TWD: Kill The Boy

The silence was haunting.

No footsteps. No sirens. No whispers of wind. Just gray skies and towering buildings that reached into the clouds like solemn tombstones. I stood in the middle of a deserted street, completely alone. There were no people, no cars—nothing.

Until I noticed them.

It started as a smudge on the horizon, then became clearer. A vast wave of movement—an ocean of bodies trudging toward me, dragging broken limbs and snarling with dead throats. A horde.

Far enough away that I could turn and run.

So I did.

I ran down alleyways, across intersections, past glassy buildings that reflected my terrified face. I didn't know how long I ran. Seconds? Minutes? Hours? The world around me twisted with each step.

Then I saw them again.

Another horde, this time ahead of me, cutting off my path. I turned instinctively to the right.

Blocked.

Another tide of the dead.

Left?

The same.

Four walls of decay slowly closing in on me. Their skin gray, their eyes blank, their mouths wide open as if in unison… as if waiting.

And from their midst, one stepped forward. Familiar. Horribly familiar.

The woman I killed in the hallway.

Her face, caved-in and rotting, stared at me with a sorrow I couldn't explain. She didn't lunge.

She simply whispered.

"You're wearing his skin."

And then they all screamed—an inhuman, unbearable sound—and rushed me like a crashing wave.

Gasp!

I jolted awake, lungs heaving, hand snapping up to my throat as if expecting to feel teeth.

"Huff… huff…"

I was back in the bedroom.

The same warm sheets. The same familiar ceiling. The same quiet ticking of the wall clock. My heart thundered like it wanted out of my chest, and sweat rolled down my back in cold rivers.

A dream. Just a nightmare.

But one far too vivid. And far too personal.

"Damn nightmare…" I muttered, swinging my legs off the bed.

This wasn't a dream. None of it was. Everything from yesterday—the blood, the pain, the stench—was still etched into my memory like scars.

The dizziness was gone now. The fatigue too. I felt... sharp. Alert. Like my body had been rebooted.

I headed to the bathroom, only to pause when the door handle gave way in my hand—and the entire door came off its hinges.

I stared at it in shock.

"…Okay."

A strange silence followed as I turned my eyes to the mirror—and gasped.

Where the gash on my forehead should've been, there was now only a thin white scar, already sealed like a wound weeks old.

"What the hell...?" I whispered, leaning closer.

Tender to the touch, but fully closed.

Yesterday, I was bleeding out. Today, I looked like I healed overnight.

And that wasn't all.

I thought back to how easily I crushed that zombie's head. How I broke the bat like it was cheap plastic. How I shoved a blunt object through skull bone.

That wasn't just adrenaline.

I was stronger now. Maybe even more than human.

"Just what the hell did I become when I came to this world…?"

For now, I shook the question away and headed toward the door.

The second I opened it, the smell hit me.

Rot. Heavy and sour. Thick enough to taste.

The corpses from yesterday were already starting to decompose. Flies had found them.

I gagged.

Today's priority was obvious.

Bury the dead.

The backyard was bigger than I remembered. There was a pool, a round outdoor table with four chairs, a shed tucked in the corner, and to my surprise—a cherry tree. Vibrant, tall, and in full bloom.

It was strange, seeing something so beautiful in the middle of this dying world.

The shed was locked, but it didn't matter. I grabbed the handles and with minimal effort, popped the lock without damaging the doors.

Inside were the usual garden tools—scissors, shears, a lawnmower, and thankfully, a shovel.

One hour later.

Three graves were dug beneath the cherry tree. Deep, respectful, lined in rows.

I had no idea who the third zombie was, but I searched his wallet and found a license: Terry Campbell. No bells rang. Just a name. A life gone.

One by one, I wrapped the corpses in sheets and carried them outside. They were heavier than I expected, but it didn't slow me down.

As I placed them in the graves, I noticed something carved into the bark of the tree above me: a heart, with initials inside. J + M.

John and Mary Spencer. His parents. Leo's.

For a moment, I stood there. Silent.

Then I returned to the yard table, flipped it over, and carved their names into the underside using a knife I had scavenged earlier. It wasn't much. But it was something.

A makeshift tombstone. A quiet farewell.

I pressed the table gently against the base of the tree and muttered the only prayer I could remember.

"Rest well. I'm sorry it had to be like this."

Back inside the house, I turned my attention to the second floor.

Most of the rooms were empty guest bedrooms—bare, untouched, dull. The last door I opened led to something far more interesting.

An office.

It was clean, modern. A sleek desk, lined with pens, papers, floor plans, and maps. A bookshelf. A newer computer than the one in my room. But what caught my attention most was the large framed map of Georgia on the wall behind the desk.

I began checking the drawers—nothing too useful. Documents, city reports, some receipts.

But when I removed the map from the wall…

I found it.

A safe, embedded into the drywall.

A grin spread across my face.

"Well, look at that… jackpot."

Except…

There was no keypad.

It needed a code.

"Of course it does."

I crouched down, fingers brushing the dial as I leaned in.

There had to be something in the room that would help me crack this.

But what?

I took a breath, sat down, and began searching.

Tomorrow, I'd decide what to do next.

But tonight, I had a code to crack…

And a world to survive.

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