Dawn broke over a dead world, painting the silent skyscraper windows in hues of orange and purple. Inside the supermarket that had become his kingdom, Thomas was already awake. He no longer huddled in a corner, waiting for danger to pass. He stood tall, his backpack fitting snugly, and his trusty screwdriver tucked into his waistband. Every movement showed purpose.
He did a final check. A few cans of food, three full water bottles, a lighter, and the neatly folded Georgia map in his pocket. His gear was minimal, but for the first time, he didn't feel lacking. He had something more valuable: a plan and the ability to execute it.
His heart thumped, a rhythm that was a mix of sharp anticipation and lingering primal fear. The feeling no longer paralyzed him. Instead, it sharpened his senses. He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on the chaos within his chest. "I want my heartbeat to be calm."
A gentle, controlled warmth spread from his center, soothing the agitated adrenaline. His breathing became deeper and more regular. He was ready. With steady steps, he approached the heavy barricade at the main entrance. One by one, with controlled scraping sounds, he began to dismantle his fortress. The damp morning air from the outside world seeped in, bringing with it the faint smell of decay and the dangerous promise of freedom.
The streets of Atlanta greeted him in an oppressive silence. Buildings stood like gigantic tombstones, their empty windows staring at him like dead eyes. Thomas moved quickly, his body low, hugging the shadows. He didn't run blindly. He moved from car to car, each step calculated, his ears constantly alert for even the faintest shuffle.
His first route proved true. A narrow alley that would cut off several blocks, blocked by a two-meter chain-link fence. In its center, a large rusty padlock hung like a verdict. The old Thomas might have turned back and searched for another way, wasting precious time. The new Thomas merely smiled faintly.
He pressed his fingertip against the rough metal of the padlock. He could feel the texture of the rust and the fragility of the metal. He closed his eyes, focusing all his will on the unseen internal mechanism. "I want the mechanism inside this padlock to open."
Click.
The sound was barely audible, but in the silence of the city, it sounded like a victory bell. He pulled the padlock. Open. Without wasting time, he opened the gate just enough for his body to pass through, then closed it again behind him, leaving the obstacle for less fortunate souls.
He kept moving, and soon, he found it. At the end of a street, three figures shuffled aimlessly. Their erratic steps and low, monotonous groans were the only movement and sound in the concrete landscape. He immediately stopped behind a garbage truck, his heart beating a little faster. Fighting was a last resort. Sound was his greatest enemy.
His eyes wildly scanned his surroundings, searching for an advantage, an elegant solution. And he saw it. On the second-floor balcony of an apartment building across the street, a cracked ceramic flowerpot sat on the edge, as if waiting to fall. Perfect.
Remaining hidden, he focused his intent. His request was simple and specific. "I want that flowerpot to fall."
For a split second, nothing happened. Then, the pot shifted slightly, losing its balance. With a loud CRASH as it hit the pavement below, the pot shattered into pieces. Instantly, all three Walkers stopped. Their heads turned in unison towards the source of the sudden noise. Without hesitation, they changed direction, shuffling towards the ceramic shards, leaving the path open for Thomas. He slipped past them, his breath held, a triumphant smile on his lips.
After nearly an hour of navigating the city's deadly labyrinth, he finally saw it. In the distance, a large green road sign loomed into the sky, promising access to Interstate 85. The road to freedom. However, the entrance was blocked. Dozens of cars and trucks collided in eternal chaos, creating a nearly impenetrable barrier. And among the metallic wrecks, more Walkers roamed than he had ever seen in one place. At least twenty, perhaps more.
Exhaustion began to gnaw at his muscles. The heat of the sun was starting to sting. He knew he couldn't wait. This was the last obstacle between him and the open road. He hid behind a burnt-out city bus, his lungs starting to feel heavy.
He had to do it now.
First, he closed his eyes, ignoring the gruesome sight before him. "I want some of my energy back." He felt the familiar warmth spread through his chest, pushing back the most severe waves of fatigue, giving him clarity and strength for what he had to do next.
Second, he needed a big distraction. His eyes scanned the pile of cars, looking for a suitable target. He found it: a police patrol car wedged between two trucks, its siren light on the roof broken, but its body relatively intact. Police cars always had the loudest horns. He didn't need to see the wiring. He just needed to know it was there. This would drain more of his energy, but the risk was worth it.
He took a deep breath. "I want the horn circuit to connect."
For a moment, there was only silence. Then, a deafening roar exploded from the police car. The horn blared relentlessly, its sound bouncing off the buildings and echoing throughout the area. It was the most horrible and most beautiful sound Thomas had ever heard.
Like a single organism, all the Walkers at the entrance stopped and turned. They moved in unison towards the source of that infernal noise, away from the narrow path on the other side of the road. That was his chance.
Thomas didn't think twice. He ran. He darted from behind the bus, his feet hitting the asphalt with full force. The world around him became a blur. There was only the deafening sound of the horn, the receding groans of the Walkers, and the narrow path between the shattered cars. He leaped over a bent bumper, slid across the hood of a sedan, his heart pounding as if it would burst from his chest.
Finally, he made it through. His feet hit the asphalt of the ascending highway. He didn't stop. He kept running, pushing his remaining strength until he reached the top of the incline and stood in the vast, empty expanse of Interstate 85.
He stopped, hunched over with hands resting on his knees, panting heavily until his lungs burned. After a moment, he straightened up and looked back. He could see the chaos he had left behind below, the Walkers still swarming the police car whose horn was finally starting to weaken and die. Behind him, stretched the silent silhouette of Atlanta.
He had gotten out. He had survived the exodus. A wave of immense relief washed over him, so strong it made his legs feel weak. He looked forward, at the endless highway stretching south under the blazing sun. He had escaped the labyrinth. Now, his real journey had just begun.
Euphoria was a luxury that didn't last long. As Thomas stood at the top of the incline, staring at the endless expanse of I-85 asphalt, the swelling feeling of victory quickly evaporated under the scorching morning sun. The silence here felt different, heavier and vaster. Inside the city, towering buildings gave him shadows and places to hide. Here, under the wide-open Georgia sky, he was the only dark moving dot on a deadly gray canvas. He was completely exposed.
That realization struck him sharply. Every dead eye within a mile radius would immediately be on him. With a soft sigh, he took out a bottle of water and took a small sip, feeling the warm liquid moisten his dry throat. He took out the map, double-checking it. South. That was all he needed to know. Tucking the map back into his pocket, he started walking, choosing to stay near the line of cars on the side of the road, ready to dive behind metallic protection at any moment.
The journey was a meditation in horror. Every car he passed was a monument to tragedy. Open doors, shattered windows, blackened bloodstains on the asphalt. Soon, he received his first lesson about the laws of this highway. As he walked past a family minivan with darkened windows, a figure from inside suddenly slammed against the glass with surprising force. The face of a woman, or what was left of her, pressed against the glass with a gaping mouth in a silent scream.
Thomas flinched back, his heart leaping into his throat. The Walker was trapped, but the sudden encounter sent a cold wave of paranoia through him. From then on, his pace slowed. He no longer just walked. He hunted, his eyes vigilantly scanning every car before approaching. He saw sights that would be forever etched in his mind: children's toys lying next to bloodstains in the back seat, grocery bags spilling their contents as if their owners had been forcibly pulled out, and the empty gaze of decaying eyes behind the wheel.
The sun climbed higher, turning the highway into a giant oven. The heat radiating off the asphalt was scorching, and sweat drenched his clothes. His water supply was dwindling faster than he had expected. His throat felt like sandpaper. Dehydration, he realized, was as dangerous an enemy as the undead.
He had to take a risk. He saw a large SUV, the kind of vehicle that might contain forgotten water bottles. Breaking the glass was not an option; the sound would be a beacon in the silence. He approached cautiously, making sure there was no movement inside. He placed his palm on the hot tailgate. He closed his eyes, focusing his depleted will on one small task. "I want this tailgate lock mechanism to release."
A very faint pop sounded, almost swallowed by the sound of the wind. He breathed a sigh of relief. He opened the tailgate and his eyes immediately found their reward: a six-pack of bottled mineral water, still sealed. It was the most beautiful sight in the world. As his hand reached for the bottles, a low groan came from the car's front seat.
His heart stopped. He didn't wait to look. He slammed the tailgate shut, the sound too loud to his own ears, then immediately scrambled away, moving away from the car as fast as he could without running. He got his water, but at the cost of a pounding heart and a cruel reminder that nothing was free in this world.
Late afternoon arrived, turning the sky into a fiery orange sea. Thomas was utterly exhausted. Not just his body, but his mind too. The relentless hours of vigilance had mentally drained him to his lowest point. The sight of the same cars, the same road, and the same silence was starting to feel like torture. He began to wonder if he was just walking in circles, trapped in his personal purgatory.
That's when he heard it.
At first it was very faint, barely distinguishable from the whisper of the wind. But it had a rhythm, a regularity that could not be natural. He stopped completely, every muscle in his body tensing. He tilted his head, holding his breath.
Clop-clop... clop-clop... clop-clop...
The sound grew clearer. It wasn't a groan. Not the scrape of metal. It was an impossible sound, a sound from a long-dead world. The sound of horse hooves.
Instinct took over. In a flash, Thomas dove behind a large cargo truck parked at an angle, his body pressing against the still-warm asphalt. He peered through a narrow gap between two deflated rear tires. His heart pounded so loudly he feared the sound could be heard. What was it? I must be hallucinating. This heat is driving me insane.
But the sound drew closer, steadier. It was real. In the middle of this highway of death filled with machine carcasses, a living creature was approaching. Thomas remained frozen, his eyes wide with a mixture of immense fear and disbelief, listening to the impossible rhythm drawing closer, breaking the silence of his desolate world.