Date: 9/21/25
Time: 10:38 PM
The group stood frozen on the rooftop, their eyes locked on the chaos below. Chris's lifeless body was swarmed by the ravenous horde, his blood staining the street as zombies clawed and bit into him. The rain had slowed to a steady drizzle, but the air was thick with tension.
Elijah's voice broke the silence. "Yo, yo, they're getting in!" he yelled, pointing toward the apartment building. Zombies had started crashing through the windows below, their frenzied movements rattling the walls.
Brayden's eyes darted to the zipline stretched across the street, connecting their rooftop to the next. "We gotta take the zipline. It's our only shot," he said, his voice steady despite the rising panic.
Ryan strode to the corner where the zipline harnesses were stored, grabbing one and tossing it at Elijah. "You're up first," Ryan said, pressing the gear against Elijah's chest.
"What? Me?" Elijah stammered, his eyes wide. His size made him doubt the line could hold him.
Ryan locked eyes with him, his tone firm. "Yeah, you. We don't have time to argue. Go!"
Elijah hesitated but knew they had no choice. He strapped on the harness, secured the hook, and stepped to the edge. Glancing back at Jason, who gave him a reassuring nod, Elijah took a deep breath and jumped.
Jason rushed to the edge, watching as Elijah zipped down the line. The cable groaned slightly under his weight, but it held steady. Elijah landed on the opposite rooftop with a sharp jolt, unhooked himself, and waved back to signal he was safe.
Jason exhaled in relief, grabbing his own harness and hooking onto the line. He stepped off the edge and zipped across, landing safely. One by one, Brayden, Gabi, and Ryan followed, each gripping the line tightly as they made their way across in a tense montage of motion.
Now only Diego and Jay remained.
Jay was strapping on his harness when Diego stepped to the edge and hooked onto the zipline. Jay turned, scowling. "Whoa, nigga, you're going last, you fucking queer."
Diego smirked, his tone sharp. "Nah, since you're too scared to go first, you can wait. Dumbass."
Anger flared in Jay's eyes as he lunged for Diego, but Diego was faster. He jumped off the roof, zipping away with a mocking laugh.
Jay cursed under his breath, stepping back to fume. He spat in Diego's direction, eyeing the zipline pole with malice. Thunder rumbled ominously in the background, growing louder and more violent.
From the other rooftop, Brayden, Jason, Elijah, Gabi, and Ryan watched Diego zip lining across, the storm intensifying around him.
Then, with a deafening crack, a lightning bolt struck the zipline pole on Jay's side. The explosion knocked Jay unconscious, sending him sprawling to the rooftop as sparks flew and the line snapped.
The group on the opposite roof gasped in horror as Diego plummeted. His screams cut through the storm as he hit the pavement with a sickening thud.
They rushed to the edge, their faces pale with shock. On the street below, Diego groaned, his head lifting slightly. Blood streamed from his mouth as he looked at his mangled legs—one with bone piercing through the skin, the other shattered beyond recognition.
Ahead of him, the herd of zombies surged closer, their hungry growls growing louder. Diego's face twisted in despair as he struggled to move, but it was futile.
On the rooftop, Gabi covered her mouth, her tears mingling with the rain. Brayden put a hand on her shoulder. "We have to go," he said softly.
Gabi turned to him, her eyes filled with anguish. The two shared a solemn stare before she nodded. Together, they followed the others through the rooftop door.
Below, Diego's screams turned into choked cries as the horde descended upon him. Claws tore into his chest, ripping through his flesh and snapping his ribs. His organs were dragged out, tossed, and devoured with frenzied glee. Blood pooled around his broken form, soaking into the cracks of the pavement.
The rain fell harder again, washing away some of the crimson as the street echoed with the grotesque sounds of feeding.
Lingering on Diego's lifeless, mangled body before fading to black.
The sun began to break through the heavy clouds, golden light spilling across the soaked rooftop that had once been lashed by relentless rain. Puddles shimmered like scattered jewels, and the air carried a damp stillness, broken only by the faint drip of water running off the edges.
Jay lay sprawled across the wet rooftop, his face streaked with grime. Suddenly, his chest heaved, and he gasped for air, his eyes snapping open. His breath came in sharp, uneven bursts as he sat up, clutching his head. A dull ache throbbed in his body, a harsh reminder of the lightning strike that had knocked him unconscious.
Groaning, he pushed himself onto unsteady feet, one hand bracing his ribs. His gaze drifted to the charred spot where the bolt had struck. Blackened and splintered, the remains of the zipline pole told the tale of last night's chaos.
Jay staggered forward, his boots splashing softly in the rooftop puddles. Reaching the edge where the zipline had once stretched, he peered down. His stomach twisted at the sight below. Diego's mangled corpse lay motionless, the remains picked clean and scattered by the ravenous horde. The street was stained dark with blood, the only remnants of a life violently ended.
"Fucking idiot," Jay muttered, his voice cold and detached. He spat over the edge, watching the saliva arc through the air before hitting the ground.
Turning away, he winced, his body protesting every movement. His hand pressed against his stomach as he limped toward the rooftop door. Each step felt like a test of willpower, but Jay's expression remained hardened, his eyes narrowed with grim determination.
He paused at the door, pulling out his Desert Eagle from its holster. The weight of the gun in his hand was reassuring, a reminder of his own survival instincts. Jay took a slow, steadying breath before gripping the door handle and descending the stairs.
Panning down the dimly lit hallway of a crumbling hotel. Dust blanketed the faded carpet, and cobwebs clung to the corners of the peeling wallpaper. Brayden, Jason, Elijah, Gabi, and Ryan sat in a weary line against the wall, the weight of their silence heavy in the stagnant air. The only sound was the faint hum of wind sneaking through cracks in the old building.
Elijah leaned back with his eyes closed, as if trying to shut out the world entirely. The others sat hunched, their faces etched with exhaustion and a quiet dread.
Ryan exhaled sharply and stood, the movement breaking the stillness like a crack of thunder. "We've got to move," he said firmly, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. His tone brooked no argument. "We've already waited until morning."
The rest stirred reluctantly. Brayden, Jason, and Elijah rose to their feet, stretching sore muscles, but Gabi remained seated on the dusty floor. Her gaze was distant, her shoulders slumped under an invisible weight.
Brayden's jaw tightened as he looked at her. "Why do you even care about Diego?" he asked, his voice tinged with frustration. "All he ever did was stir up trouble. He was a liability to the damn group."
Gabi didn't meet his gaze. Instead, she brushed dirt off her face with trembling fingers. "You're right," she said softly, her voice cracking. "He had his problems. I know he wasn't easy to be around, but... it wasn't just about him dying." She paused, swallowing hard. "It was the way he died. It broke my heart to see it. Not even him dying... just the way it happened."
The group fell silent. Even Brayden, ready to argue, couldn't find the words to respond. The rawness in Gabi's voice lingered like a wound left open.
After a moment, Gabi rose to her feet, brushing herself off. She didn't look back at the others as she stepped forward, her footsteps resolute against the worn carpet.
"Let's go," she said quietly, her voice steady now.
One by one, the group followed her down the hallway, their footsteps echoing in the eerie stillness. Though no one spoke, the air between them carried a new understanding—of grief, of guilt, and of the heavy burden they all shared in surviving another night.
Inside the dimly lit stairwell of the old apartment building, Jay emerged from a room, his backpack weighed down with scavenged supplies. The straps dug into his shoulders, but he pressed on, taking the stairs two at a time. His mind was clouded with a mix of relief and arrogance, the memory of the earlier lightning strike—and the chaos it caused—fading into the back of his mind.
As he descended another flight, the silence was shattered. A cold, decaying hand shot through the gap in the railing, grabbing hold of his right leg with an iron grip. Jay stumbled, almost dropping his weapon as he yelled, "Oh shit!"
Adrenaline coursed through him as he fumbled for his Desert Eagle. The metallic gleam caught the dim light just as he raised it, firing a deafening shot into the zombie's skull. The impact sent the creature reeling back, its lifeless body tumbling down the stairs. It came to a twitching halt on the landing below, spasming once before going still.
Jay stood frozen for a moment, his breath ragged. His grip on the Desert Eagle tightened, his gaze locked on the unmoving corpse. The pungent smell of decay filled his nostrils, but something else made his stomach knot—the faint sound of shuffling feet and guttural growls, growing louder by the second.
From around the corner below, a flood of undead burst into view, their decayed faces twisted in grotesque hunger. Their frenzied movements echoed in the stairwell, a cacophony of snarls and the pounding of feet.
Jay's eyes widened. "Oh, fuck that!" he shouted, spinning on his heels. He bolted up the stairs, taking them three at a time as the herd charged after him.
His heart pounded in his chest as the narrow staircase filled with the sound of his own frantic breaths and the ravenous growls of the horde. He didn't dare look back, the gnashing teeth and rotting hands feeling closer with every step.
Panning down an alleyway, a rusted exit door creaked open, revealing Gabi, Ryan, Brayden, Jason, and Elijah stepping cautiously into the shadowed alleyway. The dim morning light barely illuminated their surroundings, and the faint, guttural growls of zombies echoed in the distance.
Ryan took the lead, his rifle held steady against his chest. Behind him, Gabi gripped her Glock 19 with tense fingers, Brayden had his Glock 19X drawn, Jason clutched his Beretta 92, and Elijah held his 12-gauge shotgun with a readiness that matched the grim determination in his eyes.
Their steps were measured, knees bent, as they advanced. The alley seemed endless, a labyrinth of debris and decay. Every step felt heavier, the oppressive silence making each breath sound deafening.
Ryan halted abruptly at the corner of a branching alley, signaling the others to stop. Peering around the edge, he spotted a cluster of zombies in the distance. They were erratic, twitching and shambling, some mindlessly colliding with walls while others stood motionless, their heads twitching at odd angles. He backed up, raising a finger to his lips to signal silence, then leaned in to whisper, "I'll go first and signal when it's clear. One at a time."
The group nodded in agreement. Ryan crouched lower, his muscles tensed, and then bolted across the gap. He moved swiftly, staying low, his boots barely making a sound against the pavement. Reaching the opposite side, he pressed his back against the wall and glanced back, gesturing for Gabi to follow.
Gabi took a slow, deep breath and stepped forward. Her focus was unwavering until, without warning, a rat scurried out from the shadows. Startled, she stumbled back, her foot catching a stack of bottles that clattered noisily to the ground.
The sound echoed like a gunshot in the stillness.
Ryan, Brayden, and Gabi froze, their eyes darting to the group of zombies. The creatures' heads twisted unnaturally toward the source of the noise. Their eyes, lifeless yet filled with a ravenous intent, locked onto the group.
The first growl broke the silence, followed by a symphony of guttural snarls as the horde began to move. Limbs cracked and popped as the zombies surged forward.
"RUN!" Brayden shouted, his voice breaking the paralysis gripping the group.
Ryan, Gabi, and Brayden darted down the alleyway, their boots pounding against the wet pavement. The sound of the undead grew louder, the clamor of pursuit filling the narrow corridor.
Behind them, Jason hesitated for a split second, overwhelmed by the chaos. A zombie lunged at him, its clawed hands inches away. Before it could reach him, Elijah yanked Jason back, his shotgun swinging up to blast the creature point-blank. The shot echoed like thunder, but the force sent both men stumbling.
"MOVE!" Elijah barked, pulling Jason with him as they sprinted in the opposite direction from the others, the horde splitting to chase both groups.
The alley became a chaotic maze of movement and sound. Ryan's group zigzagged through debris while Jason and Elijah ran blindly into another branching path, each trying to outpace the death snapping at their shoes.
Ryan, Gabi, and Brayden burst out of the narrow alleyway and into the open street. The sunlight glared off the rain-slick pavement, but the brief reprieve was short-lived. Scattered zombies on the street twisted their heads toward the noise, their lifeless eyes locking onto the trio. The air filled with blood-curdling growls as the undead surged forward, their grotesque forms sprinting with horrifying speed.
"Fuck it!" Ryan bellowed, raising his rifle and firing into the charging horde. The sharp cracks of gunfire echoed off the surrounding buildings as the group sprinted forward.
Gabi and Brayden flanked Ryan, their weapons barking in unison as they tried to carve a path through the chaos. Zombies fell, twitching as bullets tore through their rotting flesh, but for every one that dropped, another seemed to take its place.
As Gabi sprinted ahead, a zombie perched on the roof of an abandoned taxi caught her eye too late. Its twisted frame leapt with terrifying precision, arms stretched wide and jaws snapping hungrily.
"Gabi!" Brayden shouted. Acting on instinct, he lunged forward and shoved her to the ground, narrowly avoiding the zombie's grasp. The creature crashed to the pavement beside them with a sickening crunch, its head slamming into the concrete, teeth shattering from the impact.
Ryan skidded to a halt, quickly doubling back to grab Gabi's arm. He hauled her to her feet, but the brief moment of relief was shattered as a mass of zombies surged between them and Brayden.
"Go!" Brayden yelled, his voice cutting through the chaos as he continued firing his Glock 19X. The weapon barked sharply, dropping zombies one by one as he moved to draw the horde's attention away.
Ryan didn't hesitate. He gripped Gabi's hand and dragged her down a side alley. She stumbled, glancing over her shoulder to catch a fleeting glimpse of Brayden. Her heart sank as she saw him climbing onto the hood of a car, his silhouette defiant against the advancing tide.
On the street, Brayden fired rapidly, the sharp recoil of his Glock barely registering as adrenaline pumped through his veins. He watched as Ryan and Gabi disappeared around the corner, only a few straggling zombies trailing after them. A flicker of relief crossed his face—at least they had a chance.
But his moment of respite vanished as more undead spilled onto the street from intersecting alleys. Their guttural snarls grew louder, their forms shambling and sprinting toward him with relentless hunger.
With no time to reload, Brayden holstered his empty Glock and leapt down from the car. The pavement was slick beneath his boots as he turned and sprinted down the street, weaving between debris and overturned vehicles.
Shots rang out behind him as he blindly fired his last remaining rounds from his backup magazine, each one buying him only seconds of distance. The cacophony of growls and thundering footsteps behind him grew deafening.
As Brayden's weapon clicked empty, he didn't look back. He gritted his teeth, pushing his legs to move faster, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
Panning slowly upward, capturing the chaos of the scene below. The horde swarmed the empty streets, their numbers seemingly endless as Brayden's lone figure darted through the desolation. The shot lingered for a moment before fading into darkness.
Brayden tore down the rain-soaked street, the herd of zombies on his heels growing louder with every step. His breath came in ragged gasps as he spotted salvation ahead—a truck garage. Hope flickered in his chest, spurring his legs to move faster.
He dashed through the open garage doorway, his boots skidding on the concrete floor. Turning back, he leaped to grab the heavy garage door and pulled it down with all his strength. The metallic clang echoed through the space as it slammed shut. Brayden backed away, listening to the deafening thuds and guttural growls as the zombies outside began pounding against the steel.
For a brief moment, he allowed himself to breathe, his chest rising and falling heavily. Relief washed over him—until he turned around.
From the shadows emerged a zombie, its throat torn open and blood dripping onto its tattered clothes. The creature let out a gurgling snarl and lunged at him.
"Shit!" Brayden shouted, instinctively stepping back and dodging the zombie's outstretched arms. The undead stumbled past him, but quickly recovered and charged again.
Brayden's eyes darted around the dimly lit garage, spotting a truck parked against the far wall. Without hesitation, he bolted toward it, the zombie snarling as it gave chase.
Reaching the truck, Brayden grabbed the driver's side door handle and yanked. It didn't budge. "No, no, no!" he muttered, pulling harder, but the door remained locked.
Before he could react, the zombie pounced, tackling him to the ground. Brayden gritted his teeth, using his arms to hold the creature back as its snapping jaws came dangerously close to his neck. Sweat poured down his face as he pushed against the zombie's weight, his muscles straining with effort.
"Get off me!" he roared, his voice echoing in the cavernous garage.
The zombie's strength began to overwhelm him, its rancid breath inches from his face. Brayden turned his head, closing his eyes and bracing for the worst.
Suddenly, the pressure lifted. A wet, slashing sound filled the air, followed by the dull thud of the zombie's body hitting the floor. Brayden opened his eyes, panting heavily. Standing above him was a hooded figure, holding a bloodied machete.
The figure stepped into the dim light, revealing a Pakistani man with a focused expression. Brayden blinked in shock, his adrenaline-fueled mind struggling to catch up.
"Thanks, man," Brayden began, pushing himself to his feet. But before he could say more, the man turned and sprinted toward the garage door.
"Hey! Stop!" Brayden yelled, chasing after him. "There's zombies out there, you idiot!"
The man ignored him, grabbing the garage door handle. The banging and screeching on the other side intensified as if the zombies could sense their chance. With a loud crash, the vibrations sent the man stumbling backward, falling to the ground in shock.
Brayden couldn't help but chuckle, shaking his head as he approached. "Told you to stop, didn't I?"
The man glared up at him, clearly irritated, but scrambled to his feet, clutching his machete tightly.
The camera pans to the familiar, weathered fountain. Its once-pristine surface is now coated in grime, a stark reminder of the world's decay. In the distance, Jason and Elijah approach, their silhouettes framed by the dim light of the setting sun. Elijah walks with a slight limp, revealing a fresh cut and bruise on his left leg.
Reaching the fountain, they settle onto a creaky bench. Elijah shrugs off his backpack and rummages through it, pulling out a medkit. "This is where we all agreed to meet if we ever got separated," Jason says, his voice carrying a mixture of hope and uncertainty.
Elijah pulls out a suture kit, wincing slightly as he examines his wound. "We can't stay here for long," he says, beginning to stitch his leg. "Sooner or later, that herd's gonna catch up to us."
Jason turns to him sharply. "We're staying here—"
Elijah cuts him off, his tone firm. "We'll stay until dawn. If the others don't show by then, we head to the Statue of Liberty on our own."
Jason's eyes narrow, his voice rising. "You can't just decide that! What if they're on their way? You're being selfish."
Elijah pauses his stitching and meets Jason's gaze. "Selfish?" he says, his voice low and pointed. "Like when you left Mason to die?"
Jason's face hardens, the accusation hitting its mark. "That was different," he mutters defensively.
Elijah lets out a bitter laugh, sarcasm dripping from his words. "Of course it was. In your eyes."
Jason clenches his jaw and looks away, muttering, "Whatever, man."
As Elijah continues tending to his wound, Jason scans the area. His eyes catch movement in the distance—a figure shambling out of an alleyway. His breath catches as he stands, his hand instinctively gripping his Beretta 92.
"Elijah," Jason says, his voice barely above a whisper.
Elijah glances up but doesn't seem alarmed. To him, it's just another zombie with a vaguely familiar face. "What?"
Jason takes a shaky step forward, his focus locked on the figure. "It's... Mason," he murmurs, his voice trembling.
Elijah looks up sharply, frowning. "Jason, that's not—"
Jason doesn't hear him. He moves closer, his grip on the gun loosening until it slips from his hand and clatters to the ground.
"Jason!" Elijah shouts, abandoning his wound as he struggles to his feet. He limps after Jason, his 12-gauge shotgun at the ready.
The zombie lurches closer, its guttural groans growing louder. Jason whispers Mason's name, tears welling in his eyes.
The moment shatters as the zombie lunges, jaws snapping. Before it can reach Jason, a deafening gunshot rings out. The zombie collapses to the ground, its head blown apart.
Jason stares down at the lifeless body, his chest heaving. As reality sets in, he realizes the truth—it wasn't Mason.
Elijah reaches him, gripping his shotgun tightly as both men turn toward the direction of the shot. Crackling sounds echo through the air, and a horse slowly emerges from the shadows. Atop it sits a lone rider, his face obscured by a dark cowboy hat and a bandana mask.
The rider halts his horse a few feet away, his presence commanding attention. He dismounts with practiced ease, his boots crunching against the cracked pavement.
Elijah steps forward, his shotgun raised slightly. "Who the hell are you?" he demands.
The cowboy tugs down his bandana, revealing a face weathered by time and the apocalypse. A thick walrus mustache and a short, trimmed beard frame his mouth. His voice is raspy but steady.
"Name's Winston," he says, pausing as his sharp eyes flick between the two men. "Winston Armstrong."
Jason and Elijah exchange a wary glance, their tension palpable. We'll then cut to black.
We'll glide through the dim, bloodstained apartment. The front door hangs ajar, swaying faintly with the distant groans of wandering zombies outside. In the kitchen-living area, two zombies stagger aimlessly, their heads jerking unnaturally with each hollow snarl.
The view shifts into the bathroom, where Jay lies in the tub, clutching his Desert Eagle. His face and clothes are caked in drying zombie blood, streaks of it trailing from his chin down to his torn shirt. Slowly, he ejects the magazine from his pistol, only to see it's empty.
He curses under his breath, his eyes darting to his backpack—a lifeline he'd left too far away. It lies near the living room, nudged farther across the floor by one zombie's clumsy foot. Swallowing hard, Jay ducks back down, gripping his tactical knife.
Steeling himself, he rises silently from the tub and steps out, his movements slow and deliberate. He peeks out from the bathroom, catching a glimpse of one zombie with its back turned. The open front door looms ahead, its creak threatening to summon more undead.
Jay inches forward and carefully shuts the door, the faint click of the latch echoing in the suffocating silence. Both zombies snap their heads toward him, their bloodshot eyes locking on their new prey.
"Fucking assholes," Jay mutters under his breath.
The zombies unleash guttural howls before the first charges at him. Jay braces himself, meeting the sprinting creature head-on. It slams him against the door, but he counters by plunging his knife into the base of its nape. The zombie collapses, twitching before going still.
The second zombie lunges. Jay ducks, dodging it as it crashes into the door. He seizes the moment to dart toward his bag, frantically searching for ammo. Behind him, the zombie rises again, its body contorting grotesquely with the sound of cracking bones.
Jay glances back, his panic rising. "You niggas are so fucking weird with that shit!" he shouts.
The zombie barrels toward him, slamming into him with full force. Jay's back hits the wall hard, but he shoves his bag upward, forcing it into the zombie's snapping jaws to keep them closed. With a desperate twist, he sidesteps, sending the zombie tumbling to the floor.
Grabbing his chance, Jay sprints back to the fallen zombie he had knifed earlier. He yanks at the blade embedded in its neck.
The risen zombie growls again, staggering to its feet. Jay, fueled by adrenaline, grips its neck and drives the knife deep into its skull. It spasms, then crumples lifelessly to the ground.
Jay slumps against the wall, panting heavily. Blood drips from his face as he kneels over the body to retrieve his knife, tugging at it with all his might. The blade stays wedged, unyielding.
A sudden crash reverberates through the apartment as another zombie breaks through the front door. Jay freezes, his eyes darting toward the intruder. It locks onto him immediately and begins sprinting.
"Shit, shit, shit!" Jay whispers, yanking at the knife with all his strength. The blade remains stuck as the zombie drops to all fours, crawling swiftly toward him.
Jay backs into the corner, raising a trembling hand defensively. The zombie halts, lowering its head to sniff at his blood-soaked skin. Its movements are erratic, its head snapping back and forth as it inspects him.
Jay watches, wide-eyed, as the creature sniffs him over, its bloody mouth mere inches from his face. The zombie straightens, letting out a low groan, before aimlessly shuffling away.
Confused but alive, Jay stays perfectly still. More zombies shuffle into the room, their grotesque forms brushing past him. Each one pauses briefly to sniff him, then moves on as if he isn't there.
Realization dawns on Jay. The blood on his body—it's masking his scent.
He steadies his breathing and slowly rises, using the wall for support. Careful not to make a sound, he picks up his bag and slings it over his shoulder. Jay moves cautiously through the room, weaving between the zombies.
Without a backward glance, he slips out the door, vanishing into the hallway.
The scene fades in with a shot of the sky, where the setting sun melts into hues of orange and violet as the moon begins its quiet ascent. Night blankets the horizon.
Back in the dimly lit truck garage, Brayden and the Pakistani man sit cross-legged on the concrete floor, a flickering lantern casting their shadows against the walls. The air is heavy with the silence of exhaustion.
Brayden breaks it first. "You got any food?" His voice is low, cautious, but not unkind.
The man glances at a half-empty water bottle sitting beside him. "I don't," he replies, his thick accent carrying an edge of weariness. "I'm sorry, sir."
Brayden rummages through his jacket pocket, pulling out an expired Snickers bar. Without a word, he tears it open and extends it toward the man. "Take this."
The man looks at the candy, then back at Brayden, his face a mix of hesitation and gratitude. "I can't," he says, shaking his head. "I have nothing to pay you back."
Brayden shrugs. "You don't need to. Just take it."
After a brief pause, the man reaches out, accepting the offering with a bow of his head. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice soft but sincere. As he bites into the candy bar, a small smile spreads across his face—a flicker of normalcy in an abnormal world.
"What's your name?" Brayden asks, breaking the silence once more.
"Abdula Agha," the man replies, swallowing a piece of the candy. "Yours?"
"Brayden," he says simply.
The two sit in silence for a moment longer, the lantern's light dancing between them. Brayden gestures toward the truck parked in the corner of the garage. "So, Abdula," he starts, leaning forward slightly. "What'd you do before the world went to shit?"
Abdula's lips curl into a faint, nostalgic smile. "I was a car mechanic," he says, his voice tinged with pride.
Brayden raises an eyebrow, glancing from Abdula to the truck and back again. "Think you can hotwire that thing?"
Abdula follows Brayden's gaze, his eyes landing on the truck. A smirk plays on his face, one that carries the faintest glimmer of mischief and competence. "Let's find out," he says, his tone light but firm.
We'll linger on their exchanged look before cutting to black.
We'll pan down a dimly lit street, its shadows stretching under the faint glow of the moon. Jason and Elijah walk side by side, the soft clopping of Winston's horse, Bliss, providing a steady rhythm as Winston rides behind them.
Winston breaks the silence, his voice carrying a deep, weathered drawl. "So, what's so special about this statue of yours?"
Elijah, keeping his gaze forward, responds, "Our group used to stay in an apartment. During that thunderstorm, the zombies flooded in, and we lost everything. The statue's the last place we've heard of with any real safety."
Winston goes quiet, his face pensive beneath the shadow of his hat. "You know," he finally says, "there's better options out there. That statue ain't as good as you might think, son."
Elijah glances at Winston, his brows furrowed. Jason keeps his eyes on the road but leans in slightly, listening. "What do you mean by that?" Elijah asks.
Winston adjusts his grip on the reins, his voice calm but firm. "Been in and out of that place a few times. The leader's solid, a good man, but there's trouble brewing inside. Too many folks, too many problems. Not everyone's pulling their weight."
Elijah exhales sharply, his confidence shaken as he looks back to the road. "And what's this about other options?" Jason cuts in. "We've searched everywhere. Every place has been crawling with herds or turned into a death trap."
Winston chuckles lightly, shaking his head. "Out of New York, there's a manor. Good folks were running it—at least, last I checked. Ain't been there since December, but if it's still standing, it's worth the trip."
Jason hums in acknowledgment, though skepticism lingers in his expression.
In the distance, Winston points ahead. "There. The dock."
Jason and Elijah follow his gesture, spotting a figure snuffing out torches along the edge of the water. The two quicken their pace, tension building with every step. Winston follows behind, Bliss's hooves striking softly against the pavement.
The man at the dock puts out the last torch, turning just as the three approach. He reacts immediately, drawing a Glock 18 and aiming at them. "STAY RIGHT THERE!" he shouts, his voice echoing over the still waters.
Jason and Elijah freeze, their hands shooting up. Winston dismounts Bliss and calmly pulls down his bandana. "Thomas, it's me."
Recognition dawns on Thomas's face, and he lowers his weapon. "Winston! Holy shit, it's been a while."
Winston nods. "Yeah, it has, son. How's the statue holding up?"
Thomas sighs, running a hand over his face. "Same as always. Still can't get the heating fixed. Last winter was hell—we lost too many."
Winston's expression darkens. "Who?"
Thomas looks down briefly before listing names. "Both Caballero brothers—Mateo and David. Elena. Tesfay. Jael… and Adriel."
Winston's head drops, a heavy sigh escaping him. "Not Adriel… He was practically the heart of that place."
Thomas nods solemnly. "Yeah. It's been rough. They were all good people."
Winston rests a hand on Thomas's shoulder. "They were."
Thomas's gaze shifts to Jason and Elijah. "Who're they?"
Winston straightens up. "Found these boys on the street. They're looking for passage to the statue."
Thomas shakes his head. "Sorry, but Luke's not letting anyone in. Too many problems already, and adding more people… it's just not possible."
Elijah steps forward, desperation edging his voice. "Look, we're good people. We'll pull our weight. Whatever needs to be done, we'll do it. Just let us stay."
Thomas frowns, his tone sympathetic but firm. "I get it, but it's not my call. If it were, I'd let you in. I'm sorry."
Jason, visibly frustrated, steps closer. "You have no idea what we've been through the past two years. We've lost people—friends, family. All we want is a chance. That's it. Just a chance."
Thomas looks away, his grip tightening on his gun. "I understand," he says softly. "But it's out of my hands."
Jason's jaw tightens, and he turns away, his face a mask of restrained anger.
Winston places a hand on Jason's shoulder. "Come on. I know another place. It's not far, and it's safer."
With that, Winston mounts Bliss, tipping his hat to Thomas. "Take care, son."
Thomas nods, his expression heavy. "You too."
Elijah offers a quiet goodbye, and the group begins walking down the street. Jason looks back once, his eyes lingering on the Statue of Liberty in the distance, its torches flickering against the dark water.
We'll follow Thomas as he steps onto the dock and climbs into a small boat, its motor humming softly as he drifts into the night.
In the dimly lit truck garage, the soft click of tools and wires echoed as Abdula worked diligently under the steering column of the truck. Brayden leaned against the wall nearby, his gaze distant, lost in a memory.
The flashback began to take shape in his mind: Ryan's panicked shouts, Gabi's face, the chaos of their split as zombies poured in like a tidal wave. The memory played out vividly, the sounds of groaning zombies and desperate unknown baby cries ringing in his ears.
"Sir—uh, I mean, Brayden! It's ready!" Abdula's voice cut through the fog of Brayden's thoughts. Brayden blinked, pulled back to the present as the truck's engine roared to life. Abdula climbed out of the driver's seat, grinning despite the tension.
Brayden pushed off the wall, chuckling as he patted Abdula on the back. "Good work. Now let's get the hell out of here."
The two climbed into the truck. Abdula slid into the driver's seat, his hands gripping the wheel with a mix of nervousness and determination. Brayden settled in the passenger seat.
Outside the garage, the herd of zombies continued to writhe and growl, their grotesque forms illuminated by the faint moonlight.
With a deafening crash, the truck burst through the garage doors, sending splinters of wood and metal flying. Several zombies were crushed under the vehicle's heavy tires as Abdula hit the gas, speeding down the street.
Inside the cab, the atmosphere was a mix of exhilaration and terror. Abdula was laughing hysterically, the adrenaline coursing through him as he weaved around debris and shambling corpses. "We did it! We're out!" he shouted, his voice tinged with disbelief.
Brayden, on the other hand, clung tightly to the car roof handle, his knuckles white. "Abdula, watch the damn road!" he snapped, glancing nervously at the side mirror.
Through the mirror, Brayden watched as the herd began to fall behind, their shambling forms unable to keep up with the truck's speed. A fleeting sense of relief washed over him, but his grip on the handle didn't loosen.
Suddenly, a strange sound filled the air—a triumphant orchestral melody that seemed entirely out of place. Abdula furrowed his brows, his laughter fading.
He fiddled with the truck's radio, but it was off. The sound was coming from outside.
Brayden, deep in thought, barely registered the noise. Abdula began calling his name, louder and more frantic with each repetition. "Brayden! Brayden, do you hear that?"
Before Brayden could respond, a car came roaring down the street, its headlights blazing and speakers blasting the unmistakable theme of The Lone Ranger. The car sped toward them with reckless abandon, the music growing louder as it closed the distance.
"Brayden!" Abdula screamed, yanking the wheel.
The collision was sudden and brutal. The speeding car slammed into the truck's side, shattering Brayden's window and sending glass flying like shrapnel. The impact jolted the truck, and Abdula lost control, the vehicle veering wildly before slamming into the corner of a building.
The sound of crumpling metal and shattering brick filled the night, and then—blackness.
Winston rode Bliss down the shadowed street, Jason and Elijah walking alongside him. The quiet crunch of gravel underfoot filled the air, the group lost in their own thoughts.
"So this museum," Elijah broke the silence, his voice laced with caution. "How secure is it?"
Winston adjusted the brim of his hat, his weathered face unreadable in the dim light. "They've got wooden spikes around the entrance—a solid defense. Over thirty people live there," he said, his tone steady.
Jason, ever skeptical, interjected. "And the leader? Is he another asshole?"
Winston smirked faintly. "Karl Mayer runs the place. He's... complicated. Calls the shots and doesn't always play nice, but the rest of the folks there? They're good people. My sons, William and Joshua, they're part of that community."
Elijah turned to him with genuine curiosity. "Your sons? How are they holding up?"
Winston's expression softened, a hint of pride mixed with sorrow. "William's a good man—always stepping up to help. Joshua..." Winston hesitated, his voice growing quieter. "Joshua's still grieving. His mama passed at the very beginning. We're all grieving, in our own ways."
Elijah's face darkened with sympathy. "I'm sorry for your loss. That's tough."
Winston gave a slow nod, tipping his hat in silent gratitude.
Jason, scanning the street, noticed a series of red Xs spray-painted on the doors of abandoned buildings. His brows furrowed as he opened his mouth to comment, but his thoughts were interrupted.
Suddenly, from the shadows of nearby alleyways, ten figures rushed forward, weapons raised. Their faces were obscured by goggles and bandanas, but their movements were sharp and purposeful.
Jason reacted instantly, raising his Beretta 92 as Elijah swung up his 12-gauge shotgun. Winston remained calm, easing Bliss to a halt and dismounting with deliberate slowness.
"Everyone, calm the hell down!" Winston barked, his hands raised in a gesture of peace. He turned toward the armed group, scanning their faces until his gaze locked on one familiar figure.
"Dad?" a voice broke through the tension, laced with shock.
One of the armed men pulled off his goggles and bandana, revealing a young man with strikingly familiar features.
Winston's face broke into a rare, genuine smile. "William," he said simply, his voice heavy with emotion.
Winston removed his hat, stepping forward as the two embraced in a firm, heartfelt hug.
The rest of the armed group, recognizing the reunion, began to lower their weapons. Jason and Elijah exchanged wary glances before following suit, lowering their guns but keeping a watchful eye on the group.
The street, once tense and hostile, softened into a rare moment of familial relief.
The screen fades through thick, billowing smoke, revealing the wreckage of the truck smashed into the corner of a building. Inside, Brayden stirred, groaning in pain as he regained consciousness. Blood trickled down his forehead, the warm crimson staining his face. Around him, the distorted, warbling notes of the Lone Ranger theme song played faintly from the other car, a chilling counterpoint to the chaos.
"Abdula…" Brayden mumbled, his voice weak. He turned toward the driver's seat, only to find it empty. Panic crept into his voice. "Abdula?"
Looking down, Brayden realized he was trapped. A massive chunk of bricks had crushed his side of the cab, pinning his seat belt around his torso. Desperation set in as distant zombie growls echoed closer. He struggled against the restraint, pushing futilely at the bricks, but they refused to budge.
Frantic, Brayden scanned his surroundings. His eyes caught a shard of jagged glass on the shattered windshield. Gritting his teeth, he reached for it, wincing as the sharp edge sliced into his palm. Blood dripped from his hand as he began sawing at the seatbelt, but the makeshift blade barely made a dent.
"FUCK!" Brayden growled, slamming his fist against the glove box in frustration. To his surprise, the compartment popped open, revealing a small emergency seatbelt cutter.
Snatching it, Brayden worked feverishly to cut himself free. Suddenly, a loud thud shook the truck as a zombie slammed against the passenger-side window, its rotting arms clawing inside. With a snarl, Brayden grabbed the zombie by its filthy hair and hacked at its head with the cutter. Blood sprayed as the creature grabbed his arm, its strength overpowering his resistance.
Before the zombie could bite, Abdula appeared out of nowhere. He yanked the creature out of the truck, slamming it onto the pavement with a furious roar. Abdula stomped on the zombie's skull repeatedly until it cracked, brain matter splattering across the ground.
"Brayden!" Abdula shouted, rushing back to the truck. Without a word, he grabbed the cutter from Brayden's trembling hand and sliced through the remaining strap.
Freed, Brayden stumbled out of the truck, his legs unsteady. "Thanks—" he began, but Abdula cut him off, grabbing his shirt and dragging him toward the alley.
The herd of zombies closed in, surrounding the wrecked truck. The eerie, distorted music blared louder as the undead swarmed, their growls blending into a horrific cacophony.
Brayden and Abdula sprinted into the alleyway, slamming into locked doors as they frantically searched for refuge. Each attempt ended with a rattling handle and no escape.
"Keep fucking running!" Brayden shouted, leading the way.
Out of nowhere, a zombie burst from a side door, tackling Brayden against the wall. Its snapping jaws lunged at his face as he held it back with his forearm, his muscles straining to keep it at bay.
"Sir!" Abdula yelled, rushing to help. But before he could reach Brayden, another zombie leapt from a dumpster and slammed him to the ground.
The second zombie crawled on top of Abdula, grabbing his arm and sinking its jagged teeth into his left hand. Abdula's scream pierced the air as the creature tore into his flesh, blood spurting in every direction.
Brayden's desperate struggle continued until a sudden, sickening crunch ended the assault. The zombie on him went limp, its head caved in from a crushing blow. Brayden shoved the lifeless body aside and looked up to see a man in goggles, wielding a bloodied Massue.
The goggled man didn't waste a second. He grabbed the zombie atop Abdula by its collar and smashed its skull with three brutal strikes.
"Come on!" the man barked, pulling Abdula to his feet. "We need to get that hand off now!"
The man shoved open a side door, ushering Brayden and Abdula inside before slamming it shut behind them. The herd of zombies descended on the door, their enraged growls and fists pounding relentlessly against it.
We'll pan higher, revealing the darkened city skyline. The sounds of the zombie horde echoed upward, a haunting symphony of chaos and despair.
The End
Author: Theater Writers