Hell Isn't What You Think Chapter 2

I don't know how long we've been hiding beneath the pile of rotting bodies. Time feels meaningless here. The glow of the fire from the school dances on the horizon, casting long, flickering shadows through the skeletal branches above. The heat and stench of burning flesh cling to the air, thick and choking, but I force myself to breathe shallowly, trying not to gag.

The moaning of the Cadavers outside has quieted, fading into an eeiry, oppressive silence. “We should be okay,” Greg ffinally whispers, his voice low and trembling. I feel the weight shift as he helps push the body off of me.

I glance at the corpse-it's lifeless face frozen in a grimace of pain-and murmur under my breath, “Thanks, Ian. Even in death, you somehow managed to save my ass.” My words feel hollow as I stand, my legs stiff and my body aching. The reality of where we are presses down on mee like a weight.

Behind me, I hear the unmistakable sound of Sam retching into the bushes, likely on another corpse. The smell here is suffocating, a blend of decay and charred flesh that sears itself into my senses. The ground is slick with blood and ash, and the path we made through the bodies earlier has become a grotesque walkway.

This place was supposed to be safe once. We had plans, a council, some semblance of order, but now? Now we're just survivors picking our way through a graveyard.

“Ash has got to be around somewhere.” I mutter, more to myself than anyone else. The thought of him being out there alone makes my chest tighten. “He was with me before I fell asleep. Then I woke up to the school overrun.” My voice falters, and I pull out my flashlight beam cutting through the darkness as Sam switches his headlamp.

“Jesus christ…this many people died here?” Sam's voice was hoarse as he looks around, his face pale and wide-eyed. “Did you…did you do this yourself?”

“No,” I reply fatly, my voice cold. “Kevin killed some, but most of them? They were suicides. And the rest…” I trail off, unwilling to say it aloud. We used to bury the bodies when we had the time and the manpower. But now, the dead pile up faster than we can handle.

We started down the trail, the woods swallowing us in a blanket of shadow. The trees loom overhead like a silent sentinels, their twisted branches clawing at the night sky. The crunch of leaves beneath our boots feels unnaturally loud, and every rustle of wind or crack of a branch sets my nerves on edge.

Greg leads the way, his voice low as he explains, “If we stay on this trail, it'll lead to an old suburban area. We've searched the houses before-don't expect much.”

“What do we have for food?” Kevin asks, his voice cutting through the tension.

Sam shrugs, his face grim. “A box of granola bars.”

Greg doesn't seem concerned. “Once we get to the house, we’ll take inventory. Just need to be in shelter before we worry about anything else.”

The further we gp, the more the smell of burning flesh fades, replaced by the damp, earthy scent of the forest. But the oppressive silence remains.

“How much ammo do you have, Arch?” Greg asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

I glance down as my pistol, “One mag for the pistol. A handful of shells for my rifle, I think.”

As I speak, I feel something cold and slimy wrap around my leg. My heart leaps into my throat as I instinctively swing my flashlight downward. The decaused arm of a Cadaver grabs my ankle, it's sunken eyes staring blankly as it groans.

Before I can react, Sam turns with his cleaver and buries it into the thing's skull. The crunch of bone echoes through the still night. “Can't be too careful.” He mutters, yanking the cleaver free as we sttep over the twitching corpse.

We don't stop. We can't. The trail eventually spills out onto a road, the asphalt cracked and overgrown. The eerie quiet is unbroken-not even a groan from the herd.

Greg finally stops, his shoulders sagging in relief. “We'll take a quick break here,” he glancing down the empty road. “THe houses shouldn't be far now.”

But before we can sit, there’s a noise from the trunk of a car parked ahead of us. My pulse spikes as Greg spins, gun raised.

“Jesus!” he hisses.

The trunk creaks open slowly, and a man climbs out, his hands raised in surrender. “Easy,” he says. “I told you, Marcus-it's our people from the school.”

The man, who introduses himself as Carson, pulls a backpack from the trunk as another man, Marcus follows him. A third figure emerges-a young girl, barely a teenager.

“Her name is Rachael,” Marcus explains, his voice is tight. “We didn't take any chances when we heard the walls were falling. Got out before the explosions started.”

Carson hefts a butcher knife, and Marcus grips a hatchet tightly. Their weapons look worn, but functional.

Greg nods, “The houses aren't far. Let's move. Sling your guns-use melee unless we're in real trouble. Ammo’s too precious to waste.”

We press forward, the group tense and silent. The darkness feels alive around us, the air thick with weight of the dead. I keep my eyes on the road ahead, but my thoughts longer on Ash. Hes out here somewhere. I just hope I find him before the Cadavers do.

After what felt like hours of trudging through the dark, we finally reached a house. Its windows, miraculously intact, reflected the pale moonlight, casting eerie shadows over the overgrown yard. The porch creaked beneath our weight as we stepped onto it, the sound splintering the oppressive silence of the night.

“Shh,” Greg whispered, holding up a hand to stop us. He crept to the open door, knife in hand, and kicked a fallen vase aside. The shattering echoed sharply through the house, a calculated risk to draw out any lurking Cadavers. I hovered by the window, flashlight beam cutting through the gloom, revealing a living room filled with untouched furniture. Dust and decay hung in the air like an oppressive blanket.

“Alright, it’s clear. Come in,” Greg called softly.
We filed inside, one by one, cautious and on edge. The house was eerily pristine for something that had endured the end of the world. "Two stories, four bedrooms," Greg muttered, scanning the space. "Not sure how many bathrooms, but it’ll do for tonight.”

Kevin and Sam immediately settled into the dining room, dumping their bags onto the table. Kevin unzipped his pack, revealing a pitiful collection of chips and a single box of granola bars. “Hey, Kev. Catch,” I said, tossing him my emergency bag. It clinked faintly as it landed, filled with spare ammo and a few essential meds salvaged from the school’s medical room.

Emily and Michelle were next, quietly unloading supplies from their own bags. “Anyone need 9mm?” Emily asked, holding up a handful of bullets. “We hit the armory before we bailed—got whatever we could carry. It’s not much, but it’s something.” Her double-barrel shotgun hung loosely from her shoulder, a relic from the limited arsenal we managed to scavenge.

I approached cautiously. “By any chance, do you have .30-30 rounds?” I asked, holding up my rifle. Michelle, silent as ever, rummaged through her bag and handed me two boxes. One was full, the other missing several shells. It wasn’t much, but I smiled in gratitude.

Meanwhile, Carson and Marcus worked methodically, closing curtains and positioning mirrors to check the blind spots. “We need to fortify this place,” Marcus said, his voice low but firm. “Block the back doors, the big windows—anything that could let them in. Make sure we can’t be seen.”

We moved as a team, shifting furniture, nailing boards over windows, and piling debris against potential weak points. The back door’s glass panes were a liability, so we braced it with a heavy dresser. The house had a fenced backyard, though it felt more like a prison than a sanctuary. The playground equipment out there was a haunting reminder of the life this family once had—a life now gone.

Once the barricades were in place, we regrouped in the dining room, the only room we deemed secure enough to huddle together for the night. The walls were lined with faded family photos: smiling faces frozen in time, blissfully unaware of the horrors that would one day consume the world.

“It’s a strange reminder, isn’t it?” Emily murmured, standing beside me.

“Yeah,” I replied, staring at a portrait of six—the parents, two sons, two daughters. “Makes you wonder what their lives were like. Where they worked, what they cared about…” My voice trailed off, heavy with the weight of my own memories. “This kind of reminds me of home. Except it was just me, my dad, and my boyfriend.”

Emily tilted her head, curiosity flickering in her eyes. “Your boyfriend lived with you?”

I chuckled faintly. “Might as well have. He was over all the time—his dad was… well, let’s just say he wasn’t supportive. Our relationship was a secret.” My chest tightened as memories of Ash flooded back. Was he safe? Was he even alive?
Emily hesitated, then spoke softly. “Do you think Ash is still out there?”

I shrugged, trying to mask the knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach. “He was alive before the school fell apart. That’s all I know.”

Greg, leaning against the wall, chimed in. “I saw Ash with Scott when the walls came down. They made it outside, but I don’t know if they got to the buses.” His voice darkened. “I had to put my brother down before I could get out. That’s when I met Emily.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Sam finally broke it, walking in with a granola bar and offering the box around. “It’s not much,” he said, his voice strained, “but it’s something.”

I took one, staring at the wrapper like it was a cruel joke. Tomorrow, we’d have to leave again. This house, no matter how secure we made it, was only a temporary reprieve. The dead were always out there, waiting. And the road ahead promised nothing but more uncertainty.
The world felt unnaturally still as we turned off the lights, settling into the uneasy quiet of the night. Everyone lay down, trying to rest, but the weight of everything that had happened made it impossible for me to sleep. The faint glow of the school fire lingered on the horizon, a haunting reminder of what we had lost. Unable to stay still, I grabbed my rifle and headed out to the porch, hoping the fresh air might help.

I crouched beside the old lockbox, popping it open to reveal my small stash of joints. Pulling one out, I lit it and took a deep drag, the skunky scent filling my lungs and momentarily dulling my anxiety. I exhaled slowly, scanning the darkness around us for any signs of Cadavers. The air was cold and heavy, and the flicker of flames in the distance made it feel as though the night itself was alive, watching.

It wasn’t long before Kevin stepped outside, pistol in hand. He looked as restless as I felt. “Can’t sleep?” he asked, settling onto the porch steps beside me.

I passed him the joint, watching as he took a small puff and coughed lightly. “Do you think we’ll ever find anywhere safe again?” he asked, his voice low and uncertain.

I shook my head, exhaling another puff of smoke. “The dead overtook most of the states in the first month,” I said, staring out at the horizon. “All that death—it spread fast. Towns like ours didn’t stand a chance. I don’t think there’s anywhere truly safe left, mate. Even if we do find a place, it won’t last forever. We thought the school would keep us safe, and look how that turned out.”

We sat in silence for a while, passing the joint back and forth. The high settled over us, softening the sharp edges of our nerves. For a brief moment, it felt almost peaceful—like the weight of the world had lifted, even if we both knew it hadn’t.

Kevin stood, stretching his legs. “I’m going to try and get some sleep. If anything happens, wake us up—or holler.”

“You’ll know it’s urgent if you hear me shooting,” I replied, watching him disappear back inside. I finished the joint and snuffed it out, the earthy scent still lingering in the air. Opening the lockbox again, I counted the few joints I had left. Not many. With a sigh, I locked it back up and tucked it into my pack.

As I leaned back against the porch railing, my eyes caught on a photo poking out of the bag’s side pocket. It was of Ash and me at the fair, back when things were normal. The memory brought a small smile to my face, one I hadn’t felt in what felt like forever.

The moment was cut short by a rustling sound nearby. My hand instinctively went to my knife. A low, guttural moan followed, sending a chill down my spine. I crouched low, holding my breath as a shambler staggered into view. Its hollow, milky eyes scanned aimlessly, unaware of my presence. I tightened my grip on the knife, my mind flashing back to earlier that night—when we’d hidden under a pile of dead bodies to avoid a herd. My back still ached from the position, the weight of the corpses pressing down on me, their stench seared into my memory. And then there was Liam…acting before thinking and paying the price for it.

More shamblers appeared, a small group shambling past the house, their groans low and unsettling. I stayed frozen, barely daring to breathe as they stumbled down the road, likely heading toward the fire. Once they were far enough away, I slipped back inside, shutting the door quietly behind me.

“Hey, did you see that group that passed by?” Sam whispered, standing by the window.

I held a finger to my lips, shushing him as Emily crept up behind us. She peered out the window, her brow furrowed. “Do you think they know we’re in here?” she whispered.

I shrugged, the tension still thick in my chest. Emily’s nose wrinkled, and her gaze snapped to me. “Really, Archer?” she hissed.

I couldn’t help but chuckle softly.

“You’re high?” she whispered harshly, her voice laced with irritation.

I raised my hands defensively. “Hey, it’s not the pills, all right? Just a little weed I had stashed away.”

Emily shook her head in exasperation, but I ignored her, keeping my eyes on the group outside. Sam was still watching them too, his body tense.

“Do you think we’ll be able to leave when the sun comes up?” he asked quietly.

Greg joined us, glancing out the window. “It’s just a small group,” he murmured. “They’re probably heading toward the fire.”

The exhaustion was finally catching up to me, the strain of the night weighing heavy on my body. “I’m going to try and get some sleep,” I said with a yawn. “My back’s still killing me from earlier tonight.”
As I lay down on the creaky floorboards, the faint groans of the shamblers still echoed in my mind. Sleep didn’t come easy, but eventually, the haze of the weed and sheer exhaustion pulled me under.

It didn’t take long for me to slip into the darkness, the weight of sleep pulling me under. At first, it was warm and light—an idyllic dream. Ash and I were together, like we used to be before everything fell apart. The sun bathed the world in gold, and his laugh echoed like music in the air. We were playful, teasing each other on a quiet stroll by the lake. I remember him smirking as he splashed water at me, his rare smile—one I hadn’t seen in so long—lighting up his face. It felt real, almost too real, as if I could reach out and touch him, hold onto that fleeting joy.

The scene shifted subtly at first, barely noticeable. The sky dimmed, and the edges of the world seemed to fray. Our laughter continued, but the horizon twisted, darkened, and cracked like shattered glass. We were still together, walking hand in hand, oblivious to the growing chaos behind us. Trees wilted into skeletal remains, the lake’s reflection turned black and still, and faint cries echoed from nowhere and everywhere. Yet we kept walking, his smile still there, his hand warm in mine, as if nothing had changed.

Then, like a snap, the dream shattered. The school loomed in front of us, abandoned and desolate. Its windows were broken, and the halls echoed with distant, guttural sounds. I didn’t want to go in, but my feet moved anyway, dragging me forward. Ash followed, still smiling, but something was wrong. His smile didn’t fade, even as the shadows deepened. The school was overrun—shapes moved in the darkness, hollow eyes watching.

When I turned to him, his face wasn’t the same. Blood smeared his cheek, his lips cracked, and his eyes were hollow pits of black. He was one of them now. My chest tightened as he tilted his head, his smile still there, wider and crueler than it should have been. “Ash…” I choked out, but he didn’t answer. He stepped closer, the faint glint of sharp teeth visible now. The sound of my own scream echoed in my head as I jolted awake, gasping for breath, my heart hammering like a drum.

The image of his bloody face and that unnatural smile lingered, burned into my mind. Even awake, I couldn’t shake it. It wasn’t him. It couldn’t have been him… yet it felt so real.

“Woah, you okay there, Archer?” Kevin's voice snapped me back to reality. I blinked and turned to see the dim light of dawn creeping into the battered house. The nightmare clung to me like a second skin, and no matter how hart I tried, the haunting images refused to fade. I shoved my gear into my bad, trying to shake the unease.

“Yeah, just…had a nightmare.” I muttered, my voice gruff. “Kind of expected in times like these.”

Kevin studied me for a moment before nodding, though the concern in his eyes lingered. I moved to the window where Greg stood, his rifle resting on the sill as he scanned the streets.

“Anything new out there?” I ask, keeping my tone neutral.

“The school's still burning,” Greg replied without turning. “Other than that, it's quiet. No herds, just a couple of stragglers. But we need to move soon. Let's finish packing and get out of here before the sun's fully up.”

I nodded, glancing around the house. Emily and Marcus were searching through drawers and cabinets, while others rifled through the last of our supplies.

“Marcus found some stuff in the shed.” Greg added. “Mostly junk-ripped camping gear and trash-but he grabbed a few stakes and some batteries. Better than nothing.”

Greg called out to the group, his voice sharp. “We're leaving in ten. Double check your gear. Anything left behind stays behind.”

The air outside was heavy with the stench of smoke and decay. We moved in a tight formation, weapons at the ready. The glow of the school fire had faded into thick, black smoke that spiraled into the sky. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the occasional groan of a distant Cadaver.

“I was hoping we could go back for more supplies,” I said, my voice low. “But now the place is probably nothing but ash.”

Kevin gave me a grim nod. “At least we made it out of that herd. Count your blessings.” I managed a weak smile, throwing a playful punch at his arm. “What was the nightmare about?” Kevin asked after a pause.

I hesitated, the vivid images flasing in my mind. Ash's lifeless body, blood pooling beneath him, his eyes staring into nothing. I shook my head. “I don't remember,” I lied.

We kept walking, the edge of the city coming into view. A rusted sign loomed ahead. ‘Shepherdsfield High’. The letters were scorched and peeling, a grim marker of what once was.

“I hope you’re out here, Ash.” I whisper my voice barely audible.

Kevin glanced at me and offered a faint smile. “We'll find him,” He said firmly. “He's one tough motherfucker. Won't go down that easy.”

As we rounded the corner, my heart stopped. A school bus sat wrecked against the side of a gas station, it's front end crumpled and smeared with dried blood. The windows were shattered, and the lifeless bodies inside were shuffling around arms reaching for nothing as some were unmoving.

Without thinking, I broke into a sprint. “Archer! Stop!” Kevin's voice rang out behind me. “It's dangerous-”

I didn't hear the rest. My mind was racing, my heart pounding in my chest as I closed the distance. Arms jutted through the shattered windows, clawing at the air, their skin gray and mottled. The bus doors hung open, and a few burly Cadavers shambled around its entrance.

One of them wearing a uniform. For a fleeting second, fear surged my chest. “Ash…”

But as it turned, I saw its face-or what was left of it. The skin was peeling, the jaw hanging loose, teeth yellowed and rotting. It wasn't him. Rage boiled inside me, as I swallowed the fear that I had clung too since I saw the bus.

I raised my knife and plunged it into the Cadaver's skull. The blade cracked through bone, and black, tar-like blood gushed down my arm. I yanked the blade free, turning to the next one as Emily rushed up besdie me, her machete already swinging.

The fight was brutal.

Another Cadaver lunged at me, it's teeth snapping inches from my face. I brough the butt of my rifle up, slamming it into its jack with a sickening crunch. Teeth scatter like broken glass, but it kept coming. I kicked it back, driving my knife into its temple. Blood sprayed, hot and thick coating my hands as the body slumped to the ground.

Emily swung her machete in a wide arc, cleaving heads clean off. The severed skull rolled across the asphalt, leaving a slick trail of gore. She didn't pause, her blade flashing as she hacked through another.

The back door of the bus burst open with a metallic screech, and more of them spilled out. One lunged at Kevin, it's fingers clawing at his jacket. He fired point-blank, the sound deafening as it's head exploded like a rotten pumpkin.

I turned, narrowly dodging a Cadaver thta lunged fromm the side. It's hand scraped across my shoulder, tearing the fabric. I grabbed its arm, twisting it until the bone snapped with a sickening crack. Without a second thought I drove my knife into the base of its skull, twisting hard until it went limp.

I see Sam using his cleaver, and Greg was beating one with the butt end of his gun. The whole group was fighting them, it soon blurred into chaos. Blood pooled around our feet, and the air was thick with the stench of rot. My arms ached, and my breath came in ragged gasps, but I couldn't stop. I kept looking at each Cadaver, searching for any sign of Ash, praying I wouldn't find him among them.

Finally, the last one fell, it's head split open by Emily's machete. The world went still again, save for the distant crackle of flame. My chest heaved as I stood among the carnage, my knife dripping with the blood of the dead.

Kevin emerged from the bus, his face pale but determined. “There’s supplies,” He said, holding a pair of duffle bags. “Food, water, some med kits. But no map. No sign of where anyone was heading.”

I nodded, my throat tight as I wiped the blood from my knife. The hope I had felt earlier was gone, replaced by a hollow ache. As we loaded the supplies, I couldn't shake the feeling that Ash was still out there somewhere-or worse, he wasn't.

“We could use the bus,” Kevin suggested, his voice hopeful as he gestured to the wrecked vehicle.
I shook my head, glancing at the crumpled front. The engine was probably beyond saving, and even if it wasn’t, the thought of using it seemed like a death trap. Instead of replying, my eyes caught one of the bodies slumped near a cleaner section of the bus. A spark of an idea flickered in my mind.
Without hesitation, I knelt by the corpse and ripped its shirt off, the fabric stiff with dried blood. My fingers trembled slightly as I dipped into a fresh smear on the pavement and began to scrawl a message across the fabric.
“Ash, I’m still alive. I want to find you.”
The letters stood stark and jagged, and the smell of copper filled the air.
Behind me, Sam let out a gagging sound. “Dude, that’s fucking sick!” he exclaimed, his face pale as he watched me work.
Greg approached, his blood-streaked rifle slung over his shoulder. He glanced at the makeshift sign and gave a small nod of approval. “No, it’s smart. If you think about it, where are you going to find paint that isn’t dried up? This works. We can leave marks on places we’ve searched. If Ash, or anyone else, sees it, they might know we’re looking and check back here later.”
He turned to Kevin, eyeing the battered bus. “And Kevin, if you think we can fix this piece of junk, you’re out of your mind. I wouldn’t even sleep in there, let alone try to get it running.”
Greg’s gaze shifted to the gas station behind the wreck. Its storage shed caught his eye, the padlock still intact. He tightened his grip on the crowbar hanging from his belt.
“Hey, Marcus or Sam! Get over here and give me a hand,” Greg barked, gesturing to the locked storage area. “These small gas stations sometimes keep extra stock back here. It’s untouched, so we might get lucky.”
I stood up, dropping the bloody rag on the ground. The weight of my message lingered in the air as I slung my rifle over my shoulder. “Is there somewhere we can hunker down? Somewhere close? I need to keep looking. Ash might still be nearby.”
Greg sighed, resting the crowbar against his shoulder. His expression was firm but tinged with sympathy. “Maybe,” he admitted. “But we can’t keep wandering the city aimlessly. Supplies are limited. If Ash is smart—and I’m betting he is—he’d have left the city by now. That’s what I’d do. The Cadavers own this place. Sticking around too long would just get us killed.”
His words stung, but I knew he was right. The city wasn’t ours anymore. It belonged to the dead. Still, the thought of leaving without finding Ash clawed at my chest, a hollow ache that wouldn’t fade.
“Let’s just see what’s in the storage shed,” Greg continued, motioning for Marcus and Sam to step up. “Then we’ll figure out our next move. No point in making plans until we know what we’re working with.”
I clenched my fists and nodded, forcing myself to focus. For now, survival came first. But I couldn’t shake the hope that Ash was out there, somewhere, waiting for me to find him.

Ash's POV

When we woke up, I moved toward the bus door, ready to head out, but Scott's hand clamped down on my shoulder, stopping me.
"I'm going to look for Archer," I said firmly, shrugging off his grip.
Scott's face darkened with concern, and there was a flicker of sadness in his eyes. "Man, I'm not sure if he's even alive. We barely made it out ourselves. How do you know if he’s still out there? Let alone anywhere close by?”
I turned to him, my jaw tightening. “I know he’s not at the school anymore, but the buses all left in different directions. He might’ve ended up somewhere near here. And if not here, then maybe one of the exits—Interstate 21, Highway 2, or Mission Road.” I pulled out my worn map and unfolded it, tracing the paths with my finger. “All three of those routes lead past the reservation outside the city. We’ve been sitting here doing nothing, wasting time. If you want to keep bullshitting, fine, but I’m not waiting around any longer. I’m going to find him.” My glare bore into Scott, daring him to challenge me.
Scott sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. “Look, I get it, but you’re being reckless. If Archer was out there, we would’ve seen some sign by now. You’re wasting resources chasing a ghost. I hate to say it, but he might be gone. Dead. And if he’s not, you’ve got no guarantee he’s anywhere near here.”
I clenched my fists, my teeth grinding as his words hit like daggers.
Scott stepped closer, lowering his voice but keeping his tone blunt. “We need to think about the group, Ash. Sugar Resort is our best shot. If he’s there, great. But if not, at least we’ll be somewhere safer. You’re risking everyone for a long shot. Be realistic, man.”
Before I could respond, Veronica stirred, groaning as she woke up on the bench seat behind us.
“Don’t be stupid, Ash,” Scott pressed, his voice taking on a harder edge. “Be reasonable. He’s gone. And if you do find him, it might not be the way you want to. He could already be one of them.”
That was it. I froze, my backpack slung over one shoulder, Scott’s words echoing in my mind. Slowly, I turned back to him, anger boiling under my skin.
Scott grabbed the strap of my pack, trying to stop me from leaving. “Ash, don’t—”
“Scott,” Veronica cut in, her voice sharper now. “Just let him go.”
Scott ignored her, but before he could say anything else, I snapped. My fist collided with his jaw, the force of the punch knocking him off balance and sending him to the floor. Blood sprayed from his mouth as he scrambled, reaching for the pistol tucked in his waistband.
“Jesus Christ, Scott!” Veronica screamed, leaping to her feet as he pulled the gun and aimed it shakily at me.
My heart skipped a beat, but I remembered the truth—he didn’t have any ammo.
Click.
The gun’s hammer fell on an empty chamber, the hollow sound filling the tense air. Instinctively, I lunged, delivering a savage kick to Scott’s jaw before he could react. His head snapped back, and he crumpled unconscious to the floor.
Veronica grabbed her bag, her face pale but resolute.
“Leave his bag,” I said coldly, slinging my pack over my shoulder. “I’m going to find Archer. You can stay with this prick if you want, but I’m done waiting.”
She hesitated for a moment, looking between me and Scott’s motionless form. Then, without a word, she shouldered her bag and stepped toward me.
“I’m coming with you,” she said, her voice steady despite the tension. “If he’s reacting like this now, I don’t want to be here when he wakes up. You said three exits, right? Let’s go.”
I nodded, leading the way to the bus doors. Before stepping out, I turned and closed them tightly behind us. It wasn’t much, but it would keep the Shamblers out and, for now, keep Scott safe from his own stupidity.
“Okay. Let’s go,” I said, my voice low but determined.
Together, we started down the road, the sun rising behind us as we made our way toward the town—and toward the faint hope that Archer was still alive.