The streets of Atlanta were eerily silent, save for the low groans of the undead. Zombies roamed in small groups of three or five along the deserted roads, as if silently announcing their dominance over the city.
**Screech, screech, screech…!**
A shrill sound of tires skidding tore through the silence. A police car came spinning around a corner, performing a sharp tailspin. It plowed through a line of zombies, sending bodies flying. Some were smashed into unrecognizable pieces, splattering the car with gore and dismembered limbs.
Yet the zombies felt no pain. The ones that had been knocked down slowly got back up, swaying as they staggered back toward the vehicle with lifeless persistence.
"I'll show you some fancy moves!" Jason's eyes lit up with excitement. His hands moved rapidly—shifting gears, stomping the gas and brake in rhythm, and jerking the steering wheel with precision. The car spun wildly on the spot, tires screaming as smoke billowed around them.
**Buzz! Boom! Boom!**
The police car whirled like a massive gyroscope, smashing into the oncoming zombies with renewed force. This time, the impact was so brutal that limbs and torsos were shredded on contact, leaving a messy trail of destruction.
"Brother, I can't take it anymore..."
Glenn, sitting in the back seat, clung desperately to the grab handle. His face turned pale as he shouted over the chaos, "Stop spinning! I'm gonna hurl!"
"Hahaha, my bad! Forgot you were still back there," Jason replied, grinning sheepishly. He quickly shifted gears, and the car surged forward, breaking free from the cluster of zombies.
There was only one real group of the undead—the rest were just wandering aimlessly. As long as they didn't get surrounded, they wouldn't be in serious danger.
"Do any of you know where the hospital is?" Jason asked. He couldn't afford to drive around blindly. The fuel gauge was already down to half, and if they didn't find a hospital or pharmacy soon, they'd be stranded.
"I've got a map," Shane said, rummaging through his bag. He pulled out a folded city map and examined it closely. Then his eyes lit up. "Got it! There's a pharmacy just three blocks from here. I'll mark the route."
He traced a path with a colored pen and spread the map across the steering wheel for Jason to see.
It wasn't far—maybe just a few minutes' drive. But then—
**Crunch.**
The car jerked to a stop. Jason stared ahead, his face twitching in disbelief. A tank—yes, an actual military tank—was parked across the road, completely blocking the way. There was no way a standard vehicle could squeeze past.
"You've got to be kidding me," Shane muttered, burying his face in his hands. No matter how well they planned, something always went wrong.
"No choice—we're walking from here," Jason said, already stepping out of the car. He grabbed his gear and backpack, then walked a few paces forward to check out the tank.
The others followed quickly. Moore, ever cautious, popped open the car's hood and removed a critical engine component. "Just in case someone else stumbles on it," he said. "Now they won't be able to drive it off."
Jason climbed onto the tank and looked beyond it. The scene on the other side was starkly different. Buildings on both sides of the street were riddled with bullet holes and scorch marks from explosions. It was clear that heavy fighting had taken place.
No zombies in sight—just charred corpses littering the pavement. The buildings were blackened with smoke, the air still thick with the stench of burned flesh.
**Roar!**
Suddenly, the tank hatch burst open. A zombie in tattered camouflage gear, its face half-rotted and covered in blood, lunged out with a guttural growl.
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