The Walking Dead: Survival Code

As he walked through the deserted streets, his steps were calculated, and his breathing, controlled. Realizing that the situation could worsen at any moment, he reached for the side of his backpack, pulling out the baseball bat with a firm motion. The familiar weight of the object in his hands gave him a brief sense of control amidst the chaos.

He moved forward, alert to every sound and movement, as the tension in his body increased with each corner. The dead were everywhere, but scattered. He avoided confrontations when he could, but sometimes it was inevitable.

The first encounter came quickly. Two zombies emerged from an alley, drawn by the sound of something falling in the distance. Glenn hid behind a car, hoping they would pass by, but one of them turned in his direction, as if sensing his presence.

With his heart racing, Glenn advanced, wielding the bat with determination. With quick movements, he delivered precise blows to the two zombies in front of him. The first was struck forcefully in the skull, the impact resonating like a dry crack. The second staggered when hit in the shoulder, but Glenn didn't give him a chance; he spun around and struck him again, knocking him down with a brutal blow that crushed his head against the ground.

The labored breathing and tense muscles indicated his urgency, but he didn't stop. He looked around to ensure the path was clear and moved forward, keeping the bat firmly in his hands. As he turned a corner, he came face to face with a horde of the undead, who were dangerously close.

The first one he spotted almost bit Glenn, but he prevented the bite with the baseball bat, placing it between the creature's teeth. Seeing more undead approaching, he drew the Smith & Wesson Model 642 .38 caliber revolver from his waistband, first aimed at the forehead of the undead with its teeth on the baseball bat and shot "Bang!". Right after, he shot the heads of the three closest undead "Bang!", "Bang!", "Bang".The shock made his heart race, but he kept his focus, looking around to ensure the path was clear and moving forward with the bat firmly in his hands.

Hours had passed since he escaped, but soon he encountered more undead along the way and took them down with quick and precise strikes, the baseball bat hitting skulls and jaws in fluid movements. Each blow was a desperate attempt to clear a path, the dry sound of impacts echoing in his mind.

Further ahead, at an intersection, he spotted a van. Soon after noticing Glenn and the dead behind him, the vehicle, which seemed to belong to a church, turned around and slowed down a bit, opening the rear doors. A Black man, appearing to be in his early thirties, with a shaved head and a sparse mustache and goatee, shouted, "Get in! "Quick!" while gesturing to offer help.

Glenn hesitated for a second, but soon realized it was the best decision for the moment and, with a quick leap, climbed into the van. The sound of the undead approaching grew more intense as he slammed the doors shut, feeling a brief relief at being out of danger, at least for the moment. "Thanks, man," Glenn said, even with the air choking his lungs. "It was nothing," the man said, and then introduced himself, "I'm Theodore, but everyone calls me T-Dog." "I am Glenn," he replied after a brief moment.

Right after, after Glenn caught his breath, he asked where they were going. T-Dog said they were heading to downtown. "The army has set up a refugee center there." "It's safe," he explained. He also mentioned that he was offering rides to the elderly residents of the area to take them to the refugee center, as many had no one to rely on for help. "Until one of those searches, I found you, fleeing from that herd of 'Walkers'." 

Glenn analyzed T-Dog for a moment, trying to identify any signs of lying or dishonesty. He seemed genuine, and his story made sense. He decided to believe him, at least for now.

The constant sound of the engine filled the silence between them as the van continued down the bumpy road. The marks of recent chaos were everywhere: abandoned cars on the sides, some shattered windows, and piles of debris that seemed to have been left in a hurry. The setting sun cast long shadows inside the vehicle, illuminating T-Dog and Glenn's faces with golden and orange hues.

T-Dog, adjusting the rearview mirror to observe Glenn, who was sitting in the back seat with the baseball bat resting beside him, broke the silence:

"You looked like you were in trouble back there, brother." How did you manage to survive until now?

Glenn, still catching his breath from the frantic run that had brought him there, glanced at the rearview mirror, meeting T-Dog's gaze. "With a lot of improvisation," he replied, shrugging. "I hide more than I fight." I'm not exactly a soldier, you know.

T-Dog let out a short, sincere laugh while keeping his eyes alternating between the road and the mirror. "Well, you handle that baseball bat like a pro." It seems like you know how to handle yourself."

Glenn gave a shy smile, almost an automatic reflex. "Obligation, not talent," he said, lightly tapping the bat with his fingertips. "And you?" You're out there driving around rescuing people. "That doesn't seem to be just for survival."

T-Dog shrugged, his eyes hardening for a brief moment. "It's the right thing to do, you know?" He paused, taking a deep breath, as if he were carefully choosing his words. "I've seen too many people getting left behind... children, the elderly... people who had no one to help them." If I can save a few, I think it's worth the risk."

The weight of his words hung in the air for a few seconds, as Glenn looked out the window, watching the streetlights pass by, bent or toppled, like fallen trees. He shifted in his seat, leaning slightly forward. "It's more than most would do," he finally said, his voice softer. "The majority only thinks of themselves now."

T-Dog pressed his lips together and nodded in agreement. "Yeah," he replied, his voice deep. "The world has gone to hell, but that doesn't mean we have to go with it." You can still be human, even when everything else falls apart.

The words of T-Dog echoed in Glenn's mind as he turned his face back to the window. He watched the rays of sunlight reflecting off the shards of glass scattered across the road, like small fragments of hope still shining amidst the destruction.

"I hope you're right," he said, more to himself than to T-Dog. "I think that's what keeps me going... the hope that not everything is lost."

T-Dog smiled, but his gaze remained fixed on the road. "So we're both stubborn," he said with a slight tone of humor, "because it's that hope that keeps me behind the wheel."

The comfortable silence that followed was interrupted only by the rumble of the engine and the distant sound of birds, still venturing into a disintegrating world. The connection forming between the two was fragile but sincere, built on a common thread: the need to find something worth fighting for.

The rest of the journey went by in silence. Glenn leaned back in the van seat, but his eyes remained focused on the window, observing every detail of the landscape. He was always ready to escape at any moment, his hand resting near the baseball bat. T-Dog noticed his tension and, perhaps respecting his need for quiet, did not insist on conversations. He just drove, focused on the road ahead.

As the sun set, the world around him began to show signs of life — not the life he knew, but something different. Even so, it was a stark contrast to the deserted streets and wandering zombies he had faced until now. He was arriving in Atlanta, his city, at least the beginning of it, but everything seemed unrecognizable, like a distorted nightmare of a place that was once familiar.

The city skyline rose in the distance, with its tall and gleaming buildings reflecting the setting sun. Glenn knew those streets like the back of his hand. Years working as a pizza delivery driver had turned the urban layout of Atlanta into a living map in his mind. He knew that the closer he got to the center, the greater the chance of survival. And, perhaps, find answers. 

The van moved through the streets leading to the center, now punctuated by signs of life. Not the vibrant life of yore, but something more unsettling. Abandoned cars, open doors, clothes scattered on the asphalt. The smell of fresh fuel lingered in the air. Further ahead, sounds began to emerge. Not the guttural moans of the dead, but human voices, faint, yet enough to cause a mix of hope and alertness in Glenn.

T-Dog slowed down as they began to pass small groups of people. Families in crowded minivans, young people in pickups carrying belongings tied with ropes, all heading towards the refugee center. Some glanced at the van, others kept their eyes fixed on their own path, as if any distraction could be costly. Glenn watched everything in silence, remaining discreet. The rifle was in his hands, but lowered, resting against the door, ready to be used if necessary.

"They seem... lost," Glenn said softly, more to himself.

"They're doing what they can to survive," T-Dog replied, his gaze fixed on the rearview mirror, monitoring what they were leaving behind.

Then, the van stopped abruptly. Traffic jam. A sea of cars blocked the way. The horns blared incessantly, while irritated voices echoed. The further he advanced, the more the noise of engines and voices began to fill the environment. They were stuck in traffic for hours, the sky had completely darkened.

All that remained now were the voices of concern and frustration, which had now diminished significantly.

"Damn," T-Dog murmured, slamming his hand on the steering wheel. He grabbed the van's radio and tried to connect to the refugee center. Just static. "Shit..."

"What happened?" asked Glenn, turning to him.

"The radio is dead." "Not even the emergency system is responding," T-Dog replied, his expression heavy with concern.

Glenn stared at the situation for a moment before reaching the conclusion he feared. "The refugee center must have fallen." The dead... they arrived first."

T-Dog shook his head, as if trying to dismiss the idea. But before he could respond, a different sound filled the environment. A growing noise, coming from the sky. First the rhythmic "whoosh" of helicopter blades, followed by the deafening roar of jet engines. The vibrations of the air shook the van's windows, making Glenn's heart race.

"What the hell is happening?" T-Dog asked, dropping the radio.

Without hesitation, they both got out of the van. Outside, the dim light of the moon and the car headlights illuminated the chaos around. Helicopters flew low, while jets crossed the sky, leaving trails on the horizon. Glenn looked up, trying to understand. The people around were also wondering the same, some pointing, others remaining still, in shock.

"Let's take a look," said Glenn, grabbing his backpack and rifle. He and T-Dog climbed a small hill beside the road, seeking a better view.

What they saw left them speechless. On the horizon, a gigantic fireball was rising in the sky. Explosions reverberated, and lights flickered frantically between the buildings in the city center. Helicopters hovered like vultures over the scene, while the sounds of sirens blended into the chaos.

Glenn felt a lump in his throat. "They bombed the city..." He could barely pronounce the words.

T-Dog remained silent for a long moment before responding, his voice full of disbelief. "They gave up Atlanta..."

The world seemed to stop around them. The city center — and all the hope it represented — had been consumed by flames. Glenn's heart tightened. Atlanta has fallen. And with it, another piece of humanity.