The group drove back to the house they'd stayed in the night before.
Morgan was silent, holding the sniper rifle in his lap. He was preparing to do what he should've done long ago.
This time, Jason didn't follow him or Duane. He knew this was something Morgan needed to face alone—or it would haunt him forever.
Rick stepped up beside Jason, speaking in a low voice. "What's going on? What is he planning to do?"
Jason exhaled slowly, watching the father and son disappear around the corner. "You remember the zombie from last night? The one that made Duane freeze up?"
Rick nodded.
"That was Duane's mother. Morgan's wife," Jason said, his voice heavy. "She turned. That's why Morgan didn't leave this town. He couldn't."
Rick went quiet. He finally understood Morgan's hesitation, his guilt, his fear. "Jesus…"
"It's not easy to kill someone you love," Jason muttered. "But if he doesn't do it now… he never will."
Suddenly—
Crash. Roar!
The silence shattered. Duane's scream tore through the street, followed by Morgan's panicked yelling.
Jason's eyes narrowed. "Something went wrong!"
He and Rick jumped into the SUV and sped off toward the noise.
They found chaos.
More than ten zombies had been drawn to the commotion. Morgan was sprinting down the street, Duane clutched tightly in his arms.
"Get in!"
Jason swung the car door open.
Morgan dove into the backseat with his son. Jason hit the gas.
"What the hell happened?" Jason asked, glancing at Morgan in the mirror.
"I couldn't do it," Morgan gasped. His shirt was soaked with sweat. "I… I aimed at her, but I couldn't pull the trigger. Duane tried to help and almost got bitten."
Jason sighed. He didn't sugarcoat it.
"You have to stop hesitating. Your wife is gone. That thing out there… that's not her anymore."
He tossed the sniper rifle into Morgan's lap.
"Put her to rest, Morgan. Before someone else does it for you. Before it's too late. She deserves peace—from you."
Morgan clutched the weapon, hands trembling.
"Bury her with your own hands. Not just the body—but the past."
Beside him, Duane looked up, his face streaked with tears.
"I don't want to see her like that anymore," he said quietly. "Not like this. Please, Dad…"
Those words hit harder than any bullet.
Morgan's jaw tightened. His eyes burned.
He rolled down the window.
Far behind them, one of the zombies stumbled toward the car—a woman in torn clothes, her lifeless gaze searching, arms twitching. Her face was unrecognizable, but Morgan knew.
It was her.
He raised the rifle, aimed with shaking hands…
Bang.
A single shot rang out.
And she dropped.
Morgan lowered the gun slowly.
The car sped away, dust rising behind them. The road signs flashed by:
Atlanta – 60 miles ahead.
It was the start of a new chapter.
They had scavenged what they could—food, water, fuel, weapons. They were moving now. No more hiding.
Survive, or die trying.
But even as they pushed forward, Jason sensed something was wrong.
He looked up from the map and stared at the road ahead.
"Something's off…"
Rick glanced over. "What do you mean?"
Jason pointed. "Didn't the news say Atlanta was a safe zone? An evacuation point?"
The road stretched out before them, choked with hundreds of cars—abandoned, rusting, doors flung open. Luggage lay scattered across the highway like forgotten memories.
But there were no people.
No bodies.
Not even a single zombie.
Just a haunting silence.
Jason's voice dropped to a whisper. "…Then where the hell is everyone?"