My apologies for the delay, my work has been hectic.
From here on my update schedule will change due to my Work.
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The roar of a V8 engine echoed across the empty highway.
A reinforced black Hummer sped down Route 8, its heavy tires crushing debris scattered across the cracked asphalt.
Abandoned cars littered both sides of the road.
Some had collided with each other.
Others had simply been left where they stopped, their doors hanging open as if their owners had vanished into thin air.
A lone walker staggered into the middle of the highway.
Thump.
The Hummer's reinforced bull bar smashed into the decaying corpse, sending it tumbling across the pavement without slowing the vehicle in the slightest.
Behind it, several more walkers slowly turned toward the sound, their dull groans fading into the distance.
Inside the driver's seat sat a young man in his early twenties.
His short brown hair swayed slightly with the movement of the vehicle, long fringes framing his face. Bright blue eyes remained focused on the road ahead.
He wore a black leather jacket with white stripes running down both sleeves over a black button-up shirt and a red T-shirt. Light gray cargo pants and worn Magnum combat boots completed his practical outfit.
His name was Akira Connor.
Originally, he had been an ordinary man from Blue Star.
Then came death.
Then reincarnation.
He had been reborn into what he believed was nothing more than a parallel Earth.
For twenty-three years, everything had seemed perfectly normal.
He grew up in Los Angeles.
Graduated from the police academy.
Joined the LAPD.
Spent six months as a rookie patrol officer.
Then the world ended.
"Damn mixed-up universe" Akira muttered as he gripped the steering wheel.
At first, the Wildfire virus had spread unnoticed across the globe.
Then the dead started walking.
Before governments could adapt a new mutated strain of mad cow disease infected humans.
Unlike the walkers, these infected didn't shamble.
They ran.
Fast.
Screaming.
Relentless.
The result was a nightmare unlike anything fiction had ever imagined.
One apocalypse was already bad enough.
This world had decided two were better.
Akira snorted.
"Whoever mashed The Walking Dead and Zombieland together deserves a punch to the face"
His eyes shifted toward the fuel gauge.
Still over half a tank.
Good.
His supplies were stacked neatly behind him.
Boxes of canned food.
Bottled water.
Medical kits.
Spare fuel cans.
Police equipment.
Camping gear.
A pump-action shotgun rested beside the passenger seat.
An AR-15 lay secured behind it.
His service pistol remained holstered at his waist.
Months of surviving alone had taught him one important lesson.
Preparation beat luck.
A sudden shriek echoed behind him.
Akira glanced into the rearview mirror.
Three runners had burst out from behind an overturned SUV.
They sprinted after the Hummer with frightening speed.
One even leapt over a wrecked sedan without slowing.
"Persistent little bastards."
He pressed harder on the accelerator.
The Hummer surged forward.
The runners quickly disappeared behind a bend in the highway.
"Still hate those things." If he had to choose between fighting ten walkers or one runner.
He'd gladly take the walkers.
At least the dead had the decency to be slow.
A weathered highway sign appeared in the distance.
CITRUS CITY - 18 MILES
Akira smiled.
"Finally."
His destination wasn't some mythical safe zone.
It wasn't a military base.
It certainly wasn't salvation.
It was a supermarket.
More specifically...
A supermarket that might still have snack cakes.
Ever since realizing this world also contained Zombieland, Akira had developed an unexpected obsession.
Twinkies.
Not because they were especially nutritious.
Not because they were healthy.
Simply because they lasted forever of course that was his obsessive mind thought.
Besides.
If Tallahassee could spend the apocalypse searching for Twinkies.
Why couldn't he?
"I swear..."
"If I actually find a fresh box today, I'm eating the whole damn thing."
The Hummer thundered onward, disappearing down Route 8 as the afternoon sun cast long shadows over the ruined highway.
Far ahead, the silent outline of Citrus City slowly came into view.
Whether it held supplies, Survivors or death.
Akira would find out soon enough.
The battered welcome sign of Citrus City grew larger with every passing mile.
Akira eased his foot off the accelerator.
"We're close enough."
His right hand reached beneath the dashboard and flipped a small metal switch.
Click.
A series of relays clicked beneath the hood.
The deep rumble of the Hummer H2 gradually faded until it became little more than a low hum.
Akira smiled in satisfaction.
"Best modification I've ever made."
The Hummer was never designed to be quiet.
It was a massive brick on wheels powered by a loud V8 engine that practically announced its presence to everything within a mile.
In the old world, that wasn't a problem.
In this one.
Noise got people killed.
Especially when there were thousands of slow walkers wandering city streets.
He had learned that lesson the hard way.
A month earlier.
Pasadena.
He had stopped at a Walmart hoping to restock on canned food and batteries.
Instead, he'd nearly gotten himself trapped.
Hundreds of slow walkers had been drawn toward the parking lot by the Hummer's engine, surrounding every exit.
"That was a miserable day..." Even now, the memory made him shudder.
He had spent nearly an hour sneaking through aisles while the undead shuffled just outside.
And just when he thought things couldn't get any worse, Two runners had burst through the sporting goods section.
"They chased me through the entire damn store."
One had crashed through a display of camping chairs.
The other had leapt over a checkout counter.
Meanwhile, Akira had been sprinting through aisles full of abandoned shopping carts while trying not to become lunch.
Thankfully, years of police academy training and regular cardio had paid off.
He couldn't help but laugh.
"Columbus was right."
"Rule Number One..."
"Cardio."
Without stamina, he would have died months ago.
Running from zombies wasn't glamorous.
It was exhausting.
Painful.
And absolutely necessary.
His smile widened as another rule came to mind.
"Rule Number Two."
"Double Tap."
Whether it was a slow walker that refused to stay down or a runner that twitched after taking a bullet.
One shot was never enough.
Shoot twice.
Make sure the brain was destroyed.
Only then could you safely move on.
Akira chuckled to himself.
"That chase gave me one hell of a headache."
His gaze drifted toward the passenger seat.
Resting there was an unopened package of Twinkies.
The last one.
"Still.. It was worth it."
Before escaping the Walmart, he had discovered three unopened cardboard boxes stuffed full of Twinkies in the stockroom.
Three entire boxes.
Enough to last him three weeks and three days.
He had celebrated by eating two of them before even leaving the parking lot.
"The greatest treasure I've ever found." He paused for a moment before grinning "Well, second greatest."
Nothing could top the day he'd stumbled across an abandoned police evidence locker.
Inside had been a military surplus ammunition crate packed with pristine boxes of 9×19mm rounds.
Nearly two thousand cartridges.
For a police officer carrying a standard sidearm, It had felt like Christmas morning.
His right hand instinctively rested on the pistol holstered at his hip.
An FN 509 MRD-LE.
Reliable.
Accurate.
And after months of constant maintenance, it still functioned flawlessly.
"Never thought I'd be happier finding bullets than cash."
Back before the apocalypse, people would have fought over stacks of hundred-dollar bills.
Now?
A single unopened box of ammunition was worth more than a suitcase filled with money.
The quiet Hummer rolled past the first abandoned houses on the outskirts of Citrus City.
The streets were eerily silent.
Too silent.
Akira's smile slowly disappeared.
His hand moved from the steering wheel to the grip of his pistol.
"Something's off."
The town should have had walkers wandering between the buildings.
At the very least, there should have been distant groans echoing through the streets.
Instead there was nothing.
No walkers.
No runners.
No birds.
No wind.
Only silence.
And in Akira's experience, Silence was usually the calm before something went horribly wrong.