"SHRIEK—!"
The Infected's jaws descended toward its prey's throat—but before it could bite down, a thin arm wrapped around its head from behind and yanked it back. A gleaming knife plunged into its skull, ending its existence.
The weight lifted from Wilfred's chest as the creature went limp. When he saw Bryan standing over him, he let out a long breath and collapsed back into the snow, gasping.
Bryan dragged the corpse aside, exhaling in relief. If his aim weren't so terrible, he would've just shot the thing from a distance instead of sprinting over to knife it.
Rat-tat-tat—!
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Distant gunfire and explosions drifted from the direction of the park. Wilfred shot upright. "Where's that coming from?!"
"You didn't hear it?" Bryan looked at him with mild surprise, pointing toward the park. "Started right after that bald guy threw his grenade. You were probably too focused on those hunters to notice."
He paused, then added, "Looks like the military caught on to the explosion over here. The hunters must've realized they were blown, because they're in a firefight with the soldiers now."
Bryan stood and surveyed the Infected corpses scattered around them. He extended a hand to Wilfred. "We made too much noise. The scattered ones were close by, but more will come. We need to leave. Now."
Wilfred grasped his hand and pulled himself up, then quickly freed Anna from her cuffs. The three of them ran to rejoin Sarah and Allen.
Along the way, Bryan broke the news about Sylvia. Even though they'd sensed what was coming, the confirmation hit hard.
When they reached the truck, Sylvia's body lay still in the bed. Sarah and Allen knelt beside her, tears streaming down their faces, whispering words none of the others could hear.
Anna dropped to her knees at the edge, staring at the gunshot wound and the blood pooled beneath it. Silent tears fell.
Wilfred stood before the body, hands pressed to his face. "She saved me. She took that bullet for me..."
Bryan hated to interrupt their grief, but he had no choice. "We need to gather what we can and go. We can't stay here."
...
They buried Sylvia in the woods and immediately spread out to scavenge supplies. Five trucks lined the on-ramp—three empty, two loaded.
One held four or five stripped male corpses. No bullet wounds. Each had died from a single knife wound to the throat, expertly delivered. The sight sent chills down Bryan's spine.
The other truck contained ammunition, weapons, and grenades. Not a massive haul, but enough to hold this position. If this truck had been parked near the checkpoint, the bald leader might have grabbed resupply instead of rushing them with that grenade.
They also found the survivors who'd been hiding near the checkpoint. The man named Lev had been shot multiple times and was long dead—likely killed by the two hunters who'd flanked them.
Those two hunters were also dead. One had half his neck sliced away. The other's face had been beaten beyond recognition—killed by bare hands.
Only Lucy had survived. When Bryan found her, she was sitting motionless in the snow, drenched in blood, cradling the body of Miles—the young Black man who'd been shot by Ogden.
A notched machete lay beside her. Her hands were covered in bruises and scrapes. It wasn't hard to figure out what had happened to those two hunters.
After loading everything useful onto the truck, Wilfred climbed into the driver's seat.
He faced two options:
One: Head to Sweetwater Creek State Park and reinforce the military. But no one knew the current situation there. If the soldiers had the upper hand, great. If the hunters were winning, driving straight in could be suicide.
Two: Skip the park and continue along the interstate directly to the Atlanta Quarantine Zone. With a truck, their odds of reaching the QZ safely improved dramatically. But just like the park, they had no idea what awaited them in Atlanta.
After a brief discussion, they decided to head for the park. At least the military's firepower gave them better odds, and they didn't have to commit immediately—they could observe from a distance first.
"SHRIEK—!"
Just as they settled on a direction, Infected howls rose from the highway behind them. The sound suggested a significant number.
Everyone scrambled into the truck bed. The moment they were aboard, Wilfred floored it, steering down the on-ramp.
Cold wind whipped through the open bed. Anna and Allen huddled in one corner. Sarah curled against Bryan. Lucy sat apart, staring at a photograph in her hands. No one spoke.
"We were about to get married..."
Whether to break the crushing silence or simply needing to unburden herself, Lucy began talking, eyes fixed on the photo, recounting her past as if trying to purge the grief from her heart.
The others listened in silence.
Lucy was originally from San Francisco. After college, she'd taken a job in San Antonio, where she met Miles—the young man Ogden had shot in the back.
They'd already set a wedding date when the outbreak hit. They'd fled San Antonio immediately, rescuing Lev along the way when they found him under attack.
The three of them had driven north, surviving countless dangers and Infected attacks. Each crisis had only strengthened their bond. Her love for Miles deepened, and Lev became like a brother.
Their original plan was the Dallas QZ, but they hadn't been selected. Instead, they'd been assigned to the far more dangerous Atlanta route. By chance or design, all three ended up together.
They hadn't realized the lottery was rigged. They'd simply accepted their bad luck.
But at least they had each other. With people they trusted watching their backs, they weren't afraid. They'd survived the Waskom horde. They'd survived the hospital disaster. They'd made it through everything.
Until these fake soldiers—these hunters pretending to be military—had taken everything from her. If Bryan's group hadn't shown up when they did, Lucy would have died too.
It proved what every survivor eventually learned: in the apocalypse, the greatest threat isn't the Infected. It's other people.
The civilian who'd died in the crossfire had been a lone survivor they'd picked up along the way. They'd been heading to find the military too, and he'd been alone, so they'd offered him a ride.
After Miles was killed, Lucy's mind had filled with nothing but rage and revenge. That's why she'd opened fire on the bald leader without hesitation—without any thought for the stranger's safety.
She fell silent after that, closing her eyes. She'd said everything she needed to say.
Bryan understood. Beyond the catharsis, she was also extending trust—showing them she wasn't a threat. After all, they might be traveling together from here on.
He glanced at the others in the truck bed, all still silent, then down at Sarah in his arms. She'd fallen asleep at some point, but her brow was furrowed. Even in sleep, she couldn't find peace.
Bryan smiled ruefully and shook his head, gently patting her back to soothe her.
Up front, Wilfred caught a glimpse through the small window connecting the cab to the bed. Noticing the silence had returned, he sighed quietly. Then he raised his left hand and stared at an unremarkable wound on his wrist, his eyes flickering with unreadable emotion.