A massive steel hatch built into the ground groaned open, the mechanical hum echoing across the empty landscape.
A second later, heavy gears locked into place, and a gust of stale air burst outward from the underground facility.
Then came the rumble—deep, rhythmic, and growing louder by the second.
One after another, armored vehicles began to climb out of the bunker.
The sunlight gleamed off their reinforced plating and mounted gun turrets.
Twenty-four of them in total, each fully armed and ready for battle.
Their thick tires crushed the cracked concrete beneath as they assembled in formation.
They had chosen to move in daylight.
Some might have called it a reckless decision—after all, the undead were most active under the sun's glare—but Ross Oakley had reasons of his own.
Fighting at night would have been far too easy for him and his men.
They weren't ordinary humans at all; they were stronger, faster, sharper.
