PROLOGUE
The explosion shattered the night, a violent roar that drowned out even the deafening gunfire and guttural moans of the dead. Malik Carter hit the ground hard, the force of the blast slamming the air from his lungs and scattering his rifle from his grip. Pain flared in his side as he rolled over, ears ringing, his vision swimming with a kaleidoscope of fire, smoke, and shadows. The acrid stench of burning fuel and decaying flesh filled the air, mingling with the distant cries of the dying.
"Malik! Malik, are you okay?" Danica's voice cut through the haze, frantic and sharp, as her hands gripped his shoulder. He looked up to see her helmeted face, her dark eyes wide with fear and urgency. Behind her, Trent Mason, blood smeared across his faceplate, shouted something incoherent before unloading his M4 into the encroaching horde.
"I'm good," Malik coughed, his throat raw from smoke. He pushed himself upright, shaking off the dizziness. Around him, the chaos was absolute. Soldiers scrambled in a desperate bid to hold the line, their muzzle flashes illuminating the advancing tide of walkers. The dead were relentless, their decayed bodies surging forward with mindless hunger, oblivious to the bullets tearing through them.
Malik's breath hitched as he saw one lurch toward him, its gray, rotting skin stretched taut over bone, its jaws snapping hungrily. For a second, his mind froze, unable to reconcile the surreal nightmare before him.Zombies.Actual, goddamn zombies.
Snapping out of it, Malik reached for his sidearm, his hand steady despite the chaos. Two .45-caliber shots rang out, clean and precise, splattering the walker's head like an overripe melon. It collapsed in a heap, and Malik retrieved his rifle, quickly inspecting it with practiced efficiency. The weapon was functional—one of the few things still reliable in this collapsing world.
"Malik!" Danica called again, her voice urgent as she crouched low beside him, firing at the approaching horde. Trent was a few feet ahead, his massive frame a wall of muscle and fury as he cut down walker after walker with controlled bursts from his rifle. "We have to fall back! The barricade's gone!"
Malik nodded; his jaw tight. Fort Benning, their safe zone, their last bastion, was gone. The undead had breached the perimeter, swarming the base in numbers too overwhelming to contain. The ground was slick with blood and littered with the bodies of both the living and the dead. Fires raged unchecked, casting the carnage in a hellish glow.
"Keep moving! We—" Malik's words died in his throat as a scream cut through the night. He turned just in time to see Trent overwhelmed, three walkers dragging him down.
"No!" Danica screamed; her voice raw with anguish as she surged forward. Malik grabbed her arm, pulling her back as she struggled against him, tears streaking her soot-smudged face.
"It's too late!" Malik yelled, his voice firm but pained. Trent's cries turned to gurgles as the walkers tore into him, ripping flesh from bone. Blood sprayed as his body convulsed under the onslaught. Malik forced himself to look away, his grip on Danica tightening as she sobbed.
"We can't save him," Malik said, his voice breaking. "We have to go. Now."
Danica's fists pounded weakly against his chest before she finally relented, her shoulders shaking with silent cries. She wiped at her face, nodding as her breathing steadied. "We… we need supplies," she said, her voice trembling. "And we need to check on your parents."
Malik hesitated. The thought of his parents—of the possibility that they were still alive somewhere in this hellscape—lit a fire in his chest. He nodded sharply. "The armory first. Then we find them."
The two sprinted across the base, ducking behind wreckage and weaving through the chaos. Around them, soldiers and civilians alike were succumbing to the horde. A Humvee exploded nearby, sending shards of metal and fire into the air. The undead were everywhere, their moans a sickening chorus that drowned out the screams of the living.
They reached the armory, its heavy doors ajar. Inside, the harsh fluorescent lights flickered, casting eerie shadows over the rows of weapons and gear. Malik slammed the door shut behind them, jamming it with a nearby metal rod. "Stock up fast," he ordered, his voice tight.
Danica moved with purpose, grabbing rifles, ammunition, and medical supplies with the precision of someone who had done this a thousand times. Malik snagged a shotgun, slinging it over his back, and grabbed a bag to fill with grenades and extra mags.
"Got what you need?" he asked, his voice low but urgent.
Danica nodded, her face pale but determined. "Let's go."
As they exited the armory, the world seemed even darker. The air was thick with smoke, the screams quieter now—replaced by the ever-growing groans of the dead. Malik's stomach churned as they moved toward the housing block where his parents lived, each step heavier than the last.
"Please be alive," he whispered under his breath, gripping his rifle so tightly his knuckles ached. "Please."
Danica placed a hand on his shoulder, her touch grounding him. "We'll find them," she said, though her voice carried the weight of uncertainty.
Ahead, the undead loomed, their silhouettes barely visible in the flickering light. Malik steadied himself, his finger resting lightly on the trigger. Whatever lay ahead—living or dead—he would face it. For his parents. For Danica. For himself.
Because in this world, survival wasn't just a battle—it was war.
The dim light of the burning Fort Benning hung in the distance as Danica pulled the stolen Humvee to a halt beside Malik. Her face was pale under the smudges of dirt and sweat, her jet-black hair clinging to her forehead. "This is all we've got," she said grimly, gripping the wheel as she scanned their surroundings. The supplies they'd managed to scavenge filled the vehicle's back: boxes of ammunition, grenades, medical kits, and crates of MREs. It was enough to keep them alive for weeks—if they didn't die today.
"Load it up quick," Malik ordered, his voice tight as he held his rifle ready. "Quietly. Use your knife if anything gets close."
Danica nodded, already moving to stack the last of the gear into the vehicle. Malik moved to the rear, his eyes constantly sweeping the shadows. The air was thick with the rot of decay, and the faint growls of walkers reached them from somewhere beyond the smoke. He gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on his knife.
A shuffling figure emerged from behind a wrecked vehicle, its guttural moans growing louder as it neared. Malik didn't hesitate, lunging forward and driving his blade into the walker's skull. It slumped silently to the ground. He wiped the blade clean on its tattered clothes and turned back to Danica. "Let's go."
With the supplies loaded, Danica slid back into the driver's seat and started the engine. The low rumble was a beacon, but they had no choice. "Where to?" she asked, her tone steady but her hands trembling slightly.
"Home," Malik said, his voice barely above a whisper. His jaw clenched as he stared out at the burning ruins of the base, his thoughts heavy with dread. His parents were supposed to be safe here. He had insisted they move from Houston to Fort Benning, convinced it would protect them. Now, he wasn't so sure.
Danica glanced at him as they drove. "They'll be okay, Malik," she said softly, her voice filled with a desperate hope. "Your dad's a smart man. He'll have a plan."
Malik didn't respond, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. He wanted to believe her, but the knot in his stomach told him otherwise. His thoughts were interrupted by a scream—a piercing, desperate sound that cut through the growls of the undead. He snapped his head toward the source and spotted a figure limping across the street, pursued by a small group of walkers.
His heart dropped as recognition struck. "Dr. Cross," he muttered. The red-haired scientist, Veronica, had been stationed on base. Now, she was hobbling, clutching her ankle, her green eyes wide with terror.
"Danica, head for her!" Malik barked.
Danica didn't hesitate, slamming on the gas and veering toward Veronica. The walkers turned toward the vehicle, their hollow eyes reflecting the Humvee's headlights. As they neared, Malik leaned out of the window, his rifle barking as he picked them off with clean headshots. Veronica staggered toward them, relief washing over her freckled face.
"Get in!" Malik shouted as Danica brought the Humvee to a stop.
Veronica scrambled inside, collapsing into the back seat as Danica hit the gas again, leaving the advancing walkers in their wake. "Are you bitten?" Malik asked, his voice sharp as he glanced back at her.
"No, I'm not," Veronica replied, her posh British accent trembling. "I sprained my ankle running, but I'm fine otherwise. Thank you for saving me."
"It's nothing," Malik said curtly, his focus already back on the road ahead. Danica kept her eyes forward, her knuckles white on the wheel.
"How did this happen?" Veronica asked after a moment, her voice shaky but determined. "How did the base fall?"
Malik exhaled sharply; his face grim. "A horde came out of nowhere—too many, it all happened too fast. We didn't have the manpower to hold them off."
Veronica nodded; her expression somber as she absorbed the information. Silence settled over the vehicle, broken only by the growls of distant walkers and the rumble of the Humvee's engine.
When they reached the Carter residence, Malik's stomach dropped. The door to the house was wide open, and blood smeared the porch steps. A few walkers shambled in the yard, but it was eerily quiet.
"Stay here," Malik instructed Veronica. "Honk if you see anything coming."
Veronica nodded, her freckled face pale as she gripped the edge of her seat. Malik and Danica moved cautiously toward the house; their weapons raised. The air was heavy with the coppery tang of blood.
Inside, the scene was worse. Blood streaked the floor, not enough to suggest a fatality but enough to indicate a struggle. Malik's heart pounded as they ascended the stairs, following the trail of crimson. Danica's hand rested lightly on his arm, a silent reassurance.
When Malik pushed open the door to his parents' bedroom, the world seemed to stop. His mother's body lay sprawled on the floor, her stomach torn open, intestines spilling out like grotesque ribbons. Kneeling beside her, drenched in blood, was his father—or what was left of him. Jasper Carter's once-strong frame was hunched, his mouth tearing at his wife's flesh. At the sound of the door, he lifted his head, his lifeless eyes locking onto Malik.
Malik's knees nearly buckled as he whispered, "No…" His voice cracked, barely audible.
Jasper rose slowly, his bloodied hands reaching toward his son, his guttural moans filling the room. Malik's hand trembled as he raised his sidearm, tears streaming down his face. He couldn't do it. Even in this monstrous form, this was his father.
Danica stepped forward, her jaw set. "I'm sorry, Malik," she said, her voice heavy with sorrow. Before Malik could protest, her rifle barked, and Jasper collapsed in a heap.
Malik sank to his knees, his shoulders shaking as he stared at the scene. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I failed you…"
Danica knelt beside him, her hand firm on his shoulder. "Malik, I know this is hard for you, but we don't have time to mourn right now," she said gently but firmly. "We have to go."
Malik nodded weakly, wiping his face as he stood. He gathered a few belongings—clothes, his go-bag, and anything else useful—before leaving the house for the last time.
As they drove away, the house fading into the smoke-filled distance, Malik stared silently out the window. Danica glanced at him but said nothing, giving him the space he needed.
It was Veronica who broke the silence. "We need answers, head for the CDC," she said suddenly. "In Atlanta. If we can get there, we might find answers—something to help us survive this nightmare."
Malik nodded slowly. "Great idea, if it can offer us an explanation of what this virus is exactly, then that's where we'll go."
The Humvee rumbled down the desolate road, carrying them toward an uncertain future.