章 64: Chapter 64
The streets were silent, save for the dull echo of shuffling boots. In the dead of night, a small group moved through the abandoned city. They were different now. Their faces were pockmarked and pale, their uniforms weathered and torn. The last remnants of their former lives seemed like some grotesque joke now, but they carried on. They were dead, yet alive. The horrors of the past had returned to walk the earth once more.
As they moved, the occasional groan cut through the silence, a reminder that the world wasn't the same. They had come back from the graves of history, some sort of twisted resurrection that had no reason behind it. People thought it was a prank at first—an elaborate hoax. The news reported it like some strange, misguided fascination, but no one truly realized the gravity of what had happened.
The night stretched on, cold and thick, as the group of reanimated soldiers stumbled closer to what remained of a once-vibrant city. The buildings were ruins now, hollowed out by time and destruction. Most people had been wiped out by the initial outbreak, the ones who survived were either too scared or too weak to fight back.
Inside a small apartment, Lucas sat in the dark. He hadn't slept in days. The windows were boarded up, and the air inside was stale. Every sound outside made his heart race. The radio had stopped working weeks ago. There was no contact with anyone anymore. It was just him, and the world that was slowly slipping away. The once-distant reports of the walking dead had become far too close for comfort.
He'd seen them once, from the cracked window of the apartment. The Nazis—men who had once fought for their twisted ideals—were now something else. Their faces were barely human, rotting and falling apart, yet they moved like machines, relentless. They had no cause anymore. No orders. But they were still deadly.
The world had fallen to hell fast. Some places, like Europe, were already buried in the dust of the past. Entire countries had become graveyards, overrun by these horrors. Cities like Berlin had been reclaimed, though there was nothing human left in them. And then, they started spreading. New York, Chicago, even small towns across America, had been attacked. And now it was just a waiting game.
Lucas had no plan. There was nothing left to fight for. He'd tried—he'd attempted to fight back, tried to reach other survivors—but every move was a gamble. Each time he left his hideout, he risked running into those horrors. They had no mercy, no hesitation, and certainly no humanity left in them.
The last few days had felt like an eternity. Each morning, he stared out the window, hoping to see something—anything—that would give him hope. But the streets were empty, except for them. Always them.
It wasn't long before he heard them. The low, guttural groan of the first soldier who wandered into view. Lucas froze. He knew there was no escaping now. He had waited too long, had hoped too much. But the thing outside wasn't a man anymore. It was a machine, driven by hunger and death.
Lucas thought of running, but he knew better. There were too many of them. Even if he managed to slip past one or two, it would only be a matter of time before they found him.
He pulled the old rifle from beneath the floorboards, checking it one last time. He had no illusions left. The world was gone. The Nazis were back, and there would be no stopping them. They would reclaim everything. There was no reason to fight anymore.
A noise at the door made him turn. The faintest sound of boots on the other side. He didn't move. He just sat there, rifle in hand, waiting for the end to come.
The door crashed open, and Lucas didn't look. He had seen enough of the death outside. He heard them enter, their heavy boots scraping across the floor. He knew what came next. The slow, terrible shuffle of the undead as they closed in, each step a reminder that there would be no salvation.
A hand gripped his shoulder, cold and decayed. He didn't flinch.
Then there was silence, the kind that felt like a heavy cloud. The kind you couldn't escape. The room had become a tomb. Nothing moved.
Nothing left to hear, to see, to feel.
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