A blinding beam tore through the darkness of the porch and lit up the scene beyond the door.
Even Carver and Calista, who had seen every kind of horror the apocalypse could offer, froze at the sight before them.
In the flashlight's glare, two walkers were chained firmly to the doorposts inside.
They wore tattered house clothes, their bodies badly decomposed and giving off a thick, foul stench.
Their arms had been cleanly severed at the shoulders, leaving only bare stumps that oozed black-yellow pus.
Their lower jaws had been cut away entirely, keeping them from closing their mouths or letting out any threatening growls. All they could do was gape uselessly with black, tongueless mouths.
The walkers twisted violently at the scent of the living, but the chains held them firmly in place.
"...This method?" Carver was the first to snap out of it, startled and uncertain.
He lowered his voice, almost whispering to Calista behind him. "Is someone copying our Rock Fortress 'Watchdogs'?"
Calista's heart sank as well.
The moment she saw the two walkers, something had been right on the edge of her memory. She had just been about to grasp it when Carver's interruption knocked her thoughts off track.
Then realization struck her.
No wonder they looked familiar. Someone had stolen my idea!
Calista did not think any further. She quickly stepped forward to Carver's side and carefully examined the two walkers.
The work was clean and precise. Judging by the cuts, each limb had been taken off in a single stroke.
She frowned, a strong sense of unease winding around her heart.
This seemingly abandoned town probably was not as "empty" as it looked.
The two modified walkers on the porch were still twisting uselessly, making faint, scalp-prickling rasps.
Calista and Carver exchanged a grave look. They both saw the same decision in each other's eyes. They had to go in.
An unknown threat was often deadlier than a walker in plain sight.
Carver gestured, indicating that he would take the lead.
He took a deep breath, put away his rifle, drew his pistol, and slipped sideways into the house, the muzzle of his gun sweeping quickly across the entry hall along with the flashlight beam.
Calista followed close behind, standing back-to-back with Carver. Her Glock pistol stayed trained on the direction they had come from and the corridor to the side, forming crossfire cover.
What came into view was complete chaos.
Furniture lay overturned in every direction. Broken glass and porcelain shards covered the floor. The walls were splattered with old, dried black stains, impossible to tell whether they were blood or something else.
"Someone was here, but not for long," Carver said in a low voice, his flashlight stopping beside an overturned sofa.
The dust on the floor there showed signs of having been wiped away by someone sitting down, and an empty mineral water bottle cap had been tossed nearby. It looked new, with no dust on it.
Calista's heart sank. She gestured for them to split up and search.
Carver nodded, indicating that he would check the corridor on the right and the bedrooms.
Calista would handle the living room and kitchen on the left, and...
Her gaze fell on a corner of the living room. There was a low wooden door leading underground, left slightly ajar, revealing a pitch-black entrance.
"Calista, be careful," Carver whispered. Then he raised his gun and disappeared into the darkness on the right.
Calista turned toward the left alone.
The living room was large, but the emptiness made it feel unsettling.
In the flashlight's beam, the shadows of broken furniture stretched long and twisted, like lurking monsters.
She took every step with extreme care, her boot soles touching the floor lightly to avoid making any sound.
Calista quickly checked the kitchen.
Most of the cabinet doors were open. They were empty inside except for a few shattered bowls and plates.
There were dried stains in the sink.
No living things. No walkers either.
Finally, her gaze locked once more on the basement door.
That door seemed to carry some strange, eerie pull. Colder, damper air seeped through the gap, carrying an earthy, fishy smell, different from the pure rot of walkers.
[Go down, or wait for Carver?]
Calista hesitated for a moment.
Any potential threat had to be cleared, but entering a dark, enclosed space alone was undeniably dangerous.
Still, a faint unwillingness to back down pushed Calista forward.
She could not always wait until she had reliable teammates with her. There would always be times when she had to act alone.
Calista took a deep breath, adjusted her grip on the gun, and rested her finger lightly against the trigger guard.
Turning sideways, she used the tip of her boot to push the half-open wooden door inward, slowly and carefully.
"Creak... groan..."
Calista held her breath, every muscle in her body tense, the muzzle fixed on the darkness beyond the door.
Nothing moved. Only a thicker wave of cold, damp air rushed toward her.
Behind the door was a narrow, steep wooden staircase leading down.
The flashlight shone downward, but it only lit the first few steps. Deeper in, darkness pooled so thickly it seemed to swallow the light.
The handrail was covered in thick dust and spiderwebs.
She listened closely. There was no sound below, not even the faint rustle of a mouse scurrying past. Only empty, deathly silence.
But that silence itself felt suffocating.
Calista gritted her teeth and began descending one step at a time.
As she moved, she adjusted the angle of the flashlight, using the scattered edge of the beam to avoid turning herself into an obvious target at the stairwell.
The wooden stairs gave faint creaks beneath her feet, each one striking against her nerves.
A chill ran down her back. She could not shake the feeling that something in the darkness was watching her.
The stairs curved downward, as if they had no end.
The farther down she went, the colder and damper the air became, and the fishy smell grew clearer.
Calista reached the basement. The flashlight barely lit one corner.
There, a pile of shapeless objects covered in white cloth sat stacked together, like silent corpses.
Just as her attention was drawn to that basement corner, her nerves pulled tight and she prepared to continue deeper inside, something changed.
A dark shadow seemed to peel away from the darkness on the wall.
With terrifying speed, it burst out from a blind spot below the stairs!
It moved so fast that only a blur remained, silent and soundless, without even stirring the air.
Calista's pupils shrank.
Her reaction was extremely fast. Almost the instant she sensed a shift in the air behind her, she pitched forward while swinging the flashlight hard behind her.
But the attacker already had the absolute advantage.
Their strength was terrifying. One arm instantly locked around her neck from behind, while the other hand caught her gun wrist with precision and wrenched it against the joint.
"Ugh!" Calista let out a muffled groan. The Glock flew from her hand, hit the ground with a sharp clack, and was kicked away by the attacker. In an instant, it vanished into the darkness.
The two of them were locked in a struggle beside the basement stairs.
Calista fought desperately with the strength of her core, using the flashlight to strike hard at the attacker's ribs.
But the other person was clearly an expert fighter as well, with excellent flexibility. They skillfully absorbed the force, then used their weight and positional advantage to knock the flashlight from her hand and pin her against the cold wall.