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

Chapter 33: Unleashing the Herd

---

The night before the escape was a thing of quiet, desperate tension. In the darkest corner of the holding pen, the three leaders held their final council, their voices low, urgent whispers that were barely audible over the snores and restless murmurs of the other prisoners.

"The plan is set," Lee said, his voice a steady, grounding force in the darkness. "Kenny, you and Alvin create a diversion at the motor pool. Sabotage as many of their vehicles as you can. We can't have them following us."

"Don't you worry about that," Kenny growled, a grim, vengeful fire in his eyes. "By the time I'm done, the only thing those trucks will be good for is scrap metal."

"Carley, you and Luke are on weapons," Lee continued. "Clem's intel says the armory is only lightly guarded during the midnight shift change. You get in, you get what you can, and you get out. We'll need every bullet."

"We'll get them," Carley said, her voice full of a quiet, steely resolve.

Lee finally looked at Zack, who was leaning against the cold concrete wall, a silent, battered shadow. "And you, Zack... you have the most important job of all. You're the trigger. Everything depends on you creating a big enough distraction."

"It won't be a distraction," Zack said, his voice a low, chilling whisper that made the hairs on their arms stand up. "It'll be a massacre."

The unstable alliance was set. Lee, the heart, focused on saving the people. Kenny, the fury, focused on breaking the machines. And Zack, the cold, hard mind, focused on unleashing hell.

---

The hours leading up to the escape were a masterclass in silent, coordinated desperation. Every member of their extended family had a role to play. Katjaa, using her position in the infirmary, managed to pocket sterile bandages, antibiotics, and a precious handful of painkillers. Rebecca, her pregnant belly a constant, painful reminder of what was at stake, created a diversion by feigning labor pains, drawing the attention of the guards away from the armory for a crucial three minutes.

It was all Carley and Luke needed. They slipped into the unguarded room, their movements swift and silent. They didn't go for the rifles; they went for the pistols and ammunition, smaller, easier to conceal. They managed to secure four pistols and a dozen magazines before slipping back out, their hearts pounding in their chests.

The most crucial piece of the puzzle, however, fell to the smallest member of the team. Clem, during her afternoon work detail sweeping the corridors, had "accidentally" knocked over a bucket of dirty water near a careless guard. As he cursed and yelled at her, she had used the distraction to palm a small, discarded tool from a maintenance cart—a multi-head screwdriver. Later that night, she slipped it through the bars of the pen to Lee. It was the key that would allow him to remove the hinges from their cell door. She was not just a child to be protected; she was an active, vital part of the rebellion.

---

At 02:45, fifteen minutes before the guard change, the escape began. Lee, using the screwdriver, painstakingly and silently began to work on the heavy, rusted bolts of the door's hinges. The sound of the metal groaning was terrifyingly loud in the quiet pen, but after ten agonizing minutes, the last bolt came free. The door was loose.

Zack moved first. He slipped through the narrow gap, a shadow detaching itself from the other shadows. He was gone.

The compound at night was a different beast. The harsh floodlights cast long, distorted shadows, creating a maze of light and darkness. Zack moved through it with a supernatural grace. He used the intel Clem had gathered, the blind spots she had mapped out, to move between the patrol routes of the guards. He was a ghost, a whisper of movement in the periphery.