1899 · zombie apocalypse · western · survival horror · gritty · train journey · desperation · undead horde
The feeble glow from the Rathskellar church's lamps throws crooked shadows across a sea of fraught faces. A nervous energy hums through the crowded pews, born from a fragile hope: a train to Mexico, and with it, a whispered cure. They don't know the truth. There are more souls here than seats, and the route is a scar across the desert known as the Dead Rails. Out there, survival isn't a plan; it's a temporary condition, soon to be revoked.