Garrett was now just an hour away from the town. The closer he got, the more surreal the scene became. In every direction, as far as his eyes could see, the undead wandered aimlessly. Hundreds of thousands of them, maybe even millions, trudging through the wasteland like lost souls. But none of them came close to the town. Not one.
Through the binoculars, Garrett scanned the perimeter. It was like an invisible wall had been built around the town, keeping the zombies at bay. They shuffled and moaned, their decaying faces turned toward the town as if drawn to it, but something kept them out. Their grotesque forms moved in an endless loop, circling the town but never breaching its borders. It was as if they were terrified of what lay inside.
Quest Strother.
Garrett couldn't deny the chill that ran down his spine. This wasn't normal. He had seen large gatherings of the undead before, but never like this. Never so many, and never so... hesitant. They were mindless creatures, driven only by hunger and instinct. But here, they seemed to have a sliver of that instinct back—the part that told them to avoid death, or whatever was more terrifying than death.
His eyes narrowed as he focused on the town itself. The buildings were derelict, crumbling under the weight of years, yet they stood like silent guardians of a forgotten past. The streets, as far as he could tell, were empty. No sign of movement, no sign of life—or unlife—within the boundaries. Just the eerie stillness of a place long abandoned.
Except it wasn't abandoned. Not really.
Garrett knew Quest was in there, somewhere, watching, waiting. He could feel it in his gut. The kid had probably sensed him long before Garrett had even gotten close. That was part of why Quest was so dangerous—he wasn't just a killer; he was attuned to the world in a way that no one else was. Rumor had it he could feel the life force of anyone who came near him, that he could sense death approaching before it even got close.
And yet, Garrett wasn't afraid. He had come this far for a reason. If Quest was waiting for him, then all the better. It would save him the trouble of searching through the ruins.
The truck's engine rumbled beneath him as it continued to close the distance. Garrett's eyes stayed glued to the town, watching for any sign of movement. The undead were thick out here, but not a single one had made any attempt to block their path. They simply moved aside, as if Garrett was of no interest to them. It was unsettling, to say the least.
"Look at them…" the driver muttered under his breath, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. "Never seen anything like it. It's like they're scared."
Garrett didn't respond, but he knew the driver was right. The undead didn't scare easily. Whatever was in that town—whoever was in that town—was something they feared more than anything else in this godforsaken wasteland.
"Keep going," Garrett said, his voice calm, despite the unease gnawing at him. "Get me as close to the town as you can."
The driver nodded, though Garrett could see the fear in his eyes. He couldn't blame the man. Anyone with half a brain could see that something was terribly wrong here. But Garrett was different. He wasn't here to understand. He was here to end this.
As they got closer, Garrett could see the outlines of the buildings more clearly now. The graffiti on the walls, the shattered windows, the rusted-out cars left abandoned in the streets. There were signs of life—old life—scattered throughout, remnants of a time before the apocalypse. And amidst all of it, there was a heavy sense of dread, as if the town itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.
The truck slowed as they reached the outer edge of the undead horde. The creatures parted, giving the vehicle a wide berth, their hollow eyes tracking its movements. Garrett watched them carefully, noting the way they moved. They weren't just wandering aimlessly. They were watching the town. Watching him.
He checked his gear one last time, the weight of his weapons grounding him. He had faced impossible odds before. He had gone up against monsters, men, and everything in between. But this? This was something new. Something that made even the dead hesitate.
With a deep breath, Garrett stepped out of the truck, his boots crunching against the cracked pavement. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and turned toward the town, its dark, empty streets beckoning him forward.
"Wait here," he told the driver, his voice steady. "I'll take it from here."
The driver looked like he wanted to argue, but one look at Garrett's expression told him it wasn't up for debate. With a reluctant nod, he stayed behind, his eyes darting nervously to the mass of undead surrounding them.
Garrett started walking toward the town. The undead stayed clear, parting like water around a stone. He didn't pay them any mind. His focus was on what lay ahead.
Quest was waiting.
And Garrett was ready.