FVN Chapter 30 Dinner is served
Chapter 30 Dinner is served
The sudden, piercing scream sent a chill through everyone's hearts, making them freeze in place before instinctively turning toward the source. What they saw made their blood run cold—a pool of crimson blood spreading slowly across the floor beneath the feet of a burly man.But what truly sent shivers down their spines was the realization that the blood wasn't his. It was dripping from the third floor above.
"What… what the hell is going on?" someone stammered, their voice trembling with fear.
Flashlights immediately swung upward, their beams slicing through the oppressive darkness, desperate to uncover the truth hidden above.
In the faint light, they could just barely make out a shadowy figure near the third-floor railing. But before anyone could get a clear look, the figure dissipated like smoke blown away by the wind, vanishing without a trace.
"G-ghosts!" someone screamed, their voice shaking with terror.
"I saw it! It was right there! But then… it just disappeared!" another person blurted out, their words tumbling over each other in panic.
"But… where did it go?" murmurs spread through the group, their voices laced with dread and unease.
The darkness around them seemed to grow heavier, suffocating, as if it were alive and pressing down on them.
The beams of their flashlights darted frantically in every direction,
The spot where Marcus had been standing was now empty.
"He ran…" The man's heart sank like a stone.
Marcus hadn't continued his psychic assault. Instead, he had used the momentary distraction to turn and sprint toward the mall's entrance. His figure disappeared into the shadows, his retreat frantic and unhesitating.
"Your leader abandoned you," Ethan said, his voice low and icy, with a mocking edge that cut deep. The words echoed in the man's ears like a death knell.
The man froze, his eyes wide with disbelief.
He couldn't comprehend it. Marcus, who had just sworn to hold Ethan off and buy him time to escape, had turned tail and left him behind as bait.
"What a liar…" the man muttered, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and despair.
He thought back to how Marcus usually acted—the dependable leader who always seemed to have everything under control, the one who was the first to step up in moments of crisis.
But now, he finally understood. When true danger struck, Marcus's carefully crafted facade crumbled completely.
Meanwhile, Marcus had already reached the mall's main entrance.
His movements were frantic, his hands trembling as he fumbled with the chains binding the steel barricade in place.
He muttered under his breath, over and over, like a mantra: "Screw brotherhood! Screw loyalty! This is the apocalypse—survival is all that matters!"
With a final, desperate tug, he unfastened the last chain and shoved the heavy steel plate aside.
"Boom—"
The barricade fell with a deafening crash, kicking up a cloud of dust. The mall's entrance was finally open.
A gust of cold night air rushed in, sharp and biting, jolting him awake.
The faint light of dawn was beginning to creep over the horizon, painting the sky with pale streaks of gray. The first hints of morning were visible, fragile but undeniable.
The dim light illuminated the scene outside the door.
But as Marcus and the other survivors stood at the threshold, their steps faltered.
No one cheered. No one rushed forward. Instead, an oppressive silence fell over them.
Outside, an endless horde of zombies stretched as far as the eye could see, packed so tightly together that they seemed like a single, writhing mass. Thousands of hollow, lifeless eyes stared back at them, unblinking.
At the forefront of the horde stood several figures that radiated an overwhelming sense of dread—special infected.
There was the Bulldozer, a hulking monstrosity with muscles like steel cables, its massive frame exuding raw, destructive power. Beside it stood Laura, a lithe, predatory figure with razor-sharp claws and an unsettlingly human-like grace. And then there was the one they called The PhD, a grotesque, twisted figure whose very presence seemed to ooze malice and intellect.
These special infected didn't move. They didn't snarl or growl. They simply stood there, silent and still, like a forest of deathly statues.
Their silence was far more unnerving than any roar or scream could have been.
They were waiting. Waiting for something.
Marcus's face turned ashen. His lips quivered, but no sound came out. His mind raced, but there was no plan, no escape. Only the crushing realization that he had just opened the door to hell itself.
And then, from behind him, a voice broke the silence. Low, chilling, and dripping with malice, it sounded like a whisper from the depths of the abyss.
"Dinner is served."
…