Chapter 31: Run! I Need to Escape!
Inside the market, countless walkers turned in unison toward the doors, surging forward like a tide beating against the entrance.
The screech of locked tires filled the air as smoke rolled from the wheels. The black vehicle was caked in dried walker blood, reeking with a nauseating stench.
Merle climbed out of the truck wearing what looked like a blood-soaked robe. On closer inspection, it was a white lab coat completely saturated with black blood, bits of tissue still clinging to the fabric.
His breath fogged against the inside of his face mask with each ragged gasp, the view alternating between obscured and clear.
Merle clutched his arm, the corner of his eye twitching as he strode forward with heavy steps.
The two towering market doors rattled back and forth from the walkers' relentless pounding. Even if Merle didn't release them, it wouldn't be long before the dead broke through on their own.
Merle drew his handgun and aimed at the iron chain securing the doors.
Hugh and Wayne had locked it while the walkers were feeding.
Bang.
The chain slipped to the ground with a crisp clatter. Drops of fresh blood fell alongside it—brighter red than the black ichor everywhere else.
The doors slammed open, crashing against the walls with a thunderous impact.
Countless walkers with twisted necks lifted their heads, nostrils flaring. Their cloudy eyes rotated in their sockets. Even though Merle couldn't see where their pupils focused, he felt their gazes settling on him.
Merle held his breath, trying to minimize his presence.
Fortunately, the walkers only sniffed briefly before shuffling past him and leaving the market.
"Hah—"
When the walkers around him moved on, Merle exhaled in relief.
"Tsss—"
The stabbing, burning pain in his arm began to spread. Merle's arm trembled uncontrollably.
Fresh blood started seeping through the wound. The sweet, coppery scent filled the air.
Almost immediately, several walkers that had been about to pass Merle stopped in their tracks. They turned their heads at unnatural angles, as if studying him.
Merle licked his lips. His other hand slowly raised his weapon, the barrel subtly aimed at the walkers that had stopped.
In the next instant, a crossbow bolt shot through the crowd of corpses and buried itself firmly in a walker's forehead. It dropped without a sound.
Merle's head snapped toward the source. Daryl appeared, dressed in identical blood-soaked gear and wearing a khaki-colored face mask. He casually shoved aside the walkers near him.
Perhaps because Daryl's disguise was flawless, the walkers only stared at him blankly, showing no desire to attack.
Daryl reached Merle's side and slapped away a walker fixated on his brother, then kicked another one back.
With a combination of pushing and shoving, Daryl created distance between Merle and the surrounding walkers. He grabbed Merle's good arm and said coldly, "Move. Get in the truck."
Merle didn't argue. He obediently followed Daryl.
Daryl positioned himself between Merle and the walkers. Whenever one tried to approach, Daryl pushed or batted it away.
Opening the truck door, Daryl roughly shoved Merle inside and slammed it shut with force.
Before Merle could speak, Daryl glared at him furiously. "Why did you go open the door yourself? You're injured, aren't you?"
"Why didn't you say anything?"
Faced with Daryl's angry scowl, Merle could only give an awkward smile, trying to deflect.
Under Daryl's unwavering stare, Merle's smile faded. He slapped the center console. "I'm the goddamn older brother. You think I could let you take that risk?"
The atmosphere in the truck grew heavy. Neither spoke, both turning stiffly to look out their respective windows.
On Merle's side, a few walkers stared stupidly into the vehicle, unable to determine whether Merle was food or one of them.
Merle cursed violently. "The hell are you looking at?"
He rolled down the window partway and stabbed viciously with his knife, killing several walkers in quick succession.
After he killed a few, more shuffled forward to replace them.
Merle gave up with another curse.
"Goddammit!"
Outside the market, in the plaza.
Before Martinez and his men could charge into the market entrance, they witnessed an endless stream of walkers pouring out from inside.
Martinez's face went pale. He immediately halted his advance and pulled out a grenade launcher, firing into the herd.
BOOM—
The explosion was too close. The shockwave sent walkers flying and caught Martinez and several of his men in the blast radius.
Martinez spun through the air and hit the ground rolling.
Driven by his powerful survival instinct, Martinez staggered to his feet. His head swam, but he still managed to shout, "Open fire! Everyone shoot!"
"Don't conserve ammunition! Kill all these biters!"
Following Martinez's order, his men unleashed devastating firepower.
Bullets tore through the smoke and into the herd, spraying blood and shattering skulls.
Some walkers took so many hits they literally fell apart, reduced to chunks. Even those still technically alive lost all ability to move.
Ammunition depleted rapidly. Martinez switched to a submachine gun and let loose on the herd.
Martinez's men had clearly received military training. Many maintained formation, ensuring overlapping fields of fire to maximize walker kills.
They advanced and retreated with discipline. When several ran low on ammo, they'd call out to nearby teammates and fall back to the vehicles for resupply while others immediately covered their positions.
The firepower was intense, and their accuracy impressive.
The walkers couldn't even make it down the market's front steps. They were torn apart by the curtain of bullets before getting far from the entrance.
Unfortunately, the sheer number of walkers was overwhelming. Martinez and his men held the line for over ten minutes.
But Martinez's ammunition supply wasn't infinite.
The kill zone created by gunfire kept shrinking as more walkers piled up.
Martinez and his men were forced into a gradual retreat until they reached the few vehicles that weren't completely destroyed.
Cold sweat poured down Martinez's forehead. No extraction vehicles. Insufficient firepower. A massive walker horde ahead.
That left only one option—pick a direction and retreat fast.
Martinez raised his head, scanning the streets connected to the plaza.
First, the street closest to the market entrance was impossible. Too close to the walkers. A hasty retreat would only get them torn apart from behind.
That left only two or three viable streets. While Martinez hesitated, a shout yanked him back to reality.
"Biters! Biters!"
"Another wave just showed up!"
One of his men, caught off guard, suddenly found himself surrounded by a fresh horde of walkers that appeared from nowhere. They grabbed him on all sides.
In an instant, he was torn limb from limb. The walkers competed eagerly for the flesh, blood coating their faces as they chewed.
Martinez's pupils dilated in shock. He saw his own death reflected in that moment. Terror seized his entire body. His spine turned to ice.
Run! I need to escape!
That was the first thought that exploded in Martinez's mind.
He'd just seen it—the walkers had emerged from one of the side streets, and he couldn't see the end of the herd.
Screams continued. Several more of his best men lost their lives in seconds.
For more chapters, leave a review or powerstones(100)
or
go check out my patreon that has 50+advance chapters($12) patreon.com/Twilightsky588