The sun hung high in the sky, yet there was no warmth. Cold air brushed against my face as we rode forward. In total, there were thirty-six of us, armed to the teeth and moving toward a massive horde of undead. Most of us rode bikes, it was far more effective than using cars. The combined rumble of engines rippled across the empty highway.
Clementine and roughly fifty guards from 4 communities were positioned at the tops of the trees, waiting in ambush. Their job was to set up the traps and prevent the undead from escaping as soon as the horde entered the forest.
We stopped at the edge of a towering cliff and looked down at the horde below. The undead moved like a rolling ocean wave, endless and relentless. The drill sergeant turned his bike to face us.
"Alright, boys. As everyone knows, we need to lead those walkers into the forest. I don't want any of you messing around."
"Yes!" everyone shouted in unison, voices sharp with discipline. The sergeant nodded.
"Good. Groups one, two, and three—take the left side of the horde."
The group members nodded.
"Groups four, five, and six—take the right. Group seven, you're up front. Don't let the horde wander. Do your best to guide them straight into the forest. Understood?"
"Yes!" we shouted together.
"Alright then. Follow your group leaders, and don't become walker food. After this, as always, we celebrate—with moonshine and women."
Cheers erupted instantly.
"No limit!" shouted the youngest of the Moonshine brothers, raising morale. "Drink as much as you want. Can't promise anything about the women."
He led Group One. There were seven groups in total, each with around five members. Daniel was here too, leading Group Seven. I was the only one without a formal assignment. My role was support, if any group ran into trouble, I'd step in. I was also responsible for eliminating runners before they became a serious threat.
"Alright, boys—move out!" the sergeant shouted.
The seven groups split off and moved into position. The sergeant remained at a distance, coordinating everything over the radio. Everyone waited tensely for the signal.
"Okay, Max," the sergeant said. "Scout reports the road is clear. You can start."
"Copy that," I replied.
I was the first to draw the horde's attention. The runners came fast; they were the most dangerous and savage, and also very difficult to handle. That was why it was my task to eliminate them before the other groups got involved.
When I was close enough to the herd, I pulled three grenades from my bike and hurled them with all my strength. They sailed hundreds of feet before landing in the middle of the undead mass. A massive explosion followed, tearing dozens of walkers apart. Moments later, two more grenades detonated.
That was enough.
The noise forced the horde to turn toward me. Every single one of them surged in my direction. Their growls were almost louder than the explosions. Soon, more than two hundred runners charged forward at terrifying speed. Some climbed over other walkers, driven by pure instinct.
I gunned my bike, the runners right behind me. I knew that if I pulled them a few hundred feet from the main horde, they would eventually break off and return to the main group, so I let them chase me in wide circles, tightening them into a dense pack. While I maneuvered, the other groups took their positions.
After a few minutes, I had nearly all the runners behind me. I reached for my Molotovs and grenades, glanced back at the massive swarm, and threw three grenades straight into the center. Several runners were blown apart. I followed with four Molotovs.
They burned and screamed, charging forward even as their flesh was consumed by fire. About fifty runners remained. They followed relentlessly, but I kept riding, firing as I went. Minutes later, the last runner dropped. The path was finally clear.
I pulled out the radio. "Job's done."
"Copy that," the sergeant replied immediately.
All the groups moved in, throwing homemade bombs into the massive horde, creating as much noise as possible. It worked, the horde's attention shifted, and they followed us as we led them toward the forest, where the ambush team waited in the trees. The sergeant coordinated everything over the radio, ensuring no mistakes were made. Whenever a group ran into trouble, I pulled them out.
After hours of manipulating the massive horde, everyone was mentally and physically exhausted.
Daniel rode close beside me and shouted, "All this reminds me of herding sheep. I always wanted to be a cowboy. Can you believe that? Somehow, I ended up in the military."
With all the noise, it was hard to focus on him.
"Well, nobody knows where life will take you," I shouted back. "Isn't it a good thing you joined the military? It's been pretty useful now."
"If I look at it that way, yeah, you're right," Daniel replied, glancing back at the walkers. "But God, they're louder than sheep."
"I just hope we don't run out of gas," he added with a laugh. "If we do, we will be walker shit."
I nodded, my eyes flicking to the fuel gauge, it was still good. "Just half an hour more. We'll reach the forest."
"Well, that's good news," Daniel said, shooting a walker behind us.
I radioed the sergeant to ask about the road ahead. There was a brief pause before the reply came.
"Everything looks good. Keep moving."
We dragged the massive horde along the highway and into an abandoned town. Broken houses, empty buildings, and a deserted school lined the streets. The whole place felt wrong, eerie and lifeless.
"Even if I couldn't become a sheep herder," Daniel joked, "at least I became a walker herder."
He laughed at his own terrible joke.
Then his head exploded.
His bike spun out of control and slammed into a building before any of us could react. Gunfire erupted from every direction. I fired back at a man on a rooftop, but there were too many of them. Bullets flew alongside arrows and homemade pipe bombs, causing massive casualties.
I slammed the accelerator, trying to reach cover, but two bullets tore into my stomach. I spun and fired at a masked man inside a general store, a necklace of human fingers hanging from his neck. My shot struck him in the head, and he dropped.
I dove into a nearby building for cover.
"Fuck… Collectors!" one of the men shouted as he fired back, but he was cut down almost instantly by a flying arrow.
The horde was completely out of control. Most of our men were dead. Only a handful of us remained, sheltering inside nearby buildings. The gunfire suddenly stopped, and I saw the enemy retreating. I was about to shoot when the undead swarmed the building instead.
I ran upstairs, groaning in pain as I climbed. Reaching the top floor, I forced myself into a room and slammed the door shut.
I looked down at my wounds. I was bleeding far too much. Fighting the pain, I tore open my backpack and pulled out a first-aid kit. After a few moments, the bleeding slowed, though the pain remained sharp and relentless. The two bullets were still inside my stomach, but thankfully the bleeding had stopped. I forced myself to breathe and think.
This wasn't random. It was a planned ambush, set up days in advance.
The only person who could have orchestrated it was the sergeant.
As the realization hit, my heartbeat quickened. One thought cut through the chaos.
Clementine.