The night was ice-cold, and a sharp fall wind sliced through their gear, rattling their bones with every blast. Kevin pulled guard duty, posted up in the watchtower. His eyes raked the black void ahead.

  Thanks to the generator—and Rikk’s freaky knack for sniffing out loot—they’d scored some diesel, and the prison was juiced up again. By tomorrow, once they swept the rest of the joint and cranked the Zone A generator, their setup would be tight as hell.

  Sparks popped off the power lines every so often, blue flickers screaming old-world vibes—and the walker threat still breathing down their necks. The four watchtowers had spotlights so beefy they turned the yard into daylight. You could even clock the walkers’ busted teeth as they dragged across the grass.

  Kevin eyed the dark mountains hulking out there, a bad feeling chewing at his gut. Was it a walker swarm, uglier than anything the story had cooked up? The Governor—that cold-blooded bastard—teaming with a Worldhopper and cracking their game? Or just their own crew imploding from the inside? Kevin couldn’t nail it down.

  Run? Hell no, Kevin thought. Ditching the crew and the prison meant tangling solo with those juiced-up walker freaks—torn to shreds and chowed down before the sun’s up.

  Mallow leaned in, voice low. “Boss, four more days and we’re outta this dump.”

  Kevin shot him a hard stare. “Mallow, cut that crap. Thinking like that’ll turn these days into pure hell. Shit always hits harder before it clears.”

  Mallow bobbed his head. “Gotcha, boss. You reckon something wild’s popping off tonight?” His nerves kicked in. “Man, I’m praying it ain’t a damn shitshow, alright?”

  Walker raids were the nightly grind—real sleep was a ghost. Daytime kills were just warm-ups for the night shift. Round and round it went—perfect in its messed-up way.

  “Who knows if tonight’s gonna blow sky-high,” Kevin muttered. “But Omnispace flagged us twice.” Used to be a slug on the couch, now he could at least swing a solid hit. Still, the nonstop scrapping and no shut-eye were chewing him up.

  “They’re here!” Mallow roared, jabbing a finger at the walker horde rolling in.

  Kevin locked eyes on the distance. The walkers’ guttural growls rumbled back, thick in the air. Waves of warped shapes lurched closer, their slow, relentless trudge icing the survivors’ spines.

  Kevin caught a glint in their dead-ass eyes—like some shred of will was still kicking. Pure nightmare shit. These weren’t your average shamblers; they were jacked up—stronger, faster, deadlier than anything he’d scrapped with. The supercharged walker army had finally dropped.

  The prison blew up into madness. Folks screamed, tumbling outta cells, snatching guns, metal bars, machetes—anything that could smash a skull. Survival was the only damn game now.

  The four watchtowers held a mix of newbies and story vets. Rikk had taken their tips and juiced the defenses harder. Guards were strapped to the gills, locked and loaded for whatever these bastards might sling.

  The walker army hit the edge of the blazing lights, but the prison crew held their shots. The air hung thick, buzzing with nerves. The electric fence growled low, primed to zap some walker ass into crispy patties. If they could grill these freaks, they’d save a fat stack of bullets.

  The defenders lined up outside the buildings, locked in to guard their turf. They stood tight, eyes glued to the fence. One walker—shambling slow and goofy—lurched up and pawed at it with a twisted mitt. Sparks popped, and bam—that sucker fried to a heap of ash in a hot second.

  A wild roar ripped through the crowd, lighting up the night. Folks hollered like mad, voices bouncing off the dark. Tears streaked their faces, pure rush etched deep. Not long ago, they were just prey, chased down by these damn nightmares.

  Everything they’d known about life was gone, swallowed by a world choking on chaos and crap. But there was a spark—they’d got their tech back! This juiced-up gear was their shield against the nonstop walker waves.

  Another walker pawed the fence and poof—ash city. One by one, the shambling bastards hit the juice and crumbled to dust.

  Even with the wins stacking up, Kevin couldn’t ditch the bad vibe creeping in. Omnispace had rung the bell twice. A lousy electric fence holding off whatever’s next? Fat chance.

  This place wasn’t some damn picnic—it was The Zombie World! These walkers? They were the new top dogs! How’s a wired-up wall gonna lock ‘em out for good?

  Kevin was deep in his head when a monster engine growl ripped the air. A hulking box truck barreled in—same rig the Governor rolled in the old prison smackdown.

  The newbies’ faces drained white. They all knew the Governor—that slimy, pure-evil bastard—too damn well.

  Kevin clocked it: Philip had to have a Worldhopper from the future riding shotgun—somebody who’d seen the whole playbook. That meant Philip knew this ragtag prison crew looked like chumps now but could turn into a real pain in the ass later.

  Think about it—some nobodies you don’t give a shit about today might bulk up and come for your throat tomorrow. You’d squash ‘em before they got big, right? Hell yeah, you would.

  So, the game flipped hard. Philip was jacked up beyond reckoning, and the walkers were nastier than ever. This was next-level screwed.

  “Stop that fuckin’ rig!” Marissa barked, face twisted like hell.

  “Blast the driver!” Razor Hawk barked at his crew.

  Kevin was already on it, dumping a full mag in a heartbeat. A bloody mess flopped outta the driver’s seat, chomped up by walkers fast. But that truck? Still roaring straight at ‘em!

  The prison crew unloaded in a frenzy, blasting the truck’s lights and glass to bits. But that beast kept charging, unstoppable, and slammed into the electric fence.

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

  A roaring boom split the air as the fence busted wide, and the truck plowed through the gap. The back doors flew open, and—holy shit—the bed was crawling with walkers! Everyone froze, jaws dropped, as these jacked-up freaks spilled out.

  Trouble’s a damn tag-team. Screams and shots rang out from inside the prison walls! That chunk housed the old folks, the sick, and the slow—so gunfire meant walkers were flooding in through the back hatch.

  The defenders had run hourly sweeps on every door, figuring they’d locked it down tight. But some sneaky bastard still slipped in and unleashed a walker swarm!

  In a hot second, the defenders’ rock-solid setup crashed into a total shitstorm. They were getting slammed from every damn angle. Odds of pulling through? Next to zilch!

  No chance Philip and his Worldhopper cronies were just chilling. They were out there, eyeballing the mess, making damn sure the NPC team got mobbed by walkers from all sides. Even if the crew clawed through, they’d be too wrecked to swing back. That’s when Philip’s gang would roll in and mop up.

  And it wasn’t just walkers screwing ‘em—humans were ripping each other to shreds too.

  Right on cue, a storm of machine gun blasts and grenade pops smashed the four watchtowers, blowing the spotlights to bits. The whole joint sank back into black.

  The watchtowers went up in roaring blasts, chunks of junk flying everywhere. Screams got snuffed out fast—bodies shredded in a flash, some of ‘em Worldhoppers. Machine guns and grenade launchers were way too damn heavy for the newbies’ brittle bones—they didn’t stand a chance.

  Kevin smelled the shit hitting the fan and yanked Mallow off their tower just as it ate a barrage of booms. The shockwave banged ‘em up good—bruises all over—but Kevin caught a glass shard to the skull, blood gushing down his face. Mallow slapped a bandage on quick, plugging the leak.

  The snipers were screwed blind in the dark, their big rifles useless as hell. The shooters were losing it, blind as bats in the black, scared stiff they’d catch the next grenade. No way they’d swing back while shaking in their boots.

  Chaos busted loose, and the defenders’ fight game fell to pieces.

  The whole gig looked toast. Inside the trashed fence, everybody—story vets and green Worldhoppers—clamped their jaws and scrapped to stay upright. Their enemies didn’t give a damn, steamrolling lives like it was nothing, just gunning for the win.

  Kevin hauled up, face hard as stone, and told Mallow, “Get inside, find a hole to duck in.”

  Mallow froze up. “Boss, we gotta bounce together!”

  Kevin’s voice held steady. “I’ve got a big play to make,” he said. “Stay safe, man. Don’t you dare eat it, no matter what!”

  Mallow’s mug twisted with worry, but he nodded slow. “Alright, fine. Just watch your ass. If shit hits, we’re bolting as a team, got it?”

  Kevin flicked a quick nod and locked eyes forward, zeroing in on the rough road ahead.

  Kevin knew it was a mess. If he didn’t move fast, the whole crew was screwed. His only shot was prodding Rikk—the story’s big dog—to step up and do his damn job.

  Rikk ran a tight crew that rolled with him no questions asked. Kevin and the newbies had their own gigs brewing, but they needed Rikk’s ass to keep breathing.

  The real kicker? Everybody was flying solo. If they didn’t sync up, they’d be walker chow or mowed down by the Governor’s goons.

  Kevin bolted toward Rikk, who was pissed as hell, gun popping off, locked on the walker wall barreling their way.

  Kevin let out a pissed-off huff. He’d always pegged Rikk as a flashy talker with no real grit—not much of a scrapper. Now here he was, big shot, yelling orders and shoving his squad to slug it out—while totally blowing off any damn plan to actually win.

  Kevin needed Rikk to hear him out—his play was the only shot to pull ‘em all outta this mess.

  “Rikk, listen up!” Kevin hollered. “We gotta haul ass back to the prison, now! Walkers are swarming every damn where, and human bastards are creeping in the dark! Out here’s toast—bail inside!”

  Rikk shook his head. “I’ve got Sharn, Deyl, Mionne, and Melk handling the walkers inside. Probably just a handful of stragglers—ain’t a big deal. You lot need to hold tight and keep ‘em from busting through!”

  Kevin was steaming, damn near ready to blow. Rikk was way off—dead-ass wrong!

  Walkers were pouring in from both ends, and human bastards were skulking in the dark, picking off the crew one by one.

  Worse, the defenders were stuck out in the open, no cover, nada. Walkers had ‘em swamped in numbers, and the human goons were packing heat—machine guns and grenade launchers, outgunning ‘em bad.

  Rikk wasn’t clocking it—still glued to his old playbook while the enemy flipped the whole damn game. Kevin knew they had to pull back, but Rikk was dug in like a mule.

  Kevin’s gut knotted up. Hit him like a brick—he had no smooth talk or charm to sway this bullheaded fool.

  Despair slammed him like a tidal wave. Were he and Mallow stuck pulling some wild-ass breakout? And Melk—that hardheaded bastard—wasn’t budging from his spot for shit.

  Then, a little nugget Omnispace dropped way back sparked in his head.

  No hesitation—he tore off the Walker Slayer title, his gold-tier ace, and slapped on the Fire Captain one, silver-tier. Big damn switch.

  This new tag juiced his Charisma auto when dealing with human NPCs. Plus, it tossed him two extra points on any Charisma rolls with ‘em. Might just be the kick he needed.

  With fresh grit, Kevin tapped one of his heavy hitters: a team point privilege. This bad boy let him strong-arm story characters into picking his play.

  Knowing it was a long shot, Kevin laid out a sharp plan to Rikk. He burned the privilege to lock Rikk’s ears on, no dodging. Bonus was, they’d jawed before—cost him just 100 team points, not the full 200. With the Fire Captain title juicing his Charisma for human NPCs and their old chats, he might just yank this off.

  Rikk’s face scrunched up like somebody’d kicked his prized pup when Kevin pushed for a full pullback into the prison. He huffed, beat, and jammed his gun back in its holster.

  “Fine, fine,” he growled, pissed as hell. “I’ll roll with your call for now, since we’ve got history. But if you botch this, you’re the first I’m dropping. Clear?”

  With a last loud bark, he roared, “Everybody, heads up! Fall back! We’re hauling ass into the prison for the last damn stand!”

  Kevin let out a long-ass breath, wiped out. He peeked at his team points—damn, down to 39! Then Omnispace started blasting him with crap: “Rikk’s opinion of you’s slid to Average” and “Rikk’s now stone-cold toward you.” A little jab of gloom hit him.

  Screw it, he thought. Who gives a shit if he likes me? If I wasn’t trapped in this hellhole, I’d tell him to shove it up his ass! No wonder Lorrah’s screwing around—guy’s a total dick!

  Rikk’s yell kicked in, and the story crew plus newbies outside bolted back into the prison. The enemy unloaded again, machine guns and grenade launchers turning the night into a damn fireworks show. They zeroed in on the gates—the only way in. No shock there.

  “Knew it,” Kevin said, smirking. “They don’t want us bunkered in that joint. Those walls are built like tanks—enemy’s fancy guns and boom sticks ain’t denting ‘em much.”

  The sudden rattle of gunfire snapped ‘em awake. Everybody still outside hauled ass through the gates, diving for cover behind the prison walls. Lucky break—most of ‘em made it.