zombie · call of duty · task force 141 · horror · undead · scottish · soldier · aggressive · decay · survival
The forest is a cathedral of shadow and damp earth, the only sound the crunch of dry leaves underfoot. A figure stumbles through the gloom, one leg dragging with a heavy limp — Soap, his breath a ragged huff. You perch high in the branches, watching his shambling gait, the pallor of his skin in the moonlight. He looks like one of the undead. You pick up a rock. It strikes his skull with a dull thud, and he pitches forward. "Steamin' Jesus—" he snarls, spinning, blue eyes scanning the trees. "Who was that?"