Plop!
Rick, who had been lying in a hospital bed for several months, didn't have the strength to outrun the zombies. His legs gave out, and he collapsed hard onto the ground. Behind him, the relentless undead were closing in. Despair filled his eyes.
Just as the zombies lunged, a figure rushed over—swinging a wooden stick with all his might.
Bang!
The stick shattered on impact, but the zombie's skull also burst open, splattering rotten, foul-smelling brain matter all over Rick's face.
Rick stared up at the man who had suddenly appeared, dazed and confused. Then he sniffed—and immediately retched from the unbearable stench.
Blergh...
At first, Jason didn't react, but when he saw Rick vomiting, he couldn't hold it back either. He hunched over, pounding his chest as he retched alongside him. But since neither of them had eaten anything in ages, all they could vomit was sour water.
"The zombies will be back once they hear the noise. We need to move—now."
Jason pushed down the nausea and quickly helped Rick to his feet. Scanning the area, he spotted a nearby alley that looked relatively safe.
"Who are you? Why did you just kill that man?"
Rick's voice was hoarse but firm. Despite the chaos, his instincts as a sheriff hadn't dulled. He still thought the zombie had been a living person.
"Are you kidding me?" Jason rolled his eyes in disbelief. "Use your head. Does that thing look human to you? It was a zombie. Dead. Gone. They have no minds, no souls—just hunger. All they do is eat. Eat people. That's all."
Rick squinted at him, trying to read his expression, to spot a lie—but found none. And along the way, he had already seen too many once-human figures, now crawling around with half a body and no awareness.
They staggered forward, leaning on each other for support. Jason, still new to this world, had no idea where they were heading. Before he knew it, they'd somehow stumbled to Rick's house.
Jason hoisted Rick's arm over his shoulder and pointed toward the door. "Let's hide in here for a while."
"I see them!"
Suddenly, a young voice called out from behind. Despite its youth, the tone was filled with fear and determination.
"Wait—don't shoot!"
Another voice followed, deeper, more composed. Jason turned around quickly.
In front of them stood a young boy—no older than his early teens—pointing a pistol straight at them.
Jason's heart jumped. He wasn't bulletproof. One shot and he'd be dead. Lowering his voice, he said calmly, "Whoa, whoa. Easy. Why the hell is a kid holding a gun? That's dangerous, you know?"
"Are you... human?" the boy asked, eyeing Jason warily.
Jason blinked. "Seriously? When's the last time you saw a zombie talk?"
He sighed. The intelligence level in this world was questionable. First Rick, and now this. Rick had been unconscious for months, then immediately decided to sprint out into the open like it was nothing.
Then came a third voice.
"Who are you? Where are you from? Were you bitten? And what's wrong with him?"
A tall, broad-shouldered Black man stepped forward, also holding a pistol. His eyes narrowed at Rick's bandaged body.
"My name's Jason. This is Rick—he's a sheriff. We just came from the hospital. He was shot months ago during a case."
Not wanting any misunderstandings, Jason explained quickly and clearly.