no more running

In the year 2070, inside a dark and silent room, Franz sat in front of his computer screen, playing video games. That was all he ever did. His life revolved around games, sleep, food, and endless scrolling through social media. There was nothing remarkable about him, nothing special worth remembering.

After winning another zombie-themed game, he leaned back in his chair and sighed.

“Damn… my life is so boring. I wish something would change it.”

He glanced at the clock on his phone. It was 01:23 AM. Muttering to himself, Franz shut down his computer and went to sleep.

He never knew how long he slept. He never cared. This bad habit had become routine—one that even his family found disturbing. With no job and no direction, he had become a burden in their eyes. Eventually, his parents sent him to the city, hoping he would find work and change his life. He didn’t.

---

The next afternoon, Franz woke up and pulled the curtains aside. Sunlight flooded the room, forcing him to squint. After his eyes adjusted, he stepped out onto the rooftop to breathe fresh air. In the neighboring apartment lived a woman he had admired from afar for months—Jane.

She was hanging laundry, calm and focused. Franz watched her quietly, wanting to say something, anything, but his cowardice stopped him. Without a word, he turned away and returned to his room, spending the rest of the day scrolling through his phone until boredom dragged him back to sleep.

---

Hours later, a loud knock jolted him awake.

Franz frowned. He had lived here for five months and didn’t know anyone.

“Who is it?” he asked.

There was no answer.

The knocking grew louder—violent, impatient. Annoyed, Franz unlocked the door and pulled it open.

A figure lunged at him.

Up close, it was no longer human. Its eyes were white and lifeless, its skin pale and torn, blood dripping from its mouth. Flesh peeled from its body, exposing open wounds. The creature let out a guttural growl and charged.

Paralyzed by fear, Franz grabbed a baseball bat nearby and swung with all his strength. The creature collapsed to the floor.

“Oh God… I killed it,” he whispered, panic flooding his mind. Thoughts of prison and murder raced through his head—until more footsteps echoed behind him.

Five more creatures burst into the room.

Franz fell backward, raising his arms instinctively. Gunshots erupted, tearing through the creatures and dropping them instantly.

When the smoke cleared, Franz opened his eyes. Jane stood in the doorway, rifle in hand.

She pointed it at him.

“Have you been bitten?”

“No! They didn’t touch me!” Franz shouted, showing his arms and legs.

After checking him, she lowered the weapon and helped him up. She pulled the curtains aside, revealing a city in ruins. Zombies roamed the streets, devouring corpses.

“They’re infected humans,” Jane explained calmly. “Dead, but still moving. The virus spreads through bites.”

Franz swallowed hard.

“You didn’t watch the emergency broadcast?” she asked.

“I don’t really watch TV,” he replied awkwardly.

---

Groans echoed from the hallway. Jane tossed him a pistol.

“Take this.”

Zombies rushed in. Jane fired first, shouting curses as Franz followed her lead. His hands trembled, but he pulled the trigger. One shot. One kill. Fear faded, replaced by instinct.

Jane glanced at him, surprised.

“Military?”

“No… FPS games,” he admitted.

---

The horde grew too large. They fled upstairs, reached the roof, and activated a radio tower to send an SOS. The signal echoed across the city—drawing even more zombies.

As ammunition ran low, a helicopter appeared, pulling the horde away. Hope sparked—then died when the aircraft crashed into the streets below.

With no other choice, they escaped through the sewers, emerging into what they thought was freedom—only to find a raider camp filled with hanging corpses.

Jane whispered, “Seven.”

A twig snapped.

Franz spotted a supply shed and slipped away unnoticed. Inside were weapons, ammo, and supplies.

Then—

a gasoline barrel tipped over.Liquid spilled out, releasing a sharp, suffocating stench. Gasoline spread across the wooden floor like liquid betrayal, its smell cutting through the noisy laughter of the camp. One of the raiders—a large man—stood up, cocked his weapon, and aimed it straight at Franz.

“INTRUDER!” one of the raiders shouted as he noticed Franz’s presence, throwing the camp into chaos.

All of them stood up at once, staring at Franz with cold, murderous eyes. In that moment, Franz panicked uncontrollably—he might have wet himself right then and there. He was certain his life was about to end, until suddenly Jane’s knife flew through the air, piercing the neck of a raider who was about to pull the trigger aimed at Franz’s head.

The remaining six raiders stepped back, scanning their surroundings in confusion.

“WHO WAS THAT?!” a booming voice echoed through the forest like a giant’s roar.

Before they could react, Jane appeared out of nowhere, leaping forward and tossing a lighter into the pool of gasoline. The explosion shook the camp, engulfing the raiders in flames. They screamed and writhed on the ground like worms as fire consumed them.

At the same time, Franz instinctively jumped out through a window. He landed badly—his leg injured—and he groaned in pain.

“Ah, damn it…”

Jane rushed toward him.

“Huh. I should’ve gone with you earlier,” she muttered, shaking her head at Franz’s foolishness. Still, she felt pity. She tore a strip of fabric from her jacket and wrapped his wound to prevent infection.

“Next time, don’t act like you don’t have a brain,” she snapped, though concern lingered in her voice.

Not long after, they heard the low rumble of an armored vehicle approaching—signaling a new danger.

Franz stood up, limping. He grabbed a weapon from the charred corpse of a raider and took cover behind a rock.

“Get ready,” he warned Jane.

Jane did the same, snatching a weapon from another corpse and finding a safe position. The engine grew louder until the vehicle emerged from the trees—an armored military transport rolling into the camp.

When it stopped, the passengers were not soldiers.

They were raiders—fifteen of them.

Franz made a decision. He didn’t want to be a burden anymore. He pulled the trigger, firing three shots that instantly killed three raiders. Panic erupted among the rest as they scrambled for cover.

A firefight broke out. Bullets shattered wood and stone, gunfire echoing through the forest—but none of the shots hit Franz or Jane.

“Their aim’s worse than their outfits,” Jane mocked.

Blood soaked the ground, splattering trees and leaves. One by one, the raiders fell under Franz and Jane’s fire, forcing the survivors to retreat. Jane seized the moment, grabbing a grenade from one of the fallen bodies and hurling it toward the fleeing raiders.

The explosion tore through them, launching bodies and severed limbs into the air. One terrified raider tried to escape, only to trigger a punji stick trap—a crude trap once used in the Vietnam War—set by his own group. He died instantly.

Franz stared in disbelief.

“What the hell was that? I didn’t know you were this good at tactics and combat. Who are you, really?” he asked, awestruck.

Jane smirked.

“I used to be an FBI specialist dealing with criminal organizations. Before that, I worked as a covert operative hunting high-profile targets.”

She spoke proudly while wiping blood from her rifle barrel with a cloth.

“These bastards are just small-time trash.”

Franz was stunned. It was hard to believe that Jane had once been an FBI agent—let alone a government operative—but admiration swelled in his chest.

Jane searched the armored truck. When she opened the cargo compartment, she found stockpiles of food and ammunition—enough to last five months.

“Damn… look at all this,” she said, grabbing a loaf of bread and taking a bite.

Moments later, rain began to fall. Droplets hit Franz’s head.

“Looks like a storm’s coming,” he said, staring at the dark clouds as thunder rolled.

Then came the roars.

Zombie howls echoed from the trees, followed by rushing footsteps. One by one, they emerged, charging toward them.

“Run to the truck!” Jane shouted.

Franz sprinted to the vehicle—but couldn’t find the keys. He searched the dashboard, the seats—nothing.

Jane held the zombies back, firing relentlessly.

“Hurry!”

Franz searched the corpses, checking pockets one by one. When he reached the body killed by the trap, he heard a metallic jingle. He searched the pockets—and found the keys.

He jumped into the truck and started the engine just as rotten hands slammed against the windows, claws scraping the glass.

“Get in, now!” Franz shouted.

Jane leapt inside just in time, slamming and locking the door before the zombies could reach her.

“Drive! Faster!”

Franz floored the accelerator, smashing through the oncoming undead. The truck burst out of the forest and onto the highway, crushing anything that staggered into its path.

The road was eerily silent—abandoned cars, dried blood on the asphalt, sights so common they felt like puddles after rain. The truck sped on until no zombies followed.

“Where are we going?” Jane asked.

“To my parents’ farm,” Franz replied, driving at 120 km/h.

They traveled for three hours. Silence filled the cab—only thunder, rain, and the whisper of tires against the road. Exhaustion overtook Jane, and she fell asleep.

Franz slowed as they neared the farm.

Smoke.

Firelight flickered in the distance.

His heart sank. The farm was destroyed—overrun with zombies. Among them, Franz recognized one face.

His father.

Franz couldn’t bear it. He pressed the gas, leaving his childhood home behind. Everything he loved was gone—nothing left but memory. Tears streamed down his face as he nearly lost control of the wheel.

Jane woke abruptly.

“Hey—what’s going on?”

Franz told her everything. The farm. The fire. His family.

Jane placed a hand on his shoulder, offering silent comfort.

Then—something landed on the truck.

The impact shook the vehicle violently. Franz barely stabilized it. He checked the mirror—and froze.

The creature was not a zombie.

It looked like living flesh—slimy, malformed—with long writhing tentacles and countless eyes.

“What the hell is that…?” Franz whispered.

Without hesitation, Jane jumped out, rolling just as the tentacles lashed the air. She fired—bullets tore through its rubbery flesh, black fluid spraying onto the road. The creature screeched and fell.

Franz grabbed a Molotov cocktail from the truck and hurled it. Flames engulfed the creature.

“What was that thing?” Franz asked.

Jane crossed her arms.

“Mutations. Or something worse. I’ve got a bad feeling this is only the beginning.”

She stared down the endless road.

“So where do we go now?” she asked.

“Straight to Nevada,” Franz replied.

They climbed back into the truck and drove on, exhaust smoke trailing behind them toward the barren desert.

“Smart choice,” Jane said. “Whatever’s happening there can’t be worse than California. Dry land. Less water. Fewer infected. Maybe even people.”