The first rays of morning sunlight crept through the boarded-up windows of Marcus' apartment. Dean stood near the entrance, arms crossed, watching as Marcus and his family finished gathering their supplies. Backpacks filled with essentials—food, water, clothes, and medical kits—were slung over their shoulders.
Marcus held a metal baseball bat wrapped in duct tape; Emily had a crowbar tucked into the straps of her bag; their father, Robert, gripped a fire axe, while their mother, Linda, clutched a kitchen knife tightly wrapped in cloth to act as a makeshift handle.
Dean nodded in approval. "Good. You all packed light, but smart."
He turned to Marcus. "Ever used a gun before?"
Marcus rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh… maybe a pistol? I went to a shooting range once with a buddy."
Dean smirked, reaching into his holster and pulling out a Glock 19. He held it out to Marcus, grip-first. "It's time to get comfortable with one."
Marcus took the gun hesitantly, his fingers resting near the trigger. Dean took a step closer. "Alright, basic steps. Finger off the trigger until you're ready to shoot. Keep both eyes open when aiming, and always be aware of what's behind your target."
Marcus nodded, adjusting his stance. Dean motioned for him to aim at a spot on the far wall. "Steady grip. Let the gun become an extension of your hand."
Marcus exhaled and nodded. "Got it."
Dean turned to Robert. "What about you?"
Robert hesitated. "Used to do some hunting when I was younger."
Dean pulled out another pistol, a Sig Sauer P320, and handed it over. "Then this shouldn't feel too foreign. Keep it holstered unless necessary."
After confirming everyone was ready, Dean took the lead. "Stay close, stay quiet, and don't stop moving.
The halls of the apartment building were eerily silent, save for the occasional distant groans of the undead. Moving swiftly down the stairs, Dean checked each landing before waving the group forward.
On the third floor, a zombie lurched from a broken doorway, its milky eyes locked onto them. Dean reacted instantly—his combat knife flashed, piercing through the creature's skull before it could even reach them. The body slumped, and Dean wiped the blade clean on his pants.
They kept moving.
Upon reaching the lobby, they found the main entrance blocked by wreckage and overturned furniture. But the side emergency exit remained clear.
Dean cracked the door open, scanning the street.
Zombies shuffled across the cracked pavement, but none were close enough to notice them—yet.
He motioned to the others. "Move fast and stay low."
One by one, they slipped through the exit, crouching behind abandoned cars. The Beast was parked two blocks away, near an overpass.
Halfway there, a stray zombie spotted them. It let out a guttural moan, drawing the attention of a dozen more.
"Shit. Move!" Dean ordered.
Robert fired the first shot, a clean headshot. Marcus followed suit, gripping his pistol tightly as he squeezed the trigger—his first bullet hit the ground, but his second found its mark.
The group ran the last stretch as the undead horde closed in. Dean reached the Beast first, unlocking it remotely.
"Get in! Now!"
Linda and Emily scrambled inside, followed by Robert and Marcus. Dean took the driver's seat, flooring the gas.
The armored SUV roared to life, smashing through the abandoned wreckage littering the road. Zombies were crushed beneath the reinforced bumper, their bodies flung aside like ragdolls. The windshield splattered with gore, but the reinforced glass held firm.
Marcus, now in the passenger seat, turned to Dean. "Can I use the gun on this thing?"
Dean grinned. "Go for it."
Marcus quickly unlatched the M134 minigun from its secured mount on the roof. He climbed halfway out of the roof hatch, gripping the handles tightly.
BRRRRRRTTTTTT!
The minigun roared to life, unleashing a hail of bullets into the pursuing horde. Zombies were torn apart, limbs flying as Marcus laughed in adrenaline-fueled exhilaration.
"You were right, Dean!" he shouted over the gunfire. "This is so much worse than I thought!"
Dean smirked, keeping his eyes on the road. "Welcome to the end of the world."
As the Beast sped down the highway, a small group of survivors hidden among the wreckage watched from afar.
One of them, a tall man in a worn leather jacket, lowered his binoculars, smirking.
"Well, well… someone's prepared," he muttered.
Another man, armed with a sawed-off shotgun, grinned. "Think they got supplies?"
The leader nodded. "No doubt about it. A place like that? Fully stocked, maybe even a fortress. That's where they're heading."
He turned to his crew.
"Let's follow them."