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

Chapter 26: The Demon You Know

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The heavy oak door of the Moonstar Ski Lodge slammed shut, the sound echoing the finality of their new, terrifying situation. The main room was large, with a high, vaulted ceiling and a massive, unlit stone fireplace that resembled a gaping mouth. Dust motes danced in the weak light filtering through the tall, grimy windows. It was a sanctuary, but it felt like a cage.

The man with the kind eyes, Luke, had managed to pry the jaws of the bear trap open with a tire iron. The moment her leg was free, Zack had scooped Clem up into his arms before anyone else could touch her, carrying her inside with a feral protectiveness that made the air crackle with tension.

Now, she was sitting on a long wooden table, her face pale and streaked with tears, while the older man, Pete, gently examined the bloody, mangled mess of her ankle.

"The bone's not broken, thank God," Pete said, his voice a low, calming rumble. "But these are deep puncture wounds. It's gonna get infected if we don't clean it out right."

Zack stood directly beside the table, his arms crossed, his body a coiled spring of menace. He hadn't put his blade away. His ice-cold eyes followed every single movement of the old man's hands, silently promising death if he made a wrong move. The other members of the Cabin Group—a pregnant woman named Rebecca, her quiet husband Alvin, and a young, shy girl named Sarah—watched from a safe distance, their faces a mixture of pity for Clem and raw fear of her guardian.

Sarah, in particular, couldn't look away from Zack. She'd never seen anyone like him. He was just a boy, but he moved with the deadly confidence of a predator, and the look in his eyes was ancient and terrifying. It was the most fascinating thing she'd ever seen.

The hostile one, Nick, paced back and forth near the fireplace, his rifle clutched in a white-knuckled grip. "This is bullshit, Luke," he hissed, his voice a harsh whisper. "Complete and utter bullshit. Did you see what he did to Sam? He almost tore his head off! He's a fucking freak!"

"He was protecting his sister, Nick," Luke countered, though his own eyes kept nervously flicking towards Zack. "What would you have done?"

"I wouldn't have damn near lifted a hundred-pound dog off the ground with one arm, that's for sure!" Nick shot back. "There's something wrong with that kid. We get his sister patched up, and then they're gone. I mean it. I don't want that... thing sleeping under the same roof as us."

Pete ignored them, focusing on his work. He took a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a clean rag. "Alright, little lady," he said to Clem, his voice gentle. "This is gonna sting like hell. You just squeeze your brother's hand, okay?"

Clem looked at Zack, who gave a single, almost imperceptible nod. She reached out and took his hand, her small fingers gripping his tightly. As Pete pressed the alcohol-soaked rag to the wound, a fresh scream tore from Clem's throat, and her entire body arched in pain.

Zack flinched as if he'd been shot. His eyes blazed, and for a terrifying second, the men in the room thought he was going to lunge at Pete. But he didn't. He just stood there, a statue of stone, his own hand squeezing Clem's back with a desperate, silent reassurance as she sobbed into his jacket.

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Pain was an old friend. Kenny woke up to the taste of blood and dirt in his mouth. For a moment, he didn't know where he was. The world was a spinning, green and brown blur. Then, memory returned, a tidal wave of agony. The nets. The gunfire. Lee and Carley are on the floor. The smug, calm face of that bastard, Carver. Katjaa and Duck, alone on the boat.

"No..." he groaned, the sound a wet, broken rasp.

He was at the bottom of a steep, wooded embankment, tangled in a mess of thorny bushes. His left shoulder was a universe of pure, white-hot fire. He looked down and saw the dark, spreading stain on his shirt. The bullet had gone clean through, but he was bleeding—a lot.