aimed right between her eyes.


    She skidded to a stop, breathless.


    ¡°I swear, we¡¯ve been good to you, Ash¡­¡± His voice was low, calm, but dripping with quiet aggression. ¡°Hand over our supplies.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she snapped. ¡°You said you were a man of your word. You said I¡¯d get half.¡±


    His expression darkened. ¡°Right. But you compromised the whole operation.¡±


    ¡°Just shoot her already!¡± one of the pursuers growled.


    The man in the tux scoffed. ¡°Shut up.¡±


    He pulled the trigger.


    Two quick shots. The pursuers dropped, dead before they hit the ground.


    John and Mark had been sneaking up behind the pursuers, weapons raised... but now they just stood there, frozen.


    ¡°Uh¡­¡± Mark muttered.


    The man in the tux turned his gun on them. Ash glanced their way, wary.


    John swallowed hard. ¡°P-put the gun down¡­ We were just trying to help her.¡± His voice wavered, but his eyes stayed locked on the man¡¯s.


    ¡°She your business?¡± The tuxedo man¡¯s gaze was sharp, searching.


    John hesitated. Just a second. ¡°...Yes.¡±


    The man smirked. ¡°Bullshit.¡± He cocked the gun, finger tightening on the trigger, aiming at John.


    And then...


    ¡°REEEEEEEEEAAAAAGHHHHHHH!!¡±


    That scream.


    Ash¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°No, no, no!¡± She bolted.


    ¡°Hey!¡± The tuxedo man spun, chasing after her.


    John barely had time to react before another scream split the air... closer this time.


    ¡°RAAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHH!!¡±


    It came from the rooftops.


    Mark stiffened. His breath hitched. His mind flashed back... The Echo Team, the helicopter, the first day in Brooklyn. The blood. The chaos. The horror.


    John''s chest tightened. His body refused to move.


    Mark grabbed his shirt. ¡°John! We gotta go!¡±


    More footsteps. Fast. Aggressive. Coming straight for them.


    John yanked at him harder. ¡°JOHN!¡±


    But Mark was frozen, trapped in the past.


    And the nightmare was closing in.


    "JOHN!!"


    ¡°John!¡±


    John jolted awake, his eyes heavy with sleep. The sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow on his room.


    ¡°Huh...?¡± he mumbled, his voice deep and groggy. ¡°What...? What is it, Juliana...?¡±


    A burst of laughter of a little girl cut through his confusion.


    ¡°Hahaha! You thought I was mom!¡± Amy giggled, poking him in the chest.


    John blinked, still trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. ¡°Come on, sleepyhead! It¡¯s morning already! You¡¯re gonna be late for work, and you won¡¯t be able to drive me to school!¡± Amy¡¯s voice was sweet but firm, like she was trying to sound strict, but John could only find it adorable.


    John chuckled softly, a small smile tugging at his lips. ¡°Yeah, yeah... I¡¯m getting up.¡± He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he swung his legs off the bed. It was just another day.


    "JOHN, COME ON, MAN!"


    "WAKE UP! JOHN!!"


    "REAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!"


    "So, how was school?" John asked, still half-dazed, as he moved around preparing breakfast.


    "Good! My teacher gave me a star for scoring the spelling bee a perfect!" Amy replied, her voice sweet and proud.


    "JOHN!!!"


    "Oh, you got a perfect score?!" John said with pride, smiling at Amy.


    "Yep! I knew you''d be surprised!" Amy chuckled, clearly delighted.


    "Whoa! My little girl is so smart!" John beamed, running toward Amy and lifting her up into the air, spinning her joyfully.


    "But... Dad...?" Amy¡¯s voice faltered, a hint of something heavier in it now.


    "Can you promise me one thing?" she asked, her eyes wide as she looked up at him.


    "Yeah, anything for you, honey," John replied, his smile still on his face, unaware of the shift in tone.


    "Can you..." Amy hesitated, her words trailing off.


    "Can you.."


    "WAKE UP!" Mark''s voice cut through, suddenly harsh as he shook John¡¯s shoulders, pulling him from his dream-like state.


    They were in the rowhouse. Mark had pulled John inside when he was still in his dream-like state, slamming the door shut and quickly barricading it. Outside, the sounds of the Undead grew louder, more frantic, as if they were closing in on the house.


    ¡°Huh¡­?¡± John mumbled, disoriented, blinking rapidly to clear his head.


    Mark, his face tense, replied urgently, ¡°We don¡¯t have much time. We need to get out. We¡¯re trapped!¡±


    John snapped to attention, his mind clearing as adrenaline kicked in. He stood up quickly. ¡°Let¡¯s go to the second level!¡± His voice was sharp, no longer groggy. The sound of glass shattering echoed through the house, the Undead were breaking in.


    Without wasting another moment, they both ran for the stairs, barely making it up as the door to the rowhouse shook violently from the force of the horde outside. At the top of the stairs, John grabbed a cabinet and shoved it in front of the door, trying to buy them some time.


    ¡°We need to figure this out, NOW!¡± Mark shouted, pacing as panic set in.


    John''s mind raced. He ran to the window, peering through the gap in the blinds. His stomach dropped when he saw what awaited them outside.


    The street was swarming with hundreds of Undead, packed together like a flood of rotting flesh, blocking the way out and focusing on the door of their rowhouse. He stepped back from the window, horror written across his face.


    ¡°Shit¡­¡± His voice faltered, but he quickly recovered and turned toward Mark. ¡°We¡¯re surrounded¡­¡±


    Then, through the chaos, something caught his eye. He squinted... ...there, moving behind the horde, was Ash. The same woman they had seen earlier, sneaking past the masses of Undead, moving with purpose.


    ¡°Hey! We need help!¡± John shouted, his voice desperate. He pressed his hands against the window, trying to make himself heard. ¡°Please! We¡¯re desperate!¡±


    Ash briefly glanced up at him. For a moment, she hesitated, eyes flickering between John and the horde, but then she continued her slow walk, slipping further into the sea of the Undead.


    ¡°Please!¡± John¡¯s voice cracked as he pleaded with her, his hands trembling against the glass. ¡°I beg you!¡±


    Ash stopped. For a moment, John thought she might relent, that she might come to their aid. But then she let out an exasperated sigh, her gaze narrowing at him. She rolled her eyes and, without a word, continued to walk away from the house, the last thing he saw was Ash killing an Undead that spotted her, and after that... she disappeared.


    The Undead reached the second level.


    Mark¡¯s voice cracked with panic. ¡°John...? We can¡¯t get out of this¡­¡±

 Chapter 5: The Catalyst

    ¡°We can¡¯t get out of this! We got lucky once, but there¡¯s no military to save us now¡­¡± Mark¡¯s voice cracked, panic creeping in.


    "Where are our weapons?!", John asked, searching for his baseball bat.


    "You passed out, I had to carry you inside!" replied Mark.


    ¡°Please, tell me you have a way¡­ Please!¡± Mark''s voice was loud, desperate.


    John lowered his gaze to the floor. ¡°I¡­ I do¡­¡±


    Mark sighs, his voice faltering ¡°You don¡¯t have to lie, y¡¯know¡­¡±


    The cabinet rattled violently. The door groaned under the relentless pounding. It wasn¡¯t going to hold.


    ¡°Damn it¡­¡± Mark clenched his fists. ¡°I don¡¯t wanna die yet¡­¡±


    John rushed to the window, scanning for any way out. His eyes landed on a car parked beside the horde. Before he could even process the thought, the blaring screech of the horn from the vehicle shattered the chaos.


    The pounding on the door stopped.


    John¡¯s breath hitched as he watched the entire horde shift, heads snapping toward the sound. Then, in one grotesque, unified motion, they swarmed the vehicle, banging against it, denting metal, their rotting bodies pressing against the windows.


    ¡°Mark¡­ look!¡± John pointed.


    Mark hurried to his side, staring in disbelief. Slumped over the steering wheel, an Undead corpse was the unintentional savior, its weight pressing the horn, keeping it screaming through the streets.


    ¡°We gotta go!¡± John turned back,


    And froze.


    A figure stood in the doorway, shadowed against the dim light.


    It was Ash.


    ¡°Whoa¡­ You came back¡­¡± John exhaled, his voice laced with shock.


    Ash¡¯s expression was unreadable, her voice cold and clipped. ¡°Come on. We don¡¯t have time.¡±


    John nodded, ready to move.


    Mark, however, didn¡¯t.


    He was stuck.


    His gaze locked onto her... those striking blue eyes, cold yet mesmerizing. Her sharp, wolf-cut hair framed her face with effortless grace, her presence was magnetic, unreal. Like something pulled straight from a dream. Porcelain skin, delicate yet fierce. Her voice... her beautiful, perfect, lovely, sweet voice... A beauty so raw, so untouchable, it made his chest tighten.


    How¡­ how is she so perfect?


    John furrowed his brows. ¡°Mark¡­?¡±


    Ash raised an eyebrow. ¡°Uh¡­?¡±


    Mark blinked. His throat went dry.


    Ash cleared her throat. ¡°Anyway¡­ let¡¯s move.¡±


    As the three of them slipped out of the rowhouse, their breaths came in ragged gasps. The horde had been left behind, the agonized moans fading into the distance. For a moment, it seemed like they had a chance, until they stumbled straight into him.


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    The man in the tuxedo.


    But this time, he wasn¡¯t alone.


    Ten men flanked him, all armed, all waiting. The metallic glint of automatic weapons caught the dim light.


    ¡°Well¡­¡± The tuxedoed man sighed, tilting his head. ¡°Bad move. You should¡¯ve kept walking, Ash.¡±


    He stepped forward, raising a sleek black handgun, pressing the barrel against her forehead.


    ¡°You had potential, y¡¯know?¡± His tone was almost disappointed. ¡°But I guess¡­ potential can only remain as potential.¡±


    His finger curled around the trigger.


    BANG!


    Ash didn¡¯t flinch.


    Because she wasn¡¯t dead.


    Because the gun had no bullet.


    A flicker of confusion crossed the tuxedoed man¡¯s face. His men raised their rifles, fingers squeezing their triggers.


    Nothing.


    Click. Click. Click.


    Empty.


    ¡°What the---?¡± The tuxedoed man¡¯s eyes darted to Ash.


    She smirked, tapping her big bag around her back. ¡°What do you think¡¯s in here?¡±


    Realization dawned. ¡°You... You snatched everything we had?! You said you only took half!¡±


    He lunged for her throat. Ash moved faster. She ducked low, sweeping his legs out from under him. The man hit the pavement hard.


    A blur of motion, Ash¡¯s hand darted into her pocket, pulling out an ice pick. She raised it high, ready to drive it down.


    Then that scream.


    ¡°RAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!¡±


    Their blood ran cold.


    The tuxedoed man¡¯s soldiers barely had time to react before it struck.


    The creature... inhuman, grotesque, landed on one of the men, its claws tearing through him like paper. Blood sprayed. Organs spilled. The air filled with shrieks of agony.


    Then, like a phantom, it moved.


    One by one, it ripped through the men¡¯s torsos, carving a path of carnage, their hearts torn from their chests in mere seconds.


    ¡°Shit!¡± The tuxedoed man scrambled to his feet.


    Ash turned to John and Mark. ¡°RUN!¡±


    She didn¡¯t wait for them to respond.


    She slammed her boot into the tuxedoed man¡¯s face, sending him sprawling once more.


    The creature was already upon him.


    John and Mark were running.


    Ash caught up, her breath heavy. ¡°Dammit! EVERY TIME!¡±


    Mark, wide-eyed, could barely speak. ¡°Oh shit, man¡­ OH SHIT!¡±


    Behind them, the tuxedoed man¡¯s screams filled the air, louder than the gunfire that never came.


    John clenched his jaw. "Any ideas where to head?!"


    After hours of walking, Ash managed to carjack a car and get it running. She, John, and Mark settled in, catching their breath and planning what to do next.


    "Where are we going?" John asked.


    "Pennsylvania," Ash replied, eyes fixed on the road.


    "Why Pennsylvania?" Mark asked, puzzled.


    "Don''t you want to be rescued by the military?" Ash shot back.


    John''s eyes widened. "Wait... the military? Is the evac there?!"


    "Yeah," Ash said, without looking at him. "The evacuation center¡¯s in Pennsylvania. They were transporting people out of Brooklyn."


    "My daughter could be there!" John said, his voice tight with hope.


    "How can you be so sure?" Ash asked, raising an eyebrow.


    "I..." John¡¯s voice faltered, unsure.


    "Exactly," Ash said with a smirk, keeping her eyes on the road.


    Mark sighed. "It''s worth a shot. If his daughter''s there, at least we¡¯ve got a reason to push on."


    Ash rolled her eyes, the sarcasm thick in her voice. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. I¡¯ll drop you off, don¡¯t worry."


    "Drop?" John echoed, confused. "You aren¡¯t coming?"


    "Why would I?" Ash replied, a laugh barely contained in her voice.


    "Because it''s the military base! Don¡¯t you want safety?" John asked.


    Ash chuckled darkly. "Did you see the military safe zone they tried to set up in Brooklyn? That went to shit the second the infection spread."


    Mark chimed in, "Probably because of that creature..."


    John nodded. "Yeah, what the hell is up with that thing? Leaping so fast, ripping through people... What the hell is that?"


    Ash chuckled, her eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and something darker. "Oh, you''ve met my buddy, huh?"


    Both men stared at her, confused. "What?" they said in unison.


    Ash laughed, her voice echoing with something cruel. "I''m just messing with you."


    She cleared her throat, turning serious. "Anyway... That thing you saw, the one that didn''t kill you for some reason... is called ''Patient Zero.''"


    "Patient Zero?" John repeated, his voice tinged with disbelief.


    Ash nodded, her face hardening. "Yeah. When the infection first spread, there weren¡¯t many undead. The government tried to make a cure, but it went... wrong."


    "How wrong?" John asked, leaning forward.


    "Well, first, Patient Zero started shaking, growling, screaming in pain. His skin boiled like it was being burned alive. His fingernails... they¡¯re claws now, used to rip through anything."


    John looked horrified, but Ash continued, voice steady, almost clinical. "They tried to kill him. But Patient Zero didn''t die. He got up and started a fucking massacre in the lab."


    Ash looked like she¡¯d seen things too terrible to describe. "To be honest, I don¡¯t even know if it''s a ''he''... or an ''it.''"


    Mark raised an eyebrow. "How do you know all this?"


    Ash gave a half-shrug, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror. "Because... I just do. I heard things."


    John blinked, trying to process. "So, it¡¯s called ''Patient Zero,'' huh?"


    Ash didn¡¯t answer immediately. She just stared ahead, as if lost in thought, before muttering, "Yeah. Patient Zero."


    Ash continued, her voice cold and matter-of-fact, "During the first few hours of Patient Zero''s existence, the infection spread across the globe. There weren¡¯t many infected at first, But Patient Zero? He was the one who turned them. The real catalyst."


    John and Mark listened intently as Ash¡¯s eyes darkened with the memory. "Patient Zero leaped across rooftops, drawn to the sound of military choppers transporting civilians out of Brooklyn. He attacked one of them, leaped straight through it, tore through every soldier on board."


    Ash, her expression unreadable. "Only a few made it out. The rest were... shredded. Soldiers were killed, civilians screamed. Panic spread faster than the infection itself."


    Mark chimed in, inhaled sharply. "And the noise... drew Patient Zero¡¯s attention. It attacked and turned civilians into Undead."


    Ash chuckled darkly. "Yep. You got it. Patient Zero clawed through the civilians, and just like that, they became the next wave of the Undead."


    Mark fell silent, the weight of it settling in. Ash raised an eyebrow, her voice laced with mockery. "Oh, you were there, huh? What, are you gonna get PTSD or something?"


    She laughed, the sound bitter and hollow, before continuing, her tone shifting. "If you survived that mess, you¡¯ve got guts, I¡¯ll give you that."


    Mark chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, if we''re talking guts, John¡¯s got more than me. Second day of the outbreak, and he was already out there, running for his life. Could¡¯ve stayed home, barricaded himself inside, but nope! Dove straight into hell."


    John smirked. "Yeah, and I¡¯d be dead if someone didn¡¯t swoop in and save my ass. So, uh... thanks for that, badass."


    John and Mark slumped back in their seats, exhaustion weighing them down as Ash kept her focus on the road, the hum of the engine the only sound cutting through the silence.


    Then...


    THUMP.


    A heavy impact shook the roof.


    "What the hell---?!" Mark blurted out.