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

Chapter 17: Echoes in the Halls

---

The adrenaline drained away, leaving a residue of sour, metallic fear. Carley was on her hands and knees on the balcony, her body wracked with tremors, the abyss still clawing at her mind. Lee knelt beside her, a hand on her back, his own breathing ragged. He looked from her pale face to the two fresh corpses sprawled inside the hotel room, then to the boy who stood over them all.

Zack's chest was heaving, but not from exertion. It was the deep, shuddering aftermath of a rage so profound it had threatened to consume him. His knuckles were white where he gripped his blades. This was his plan. His infiltration. And it had almost gotten Carley killed. The failure was a shard of glass in his gut, and his anger at the enemy was dwarfed only by his anger at himself.

"We're exposed here," he said, his voice a low rasp. He forced the fury down, encasing it in ice, transforming it back into the cold, pragmatic weapon he needed it to be. "Inside. Now."

He grabbed Carley by the arm, his grip firm but not unkind, and hauled her to her feet. He shoved her toward the relative safety of the hotel room, his eyes already scanning the hallway beyond the open door. Lee followed, pulling the heavy wooden door they had used as a bridge back into the room and wedging it against the frame, creating a crude but effective barricade. For now, their back was secure.

The hotel room was a microcosm of the world outside: opulent decay. Rich mahogany furniture was overturned, a crystal lamp lay shattered on the thick carpet, and the air smelled of dust and the coppery tang of fresh blood. Zack ignored the two bodies he had created as if they were discarded furniture. His focus was on the details.

"They were waiting," he said, nudging the smaller man's body with his boot. "Not walkers. Living men. This whole hotel... it's a fortress. Manned."

"The stranger's family," Lee said grimly, the pieces clicking into place. "He's not alone."

"He has a cult," Zack corrected, his voice laced with contempt. "Desperate people he's turned into guard dogs." He moved to the hallway door, pressing his ear against it. He heard nothing. "He knew we were coming. He knew our route. The open balcony door wasn't an opportunity; it was bait. He wanted to pick us off here, before we even got inside."

"So what's the plan?" Carley asked, her voice still shaky. She had her pistol out, her fear slowly being replaced by a hardened resolve.

"The plan is the same," Zack replied without turning. "We go up. We find him. We end him." He looked back at them, his eyes burning with a cold fire. "But now we know the rules. Every open door is a potential ambush. Every silent hall could be a trap. Assume every shadow holds an enemy. From now on, we move as one. No more splitting up. I take point. Lee, you have my back. Carley, you watch ours. Stay close. Stay quiet. And for God's sake, try not to scream."

---

Stepping out of the hotel room and into the fourth-floor hallway was like stepping into a preserved tomb. The air was still and heavy. A thick layer of dust coated everything, muffling their footsteps. Ornate wallpaper peeled in long strips, and the faded carpet squelched softly under their boots from the damp seeping through the ceiling. Emergency lights, powered by some unseen generator, cast long, distorted shadows down the corridor.

They moved like wraiths, Zack in the lead, his blades held in a ready, two-handed grip. He flowed down the hall, his head on a constant swivel, his senses drinking in every detail. He was back in his element. This was an infiltration, the kind of deadly game he had been born—and reborn—to play.

They cleared the fourth floor room by room. Zack would signal, and Lee would cover the door while Zack breached it with a swift, silent kick. They found only dust and ghosts—empty rooms, hastily abandoned luggage, the sad detritus of lives cut short. But they also found signs of the new occupants. Empty cans of food, dirty sleeping bags on the floors, crude tally marks scratched into the walls. This wasn't just a fortress; it was a barracks.