Walker? or Zombies? (Walking Dead Game x Strong OC)

Chapter 13: The Dead City

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The train groaned to a halt with the final, mournful screech of tortured metal. The silence that descended afterward was a physical thing, a heavy blanket woven from dread and decay. Savannah. The city smelled of salt and rot, a grim perfume carried on the humid air from the nearby river. Through the grimy windows, they could see the skeletons of buildings clawing at a sky the color of a day-old bruise. Nothing moved save for the lazy drift of dust motes in the dying light.

Zack was the first one out, dropping from the train car with the silent grace of a predator. His eyes, the color of a stormy sea, swept across the derelict station, cataloging every shadow, every potential threat. The rage from the stranger's call had cooled, hardening into a diamond-sharp point of focus. He was a weapon aimed at the heart of this city.

The others followed, a clumsy, hesitant procession of the weary and the broken. Kenny, his face a thundercloud of resentment, kept Duck and Katjaa close, his good hand gripping a tire iron with white-knuckled intensity. He refused to look at Zack, but the hatred radiated from him like heat. Lee emerged last, his expression grim, his hand resting on the pistol at his hip.

"Alright," Zack's voice cut through the tension, sharp and devoid of pleasantries. "This is the plan. We need a base. Something defensible, limited access. Lee, Carley, you're with me on point. We find a place. Kenny, you and the rest stay here. Guard the train. If we're not back in an hour, assume we're dead and do whatever the hell you want."

"The hell I will," Kenny snarled, stepping forward. "I'm not taking orders from you, you crazy little bastard. You think you can just run everything?"

"I'm the one keeping you alive," Zack countered, his voice dangerously quiet. He didn't even turn to face Kenny fully, a calculated insult. "Your feelings don't factor into the equation. You're slow, you're emotional, and you're a liability in the field right now. You'll stay here, where you can't get anyone else killed."

"Why you little—" Kenny lunged, his grief and rage finally boiling over.

He never got close. Lee stepped between them, his hand firmly on Kenny's chest. "Ken, stop it! For God's sake, not now!"

"He's a monster, Lee! Look at him! He's enjoying this!" Kenny raged, struggling against Lee's hold.

"I'm surviving," Zack said, finally turning. His eyes were chillingly empty. "Something you seem to be struggling with. Stay with the train. That's an order."

He didn't wait for a response. He gave a sharp nod to Lee and Carley and melted into the shadows of the decaying city. Lee gave Kenny one last pleading look before hurrying after him, his heart a cold stone in his chest.

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The streets of Savannah were a graveyard. Cars sat rusting where they'd died, their doors agape like silent screams. The dead were everywhere, shambling aimlessly in ones and twos, or gathered in silent, twitching herds. Zack led them through the urban maze with an instinct that was both brilliant and terrifying. He moved through the city not like a visitor, but like a native predator returning to its hunting grounds. He chose a path through choked back alleys and the hollowed-out shells of buildings, avoiding the open streets.

They found their temporary haven in a sturdy, brick-walled bookstore. It was a two-story building with barred windows on the ground floor and only one main entrance. It was a tomb of forgotten stories, now repurposed as a fortress.

Clearing it was a brutal, silent affair. There were only a dozen walkers inside, former patrons and employees now shuffling between the shelves. Zack didn't waste bullets. He moved through the darkened aisles like a phantom, his blades whispering death. A quick thrust here, a silent slash there. Lee and Carley followed in his wake, their pistols raised, but they were merely witnesses to his grim work. Within five minutes, the bookstore was silent save for the sound of their own breathing.