NIGHTMARES OF THE WALKING DEAD

The service station erupts in a deafening crash of buckling metal. The service bay door tears from its frame, twisted into a jagged sheet of steel. Seth shoves Blake behind him, his prosthetic blade gleaming under the flickering, dying fluorescent lights. A wall of rotted, grasping hands forces its way through the gap, the smell of putrid earth filling the cramped space.

Miller raises his rifle, unleashing a rhythmic hail of lead that forces the lead wave of dead back against the warped metal. Stella grabs Blake by the harness, shoving him toward the back exit. Seth pivots, his steel prosthetic blade slicing through the throat of a lunging walker, pinning it to the wall as he clears the path for the group.

Seth lunges, his pack heavy with scavenged medical kits and ammunition. He drags Blake through the narrow rear door, the metal groaning as it slams shut behind them. Outside, the scent of pine needles and damp earth replaces the stench of rot. Miller and Stella break toward the opposite perimeter, their gunfire a rhythmic strobe against the gathering gloom.

The sound of the service station doors splintering rings out like a bell in the quiet forest. A tide of walkers spills out, drawn by the frantic shouts of Miller and Stella. Seth lunges through the underbrush, his prosthetic blade carving a path through hanging vines. They gain distance with every stride, but the woods are thick and the shadows grow long. Behind them, a guttural roar rises from the throat of a nearby creature, signaling that the hunt has truly begun.