A distant, low-pitched groan echoed through the abandoned highway. It wasn’t just one voice; it was a chorus of hundreds. Then came the sound that made their blood run cold: the high-pitched, rhythmic clicking of a Hunter and the wet, hacking cough of a Smoker hidden in the shadows of the overpass. "Form up!" Coach bellowed.
"Ellis, shut it," Rochelle hissed, adjusting the strap of her assault rifle. "They’re coming."
As the Tank climbed over the truck, glowing orange under the flickering streetlights, the four survivors unleashed everything they had. They weren't just fighting to get to the extraction point; they were fighting for one more day in a world that had already ended. If you'd like to continue the story, tell me: