Fifteen miles south of the Clearford compound, a sea of zombies was advancing at a slow, steady crawl.
Wherever they passed, houses collapsed. Farmland got trampled flat.
It was a straight-up disaster scene—if you hadn't seen a million-class horde with your own eyes, you'd never truly understand how insane it was.
High above the horde, a massive peregrine falcon circled tirelessly.
The zombies below had noticed it a long time ago. They just didn't have any long-range way to touch it, so they chose to ignore it.
As long as that bird didn't come down, they couldn't do anything.
But if it did? They'd strip it down to bare feathers in seconds.
Just then, two more giant birds flew in from the distance.
The horde glanced up once, couldn't be bothered, and kept shambling toward the Clearford compound.
Ethan watched Big Mike and Garrick arrive, and the tight knot between his brows finally loosened.
"Captain, we're here!"
