"Nothing can ever restrainYour yearning to be free,A soul unchained, untamed,Your heart, unfettered, roams carefree,Through shadowed years and aimless nights,You've known what it means to be lost…"
Just then, a magnetic and impassioned ringtone erupted from the chest pocket of Kael Voss' jacket. It was loud, defiant—like a battle trumpet sounding its charge—and it instantly drew the attention of every nearby zombie.
"Bloody hell!"
Kael froze, stunned, then cursed aloud as he realized Sylvan Viper's treachery. That phone had been planted on him, pre-set with a timed alarm. And now the appointed hour had come—his hour of death.
Zombies were hypersensitive to sound. On this deserted British street, the ringing cut through the silence like a siren, echoing through every corner. Worse still, with his hands bound, Kael couldn't reach the phone, much less silence it. That cursed ringtone was like the voice of Death itself, summoning the entire swarm.
Panic surged in Kael's chest. His heart pounded like a war drum. If he didn't act fast, he'd be buried under the oncoming flood of the undead.
He clutched a shard of glass in his hand, furiously sawing at the rope around his wrists. Sweat beaded on his brow as his eyes darted around, searching for an escape. Internally, he cursed Sylvan and Elena Cross with every breath—those conniving bastards.
Thud-thud-thud!
A barrage of urgent, heavy footsteps echoed down the street. Kael's eyes widened in horror. The swarm had arrived.
Drawn by the ringtone, the dead came flooding down the street like a tidal wave. Some tripped and tumbled over one another in their mindless rush, crashing and scrambling forward. In mere seconds, they were less than ten meters away.
There was no time to think.
Kael rolled sideways in one fluid motion, kicked himself up with a twist, and sprinted in the opposite direction. He'd barely taken a dozen strides when he skidded to a stop, his face twisting in disbelief.
Another horde—just as large—was pouring out from the opposite end of the street.
"Brilliant. Wolves ahead, tigers behind."
Kael's heart hammered in his chest. Even as he ran, he kept grinding the glass against the rope behind his back. Blood dripped from his hand, the shard cutting deeper with every movement. Still, he didn't stop.
Snap!
A sharp crack rang out as the rope finally gave way. Kael didn't hesitate—he dove forward into a roll, landing under a nearby van. In one motion, he whipped the phone from his pocket and powered it off with the fastest fingers of his life.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The moment Kael disappeared beneath the van, the two hordes collided with each other in a thunderous crash. Growls, shrieks, and the wet, meaty sounds of impact filled the air.
For a moment, Kael thought he'd returned to the first day of the Outbreak—a descent into hell's deepest circle.
He curled himself into a tight ball beneath the van. Even though that phone had nearly cost him his life, he didn't discard it. Instead, he slipped it safely back into his jacket.
Sylvan had lied about almost everything, but one thing had been true: this phone was Kael's most cherished possession. Inside were all the photos he had left of his family.
Kael had come from a quiet town in the north. After the Outbreak, the journey back had seemed impossible. He'd tried calling home countless times. No one ever answered.
He knew what that meant.
Those photos were all he had now. They were his tether to a world that no longer existed.
BOOM!
Suddenly, a thunderous explosion rocked the street. The ground trembled beneath Kael, and his heart nearly leapt out of his throat.
Moments later, a flurry of gunfire erupted—sharp, deliberate bursts—interspersed with the snarls and shrieks of the dying.
The blast had pulled the attention of the undead once more. Those that had lingered near the van, confused by the phone's silence, now turned in mass toward the source of the explosion.
Dozens of them began to move, flowing away like water draining from a broken dam.
With most of the horde gone, only a few zombies remained, aimlessly stumbling.
Kael held his breath and tried to shrink into the shadows under the van, praying he wouldn't be seen.
He hoped for mercy, but fate had other plans.
A sound—wet, slithering—caught his attention. Kael turned his head slowly.
Not far away, a female zombie—missing everything below the waist—was dragging herself toward him. She was less than three meters away.
Her pale, lifeless eyes locked onto his. There was no humanity in them—just a soulless hunger, like a dead fish's gaze clouded over in a milky film.
Kael felt the chill run up his spine, deep and bone-penetrating.
She dragged her ruined body forward, inch by inch, leaving a smeared trail behind her. A meter… half a meter…
Her clawed hands swung wildly in front of him, eager to seize her meal.
Kael scooted back as fast as he could, but he was nearly out from beneath the van. Beyond it, the street was still teeming with the dead. There was nowhere safe to run.
Even though the explosion had drawn most of them away, if Kael dared to stand now, he'd be spotted in an instant—then torn apart before he could run ten meters.
And when that happened, there'd be only one kind of death waiting for him: torn limb from limb, devoured alive.
No one wanted to die, least of all like that.
It was a death that mirrored one of history's cruelest punishments—death by a thousand cuts.
Kael was almost certain Sylvan had planned this for him. If he hadn't woken early—if that explosion hadn't happened—he'd already be dead.
The crawling zombie was nearly upon him now.
Then—something. Kael's eye caught a sliver of hope: the passenger door of the van. It wasn't fully closed.
Worth a try.
He reached out, tugged the handle gently—and the door opened.
Kael nearly cried with joy.
Hope surged in him like fire. He climbed into the van, slammed the door shut, and locked it. Then he crawled into the driver's seat and curled up behind it.
The van's windows were tinted. As long as he didn't move or make a sound, even if a zombie came right up to the glass, it wouldn't see him.
And the crawling zombie beneath the van—unable to speak, lacking even a shred of intelligence—couldn't call for help.
Besides, she had no legs. She couldn't even stand.
BOOM!
Another explosion, farther off this time. Light flared through the van's windshield, briefly illuminating the shadows inside. Kael peeked cautiously outside. In the direction of the earlier blast, a column of thick black smoke was rising high into the sky.
Something big was happening out there.