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

Chapter 34: The Bite

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The world was a screaming, chaotic symphony of death, and Troy was its conductor. He stood bathed in the dying, red emergency lights, a brutish, grinning monster blocking their only path to freedom. Behind him, a dozen of Carver's most elite guards formed a disciplined firing line, their rifles aimed, their faces grim and determined.

"Going somewhere?" Troy snarled, his voice a low, guttural rumble of pure, unadulterated hatred. His eyes were not on the group. They were locked on Zack, a burning, obsessive focus. The humiliation from the office was a raw, open wound, and he was ready to cauterize it with blood and bullets. "You and me, you little freak. We're gonna finish what we started."

The standoff was a moment of impossible tension, a tiny island of stillness in a hurricane of chaos. Behind them, the roar of the herd was a physical wall of sound, the groans of a thousand dead pressing in. In front of them, a wall of living, breathing monsters. They were caught. They were trapped.

Kenny was the first to break. With a roar of pure, defiant rage, he raised his shotgun. "Like hell!"

The world exploded.

The firefight was not a battle; it was a three-way war fought in the heart of an apocalypse. Troy's men opened fire, their automatic rifles spitting a torrent of lead that chewed up the concrete and metal around our heroes. Lee, Kenny, and Carley returned fire, their shots precise and desperate, using the scattered debris for cover.

And then the herd crashed the party.

Drawn by the gunfire, a wave of walkers swarmed into the narrow alleyway from a side corridor, attacking both groups without distinction. A guard screamed as he was pulled down, his disciplined formation breaking as he was swarmed and devoured. The battlefield devolved into a maelstrom of pure, desperate survival.

Lee was the anchor, shouting tactical commands over the din. "Kenny, suppress the left flank! Carley, high ground! Take out their heavy!"

Kenny was a berserker, his shotgun a cannon blasting bloody holes in walkers and guards alike, his face a mask of vengeful fury. Carley, cool and precise, scrambled onto a pile of crates, her pistol barking as she took careful, deliberate shots, dropping Carver's men one by one.

But Zack... Zack was something else entirely. He was a blur of motion, a phantom of death using the chaos as his personal playground. He vaulted over a burning car, his blade a whisper of dark steel that decapitated a walker mid-air. He landed behind one of Troy's men, grabbed him, and used him as a human shield, the guard's body jerking as a volley of friendly fire tore into his back. Zack discarded the corpse and flowed into the next fight, a seamless, brutal, and terrifyingly efficient dance of death.

He was everywhere at once, the linchpin holding their desperate defense together.

Then, it happened.

A stray grenade, thrown by one of Carver's men, landed near the group and exploded with a deafening roar. The blast sent everyone flying. Clem, who had been huddled behind a concrete barrier, was thrown sideways, tumbling away from the group, her pistol skittering across the pavement.

She landed hard, her head smacking against the ground. Dazed and disoriented, she pushed herself up, her ears ringing. She was alone. A small, terrified island in the middle of the war.

And they saw her.

A cluster of five walkers, their attention drawn by her sudden movement, turned. Their groans became hungry, focused. They began to shamble towards her, their dead eyes locked on their cornered, helpless prey.

From across the yard, Zack saw it. The world, which had been a chaotic, high-speed blur, suddenly snapped into agonizingly slow motion. He saw the walkers closing in. He saw Clem, scrambling for her lost gun. He saw the terror on her face.