NIGHTMARES OF THE WALKING DEAD

Seth forces the heavy lantern room door open, the rusted hinges shrieking in the confined space. A swarm of walkers, trapped by the collapse of the stairs below, lunges at him with decaying hands. He swings his steel prosthetic, the blade carving a lethal arc through the lead walker's skull, while Miller and Stella struggle to keep the secondary hatch shut against the pressure of the rising tide from the lower levels.

The lighthouse sways as the storm-battered foundation groans under the assault. Blake cringes behind a stack of rotted shipping crates, clutching his small pistol as the lantern glass shatters inward. Seth steps over the fresh corpse, his mechanical hand buzzing as he readies his AK-47, the barrel hot and vibrating against his palm.

Below them, the sound of the ocean crashing against the cliffs is drowned out by the rhythmic thumping of hundreds of dead feet against the base of the tower. There is no way down. Seth locks eyes with Miller across the blood-slicked floor.

The floor joists snap like dry kindling. Seth slams his prosthetic blade into a support beam, vaulting his momentum toward the service ladder just as the floor beneath Miller vanishes into the darkness.

Seth snatches Miller by the harness, hauling the man upward with a grunt of exertion. A group of walkers tumbles into the abyss, their snarls cut short by the crashing surf below. Sasha Williams emerges from the shadows of the utility vent, her expression fierce and resolute.