The left edge of her HUD began to flicker with the same orange outline as the three zeds. Her gut sank. She flicked her gaze sideways and her entire peripheral view filled with a mass of shambling outlines.

  Mav didn’t whisper so much as declare her own doom, “I’d say we have a fucking problem.”

  She was far too loud. The two zombies clawing across the hoods below her answered instantly, throaty growls, fingers like hooked rebar stretching toward the warmth of her voice.

  Mav snapped back to the immediate threat, sweeping her blade in two brutal arcs. Steel met skull once, twice and the pair collapsed limp across the metal, sliding down the curve of the car hoods like wet laundry surrendering to gravity.

  She turned toward the lumbering shapes down the road. “Goo, how many?”

  The outlines had just slipped into his scan radius, close enough to matter, not close enough to kill her yet. She sheathed her knife and sprinted for the back of the derelict bus, scaling the ladder in three quick pulls. Dust and ash blasted up in gritty plumes as she slid across the roof on her belly. She spat. ‘God, the apocalypse tastes like a bag of expired drywall.’

  “Thirty-four,” Goo reported, drifting up beside her. “Pack formation. Efficiency of count… extremely high unless someone’s misplaced a limb. Or several.” Her HUD washed in pulsing red silhouettes. The air thickened with groans, wet clicks, bone scrapes, every sound a little too close, a little too hungry. Mav wiped her nose with the back of her arm, steady as a surgeon before the cut.

  ‘Too many. Don’t play hero. Let the tide pass.’ She squeezed her eyes shut and flick clicked the command. Goo ascended, projecting a bird’s eye image over her vision. From above, the horde flowed around the bus in a slow, mindless stream, splitting like water around an anchored stone. Dust swirled again, tickling her sinuses.

  Her nose twitched, paused and relaxed. She sighed, and then she sneezed. The sound detonated out of her like a temple gong struck at dawn. Silence fell across the road as thirty four dead faces rotated toward her in perfect, eerie unison.

  “…shit.” Hands lifted and spines contorted. Bodies slammed against the sides of the bus with renewed, ravenous vigor. The metal shuddered beneath her, the roof flexing as if the vehicle itself flinched. Mav wrapped herself around the rattling AC unit, boots slipping as the undead rammed in mindless, overlapping waves.

  ‘Undone by dust. Not fucking funny. Work the problem, Hudson.’ Her gaze darted, ‘escape route? Blind drop? Suicidal sprint? No,’ then she noticed it, ‘there, the emergency hatch.’ She crawled hard, gripping at trembling metal. The latch fought her, stiff from disuse, then gave with a croaking protest. She flipped it open, peeked, empty aisle, doors shut. Good enough.

  She swung down lightly, crouching low, moving with a survivor’s instinctive grace. She scurried to the driver’s seat and slammed the locking pin home on the bus door. A blessed little key fob sat in a cubby beside the ignition. “Thank you, mysterious dead commuter,” she muttered, snatching it up and hitting prestart before shoving it in her pocket.

  Foot to brake. Button pressed and the engine hummed… rose in pitch… then died.

  “Okay. Rude.” She scanned the dash beneath the ash. One faint light glimmered under the grime. She wiped it clear, “dust,” she growled. “Fucking dust.” She hauled herself through the hatch again, crawling onto the roof. A quick look at the forward panel made her bark a laugh.

  “Yep. Solar’s caked. Of course, fucking dust.” She used a torn bandage to scrub the panels clean, then dropped back inside. The display now blinked 1% + Enough sun to make this work. Enough hope to try.

  Thirty minutes later she took a long pull from her water bottle and saluted the zombies banging uselessly outside her narrowing field of view. That much charge would get her started, the kinetic drives would recharge the battery slowly while she moved, giving her enough to hopefully drive to Tomsville.

  “Well, boys and girls, it's been fun, but I’m leaving.” She slid into the driver’s seat. One zombie caught the motion and shrieked, face mashed against the glass. The shriek propagated like shockwaves, the entire bus shook under a renewed frenzy of undead fists and bodies. She flicked on the wipers, dust peeling in greasy streaks.

  “Later, fuckers.” She dropped it into drive. The engine hummed awake. The bus lurched forward like a sleeping titan forced from slumber. Hands scraped along the metal, bodies thumped beneath the wheels, one, two, five, crushed into the asphalt as she pushed the vehicle through the barricade of undead.

  A manic, disbelieving laugh bubbled out of her as she navigated through the derelict cars and debris, the gruesome rhythm of thumps and bumps marking her escape. Behind her, the horde dwindled into distant, frustrated claws on air. Ahead of her, the open road waited.

  Driving slowly along the rolling hills, Mav kept her eyes flicking between the faded white arrows on the roadside and the rearview mirror. The pack still shambled behind her, relentless, unhurried, and far too close for comfort. She couldn’t put enough distance between them; every straight stretch where she could accelerate was inevitably broken by a snarl of abandoned cars, each obstacle forcing her to slow and weave. Every time she did, the pack closed the gap just enough to be re-triggered by the bus’s low diesel rumble.

  As she crested another rise, the smoke ahead looked thicker now, darker, and curling in lazy plumes against the pale sky. The arrows along the roadside were now joined by descending numbers, 1000m… 800m… she’d just passed 600m when the next hill revealed a clear view. The road curved upward, and perched atop that climb was the source of the smoke, a short wall of shipping containers, their flanks welded together like armored sentinels, encircling a wooden-walled encampment. Bold letters painted across one bus read Tomsville.

  Her lips quirked into a half-smile. “Made it,” she murmured, the word carrying both relief and a faint edge of anticipation. She began plotting her approach, eyes tracing the road, then a scraping bump at the rear jolted her back into the moment. She’d stopped without realizing it, and the pack had caught up. A quick glance confirmed the problem, a few wrecks cluttered the stretch before the container barricade. She wasn’t going to shake them now.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  “Well… hopefully everyone’s ready for company,” she muttered with a grimace, easing back onto the accelerator.

  Weaving as fast as she dared, she closed the distance to the encampment. The place was small but clearly fortified: at each corner, five containers formed towering walls, each crowned with a platform and bridged to the next. In the center of the road stood two containers placed end to end, like the gate of a medieval keep reimagined in rusted steel.

  ‘Must be the entrance and exit,’ she thought, swinging the bus around the final bend and braking in front of the car blockade. Quickly checking her gear, she secured the pistol and knife straps, then tightened her shoulder bag high against her back. A glance at the rearview showed the pack swelling, bigger than before.

  “Goo, how many zeds now?” she asked. The little drone rose from her shoulder, zipped through the emergency hatch, and began scanning.

  “Fifty-seven at present count,” Goo reported crisply. “Fifty-one E-class, six D-class. I’ll highlight them in different colors.” Her HUD flared to life with clusters of red outlines and a smaller knot of orange ones at the far edge. ‘Must be the D’s,’ she guessed. Unlocking the side door, she took one steadying breath, 400 meters to safety.

  She threw the door open and vaulted down the steps and jumped on the hood of the car in front of the bus. Jumping to the pavement, she sprinted for the next barricade, leaping onto another vehicle. Her footsteps rang in hollow clangs, drawing the attention of the pursuing horde. They shifted as one, flowing around the first blockade toward her.

  By the time she cleared the third obstacle, two pickup trucks parked back to back an arrow hissed into the dirt a few feet from her.

  “Who the fuck are you?” a voice called from above, sharp with irritation. “And why the fuck did you train so many zeds here? You a fucking noob or something?” Mav twisted toward the voice, spotting a tall figure on the bus to the right of the container gate. His bow was already drawn, face hidden under the shadow of a hood. The disdain in his tone was almost tangible. She risked a glance back, the pack was pouring around the barricades, closing fast.

  “Are you going to let me in or what?” she shot back, stepping forward and freezing as he drew the bowstring tighter. “Shit, dude!” she snapped. “I’m Mavitsune, and yes, I’m a new player. I know I screwed up. I’ll help clear them out, but I’d rather not die again today.”

  “Jesus, Joe,” another voice cut in, carrying a mix of annoyance and authority. A second man climbed up beside the first, shoving the bow to the side with his own. “Let the girl in, butthead.”

  He waved at her. “Come on up, we’ve got you covered.” Almost instantly, other figures appeared along the container, bows raised. Mav bolted for the last stretch, skirting the too high moving trucks that formed the final barrier. A volley of arrows hissed overhead, followed by another, then a third. By the time she reached the heavy metal door, it swung inward and a smiling woman beckoned her inside.

  “Hey there, noob. Welcome to Tomsville.”

  “Thanks,” Mav panted, stepping inside. “Sorry about all this.”

  The woman offered her hand, grip warm and steady. “I’m Zodiac.” She patted Mav’s shoulder, then reached past to pull the door shut. The moans outside dulled to a low, muffled chorus, “and don’t worry about it,” Zodiac said easily as they started down the container’s dim length. “We’ve all pulled a train before. Good practice for the crew, what’s your handle?”

  “I’m Mavitsune…” Mav offered, only for Zodiac to grin and cut her off.

  “Oh, that’s a cool name! Bit of a mouthful though, you go by a short?”

  Mav blinked at the sudden familiarity. “Uh… hadn’t thought about it. Let’s go with Mav.”

  Bright sunlight hit her eyes as they stepped from the container. She blinked, taking in the interior of Tomsville. The path between the container wall and inner wooden barrier twisted through other offset cargo containers, no direct line to the center. The outer rings were modified into sturdy little homes, the next layer into open front shops, and at the heart, three raised military-style structures overlooked a central firepit.

  “Wow,” Mav murmured. “I was expecting a small camp, not…” She swept her gaze over the fortifications. “This.”

  “Yeah, same here my first time,” Zodiac chuckled. She leaned in slightly, voice lowering. “It’s a good place, but watch out for…”

  “Well, that was fucking great. Just great.” The booming voice cut her off. They both turned to see the hooded archer from earlier, Joe striding toward them. Throwing back his hood, he revealed a square jawed, middle aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and a neatly kept beard. Broad shoulders, barrel chest, forearms roped with muscle. His gear was a mismatch: scuffed boots, faded jeans, sports leg guards strapped over his thighs, and an old catcher’s chest plate beneath a battered poncho.

  Seeing Mav up close for the first time, Joe’s gaze swept from her face to her boots and back lingering, just a moment too long, at her curves. The glint in his eyes turned predatory, his mouth curling into a wolfish smile as he closed the distance.

  “Well, no harm done then,” he said smoothly. “They’re all taken care of, and we welcome a new player to Umbra.” He extended a meaty hand.

  She took it out of reflex. His grip was overly firm, a deliberate flex of strength and the smile on his face never reached his eyes. Mav gave the briefest shake, grimacing inwardly, resisting the urge to wipe her palm on her pants.

  “Thanks… uh, Joe, right?” Her tone had the faint lift of someone confirming something they already knew. ‘Okay, this dude’s a creeper.’

  “That’s right. Joe. BigJoe, actually,” he said, flashing teeth in what might have been charm in a different context. “Leader of Tomsville.” If she’d met him under other circumstances, she might have called him handsome, salt-and-pepper hair, solid build but the shift in his demeanor when he’d looked at her had already soured her impression. He slung one large arm over her shoulders. “Let me give you a quick tour of our little settlement.”

  His touch wasn’t forceful, but it was too familiar. Mav’s expression tightened. She ducked out from under his arm, forcing a polite smile. “Sorry, hurt my shoulder. Can’t take any weight on it right now.” A lie, but it landed. At his momentary scowl, she added lightly, “Please, lead the way.”

  His eyes flickered, irritation, then practiced brightness. “Samuel, would you take this young lady to the medic’s tent? I’ll rustle us up some food and meet you at the firepit.”

  He turned to the rest of the gathering. “Looters and scout get out there!” At the command, a handful of players broke off, disappearing down the cargo container tunnels toward the battlefield. With a nod to Mav and Samuel, Joe strode away.

  “Well… that could have gone better,” Samuel said, offering his hand with an easy grin. “But it’s good to set him in his place early. SamuelAdamx, at your service.” His handshake was firm without posturing, his slate gray ponytail and bright green eyes lending him an approachable confidence.

  “Sure, that’d be great, oh, and I’m Mavitsune, or Mav for short.” She caught the quirk in his brow and added with a smirk, “And yeah, shoulder’s fine. Just didn’t want Mr. Big getting the wrong idea.”

  As they walked away Joe turned his head and watched their new resident from behind. ‘Thats a nice wiggle,’ he thought to himself with an inward leer. ‘She’ll come around, they all do in the end.’ He smiled to himself and started to whistle.

  Zodiac gave a knowing chuckle. “That’s what I was trying to warn you about.” She slung an arm over Mav’s shoulder, the kind of contact that carried warmth, not ownership. “Stick with us, and you’ll be fine.”