Dean and his group moved cautiously through the streets, protecting Nicole and her younger sister as they made their way to the War Rig. Nicole's eyes widened in amazement as she watched Dean, Marcus, and Lucas dispatch zombies with precision and skill, their movements fluid and deadly. Dean's machete sliced through rotten flesh, Marcus' pistol found its marks with deadly accuracy, and Lucas wielded his bat like a seasoned warrior. Every step closer to the War Rig felt like a battle, but under Dean's command, they fought their way through until they finally reached the massive vehicle.
After securing everyone inside, Dean took the wheel and started the engine. As they drove, he turned his attention to Nicole. "Tell me your story," he asked, his voice calm but firm.
Nicole hesitated before speaking, her voice trembling. "Before the world ended, we had a normal life. My parents ran a small bakery, and my sister and I helped out on weekends. When everything collapsed, we barricaded ourselves at home, but supplies ran out. My parents… they went out to find food and never came back." She clenched her fists. "We ended up at the radio station after wandering the streets. We thought we'd found safety, but… you saw what happened."
Dean listened in silence, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. The weight of survival stories like Nicole's was something he'd grown used to, but it never got easier to hear. Then, suddenly, he raised a hand. "Quiet."
Everyone in the rig froze. Marcus and Lucas exchanged wary glances, while Nicole instinctively pulled her little sister closer. The engine hummed softly as tension filled the air. For a moment, there was only silence.
Then, the sound came—distant but unmistakable. A slow, dreadful shuffle. The moaning of countless throats. Dean's eyes sharpened as he peered out through the windshield. A massive horde of the dead, stretching as far as the eye could see, was moving across the road ahead. Thousands of them. A crawling tide of decay.
Nicole clapped a hand over her sister's mouth as she whimpered, while Marcus and Lucas barely breathed. The undead walked past, oblivious to their presence, their guttural growls sending shivers down everyone's spines. Dean's voice came low and commanding. "Not a single sound. Let them pass."
Minutes stretched into what felt like hours as they remained perfectly still. One wrong move and they'd be swarmed, torn apart by sheer numbers. Dean's grip on his knife was tight, his heartbeat slow and controlled. Finally, as the last stragglers of the horde disappeared into the distance, he let out a quiet breath. "It's clear. Let's move."
Night had fully descended by the time they neared the fortress. Robert, stationed at the gate, spotted them through his binoculars. Relief washed over his face as he immediately activated the remote controls, opening the heavily reinforced doors. The War Rig rumbled inside, safe once more. As they pulled into the garage, Dean exhaled, resting his head briefly against the steering wheel before turning to Nicole. "Marcus will explain everything from here."
Marcus took over, leading Nicole and her sister through the fortress, showing them the layout, the food storage, the weapons cache, the medical bay, and the sleeping quarters. "This place is built to last," he explained. "We all have jobs to do. We train, we protect each other, and we survive. That's how things work here."
After the tour, Marcus gave them clean clothes. "That's it for now. Take a bath, eat, and rest. Tomorrow, we talk more."
Meanwhile, Dean made his way up to the second-floor balcony. The cool night air brushed against his face as he lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply. The fortress was safe. They had more survivors. And yet, an ache settled in his chest.
If they had gone back the same day, could they have saved more? How many more lives had been lost because he chose caution over urgency? He had spent so long preparing for survival alone, building this fortress as his sanctuary, but meeting Marcus had changed everything. Had he been wrong to think he could do this alone?
He took another drag, watching the smoke curl into the night. He didn't have an answer. Not yet.