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

Chapter 29: All in the Same Grave

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The night was a long, slow torture. Carver, true to his word, did not launch a direct assault. He was smarter than that. He was a master of psychological warfare, and the Moonstar Ski Lodge was his instrument.

He used the truck's powerful floodlights, positioning them to blast through the lodge's windows, turning the once-cozy interior into a harshly illuminated stage. Shadows danced like specters, and there was no corner dark enough to hide in. Sleep was impossible. Every time someone started to drift off, a new sound would shatter the quiet—a blast of distorted, static-laced music from the truck's speakers, the sharp crack of a single, random gunshot into the woods, or Carver's calm, amplified voice, calling out their names one by one, his words like poison darts.

"Rebecca... I hear you're expecting. We have a doctor in our community. A real one. Don't let these men's pride put your baby's life at risk."

"Pete... you're a good man. An old man. You've seen enough. This isn't your fight."

"Kenny... she's asking for you. Katjaa. She's a strong woman. But everyone has a breaking point."

Inside, the group was fraying, their nerves stretched to the breaking point. Nick was a mess, huddled in a corner, his hands shaking so badly he could barely hold his rifle. Kenny paced the length of the room like a caged lion, his face a mask of pure, impotent fury, his one good hand clenching and unclenching. Every time Carver said Katjaa's name, a low, animalistic growl would rumble in his chest.

Zack remained unnervingly still. He had found a position in the darkest corner of the room, a sliver of space between a boarded-up window and a heavy bookcase. For hours, he hadn't moved, his eyes fixed on the treeline, tracking the movements of Carver's men, his mind a cold, calculating machine processing threat assessments and tactical weaknesses.

Sometime after midnight, Sarah, her young face pale with exhaustion and a strange, star-struck awe, approached him timidly. She held out a small, wrinkled piece of deer jerky.

"You... you haven't eaten anything," she whispered, her eyes wide as she looked at him. "You should have some."

Zack didn't turn. He didn't even seem to register her presence. His entire being was focused on the war outside. "Go back to your father," he said, his voice a low, dismissive rumble.

Before Sarah could retreat, a small figure moved with surprising speed. Clem stepped between them, her small body radiating a cold fury that was a miniature echo of Zack's own. She took the piece of jerky from Sarah's trembling hand.

"He doesn't want it from you," Clem said, her voice sharp and possessive. She turned and held the jerky up to Zack's lips. "Here."

This time, Zack reacted. He glanced down at her, his icy focus breaking for a fraction of a second. He took the jerky from her hand without a word and took a bite. Clem stood her ground, giving Sarah a final, triumphant glare that was as sharp as any blade. He's mine.

A hurt and confused Sarah scurried back to the relative safety of the others, leaving the two of them alone in their dark, silent world.

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The assault erupted with the first light of dawn. Suddenly, the lively music and mocking jeers fell silent, replaced by an eerie stillness that enveloped the valley—a silence so profound it pierced the air, more unsettling than the wildest uproar. Inside the lodge, every soul stood frozen, their hearts thundering in their chests, as a primal fear took hold.

Then came the sound that shattered the stillness—the furious roar of a truck's engine, revving with anger and intent.

"GET DOWN!" Luke bellowed, desperation lacing his voice.