Murphy trudged through the forest, the eerie quiet gnawing at his nerves. The towering trees were alien to him; their dense canopy filtered the sunlight into fragmented patches on the forest floor. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was deeply wrong. Why the hell am I in a forest? He was outside a building before the blast, not anywhere near wilderness. And yet, here he was, lost in a place that shouldn't exist.
"Zombies," Murphy muttered under his breath, his voice hoarse. "They're always around. Always. But now? Nothing." His survival instincts screamed at him to stay on alert, but the absence of the familiar groans and shuffles made it worse. He didn't trust this quiet.
The dry leaves beneath his feet crunched with every step, the sound unnervingly loud in the stillness. He glanced around, his blue-tinged skin and vein-webbed face marking him as a survivor of horrors no one else could understand.
The unsettling calm was broken by a low, guttural moan. Murphy froze, his heart skipping a beat. He spun around to face the source, relief washing over him at the sight of a walker emerging from behind a tree. "Finally," he muttered, though unease lingered.
The walker shambled toward him, its rotting features contorted into an expression of mindless hunger. Murphy narrowed his eyes. Back in his world, zombies avoided him, repelled by whatever made him the way he was. They never came at him like this.
"Guess this one didn't get the memo," Murphy said with forced bravado, watching as the creature staggered closer. When it lunged, teeth bared, Murphy's confidence shattered. The walker didn't stop. It attacked.
"What the hell!" Murphy yelped as he shoved it away, its foul breath filling his nostrils. The walker tumbled back but recovered quickly, growling as it clawed at him. This wasn't right. This wasn't how it was supposed to work. Zombies avoided him. That was the rule.
Panic set in as he realized that the zombie was going to try to eat him.He stumbled backward, kicking at the walker's legs to keep it at bay. "Nope, nope, nope!" he shouted, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he turned and bolted deeper into the forest.
His breath came in ragged gasps, his body screaming in protest, but he didn't stop. The forest seemed endless, each shadow hiding potential threats. His mind raced. What's happening? Why didn't it back off? Where am I?
As he ran, he couldn't stop thinking about his group—Doc, Addy, 10K. Were they here too?Are they alive? The idea of them being in danger gnawed at him more than his own fear. For the first time in a long time, Murphy felt something he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years: helplessness.
Slowing to a jog, then to a stop, he leaned against a tree, clutching his knees as he tried to catch his breath. His ears rang, his head pounded, and his hands trembled. For all his bravado and snark, Murphy was scared. And for the first time in years, he didn't know what to do.
Murphy stood amidst the trees, his gut screaming that something was wrong. The blast had clearly done more than wreck the area—it had somehow dumped him into a forest he didn't recognize. None of it made sense. The quiet gnawed at his nerves, but before he could piece together his thoughts, the faint, guttural groan of a walker pierced the stillness.
He spun around, eyes scanning the forest. The sound came again, closer this time. Emerging from between the trees were several figures, their twisted bodies moving unnervingly fast—faster than any zombie he'd ever seen. They didn't shamble or drag their feet. They speed-walked, closing the gap with horrifying efficiency.
"Oh, hell no!" Murphy blurted, adrenaline surging. He turned and bolted, crashing through the undergrowth. Branches whipped at his face and arms as he sprinted, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The moans grew louder behind him, the footsteps crunching leaves and snapping twigs unnervingly close. These bastards were fast—speed-walking in an unnatural, jerky rhythm that sent chills down his spine.
"Why the hell can't you guys be slow like the first one I saw?!" Murphy shouted over his shoulder, cursing his luck as his feet pounded against the forest floor. Twigs snapped and leaves crunched underfoot, each sound making him flinch. The walkers were relentless, their stiff gaits somehow propelling them forward with terrifying efficiency.
Murphy pushed harder, his legs burning as he scrambled over a fallen log. He tripped, catching himself just before hitting the ground, and kept going. His mind raced alongside his pounding heart. Why aren't they avoiding me? They're supposed to avoid me! What the hell is going on?
The terrain grew steeper, and Murphy stumbled over roots and rocks in his frantic flight. The walkers didn't falter. He could hear their rasping breaths now, their moans growing guttural with anticipation. His pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out rational thought.
"Come on, Murphy, think!" he muttered, his voice strained. He scanned the forest for anything—a hiding spot, a weapon, something he could use to shake them. His eyes landed on a thick patch of brambles ahead. It wasn't much, but it would slow them down.
Murphy veered toward the thicket, plunging into the spiky mess without hesitation. The thorns tore at his clothes and skin, but he didn't stop. He ducked under low-hanging branches and burst out the other side, leaving a trail of broken foliage in his wake.
The moans faltered behind him. He risked another glance. The walkers were tangled in the brambles, clawing and thrashing to free themselves. It wouldn't hold them for long.
"Not so fast now, huh?" Murphy sneered, though his heart was still hammering. He didn't wait to see if they'd break through. He took off again, putting as much distance as possible between himself and the relentless undead.
The forest thickened, the trees towering and dense, their canopy blocking out most of the fading sunlight. Shadows stretched long across the forest floor, and Murphy's breath came in sharp, shallow gasps. He weaved between the trunks, trying to lose his pursuers in the maze-like terrain.
Finally, after what felt like hours, the sounds of pursuit faded. Murphy slowed to a jog, then to a stop, doubling over as he tried to catch his breath. His lungs burned, his legs felt like jelly, and his heart threatened to burst out of his chest. He leaned against a tree, listening intently. Nothing. Just the eerie quiet of the forest.
For a moment, he allowed himself to believe he'd lost them. He slid down the trunk, sitting in the dirt and clutching his knees. Sweat dripped down his face, and his entire body trembled from the exertion.
"What the hell was that?" he muttered, his voice hoarse. He wiped a shaky hand across his face. The zombies avoided him—they didn't chase him like he was their last meal. Whatever this place was, it was worse than anything he'd faced before.
As the forest grew darker, Murphy forced himself to his feet. He couldn't stay here, not with those things still out there. He had to keep moving, find shelter, and figure out where he was—and why everything had gone to hell even worse than it already had.
.