The car was a coffin of glass and steel.
Dozens of rotting hands slammed against the windows, leaving streaks of blood and black ooze. Fingernails cracked as they clawed furiously, teeth gnashing against the glass with sickening screeches. The vehicle rocked violently as the horde piled onto it, their weight groaning against the metal frame.
Inside, panic ruled.
Kelvin's knuckles were bone-white around the steering wheel, his chest heaving as if he could force the car to move with sheer will. Sweat streamed down his temples, his eyes wild. "They're going to break through," he rasped, every word trembling.
Tori was curled against Lisa, sobbing uncontrollably, her nails digging into her friend's arm. "I don't want to die, I don't want to die—" she repeated like a broken record, her voice shrill and hollow with terror. Lisa held her tightly, but her lips quivered, and her eyes darted between windows, her whisper of a prayer faltering each time a new crack spiderwebbed in the glass.
The air inside was suffocating. Each shallow breath stank of sweat, fear, and gasoline.
Only Lexi sat differently. Pressed against the backseat door, her eyes were cold, calculating. She didn't cry. She didn't scream. She watched. Every thud of a fist against glass. Every shift of the metal roof under the crushing weight. She could already see how this would end—sharp, sudden, bloody.
Her gaze darted around, fast and precise, cataloging possible escapes. But there were none. Not here. Not yet.
Then—
A thunderous roar split the night.
Headlights flared in the distance, slicing through the dark like a blade. Engines growled, deep and heavy, growing louder until they drowned out the zombies' snarls.
The horde paused, their heads snapping toward the sound.
Three trucks barreled down the street, their fronts armored with welded steel plates, chains rattling from their sides. Floodlights mounted on their roofs blazed to life, blinding the undead in their glare.
The first truck skidded sideways, blocking the street with a screech of tires. The back doors flew open, and figures poured out, moving with mechanical precision.
"Positions!" a commanding voice barked.
Gunfire erupted instantly.
The night lit up with muzzle flashes as bullets tore through the horde. Rotting skulls exploded in sprays of gore, limbs detached and fell twitching to the ground. The thunder of rifles was deafening, the air thick with the acrid sting of gunpowder.
The newcomers moved like soldiers—synchronized, efficient, fearless.
One was tall and broad-shouldered, his dark jacket pristine despite the chaos. His head was shaved, a faint scar running from his temple to his jaw, and he wielded his rifle with unshaking control. His voice carried authority.
Beside him, a woman with auburn hair tied back in a tight braid reloaded with lightning speed, her piercing green eyes scanning for threats. She barked orders to the others with a tone sharp enough to cut steel.
Another man was leaner, wiry, with tattoos crawling up his neck. He swung a baseball bat spiked with nails, smashing skulls with savage precision between bursts of covering fire.
Within minutes, the tide shifted. The zombies fell one by one until the moans quieted, leaving nothing but corpses strewn across the asphalt.
The survivors from the trucks lowered their weapons, their breathing controlled, their stances still sharp and ready.
The car doors wrenched open.
Kelvin blinked against the floodlight shining in his face. Ezra stood there, his rifle still hot from firing. He extended a strong, steady hand. "It's over. You're safe now."
Kelvin didn't hesitate. His relief was so sharp it broke him; his voice cracked as he stumbled out, nearly collapsing into Ezra's grip. "Thank you—God, thank you."
"Hi, my name is Ezra and this is my crew, we were on our way back from getting supplies when we saw you guys"
"Thank you" Tori whimpered
Tori clung to Lisa, sobbing, but when another survivor—a tall, auburn-haired girl—helped her out gently, she nearly melted into her arms as though she had found sanctuary. Lisa followed, her lips trembling with gratitude, her wide eyes reflecting hope for the first time in days.
Kelvin looked around at the armored trucks, the disciplined strangers, the abundance of supplies, and his face softened, a kind of desperate belief blooming. For him, this was salvation.
Lexi slid out last, her movements calm, her expression carefully composed. She didn't rush toward them. Her gaze swept the street, then the trucks.
Three vehicles. Supplies neatly stacked. Survivors trained like professionals.
And then she saw it.
The third truck.
Unlike the others, its windows were blackened. Its back was sealed shut with thick chains and a reinforced padlock. And just for a heartbeat—when the gunfire fell silent—Lexi thought she heard something. A faint scrape. A muffled thud.
Too deliberate. Too alive.
Her eyes narrowed, her lips twitching into the faintest smirk.
The others saw angels, saviors.
Lexi saw secrets—dangerous secrets. They might not be who they claimed to be.
And secrets… always bled. For now, she decided to play along.