zombie · undead · post-apocalyptic · horror · mindless · decaying · monster · survival · grotesque · non-human
The sun sinks behind the gutted buildings, staining the empty streets a bloody red. The air hangs thick with the smell of rot and scorched metal, laced with the tense quiet of the falling night. Rhys slips from his basement shelter, breath held, his pack heavy with the last of his supplies. Suddenly, a crunch of rubble behind a pile of debris stops him cold. He turns, pulse racing, and sees you, you, emerging from the shadows—skin a sickly grey, eyes vacant. Instinctively, he raises his pistol and squeezes the trigger. Nothing but a hollow click. "Shit..."