The hum of the truck's engine finally died, replaced by the serene, rushing melody of the waterfall. They had reached Whispering Falls Tourist Lodge, A name that felt almost sacrilegious after the hell they'd endured. Twilight was settling, painting the sky in hues of deep orange and bruised purple, a stark contrast to the inferno they'd left behind.
As they disembarked, the air, blessedly free of smoke, was cool and damp, carrying the scent of pine and fresh water. Their initial calm was short-lived. The lounge area, a sprawling cabin clearly designed for tourist comfort, was not entirely abandoned. A few shambling zombies, drawn by the truck's arrival or perhaps just aimlessly wandering, stirred from the shadows. They were slow, typical undead, nothing that posed a real threat to their battle-hardened group. A swift, brutal few minutes saw them dispatched, their moans silenced by well-placed blows and precise knife work.
The cabin itself was a scene of chaos. A faint, cloying mouldy smell hung in the air, a testament to months, perhaps years, of dampness and neglect. Chairs were overturned, their legs pointing accusingly at the ceiling. Bookshelves lay flipped on their sides, their contents – paperback thrillers and dusty travel guides – scattered across the floor like forgotten dreams. Luggage, burst open, lay strewn about, spilling faded holiday clothes and personal effects, poignant reminders of lives abruptly interrupted. Yet, despite the mess, the lounge cabin was big enough for everyone, offering a promise of comfort they hadn't known in days.
The first thing everyone did, with an unspoken, collective understanding, was to clean their immediate surroundings. They weren't aiming for perfection, just survivability. Overturned furniture was righted, a semblance of order imposed on the chaos. Broken glass was swept aside, scattered debris kicked into corners. Once their immediate areas were clear, they collapsed onto whatever soft material they could find. Cots, mattresses, sofas, even a discarded armchair – no surface was left unclaimed. Maarg, still wrestling with the phantom pain in his head and the lingering nightmare, found himself sinking into the plush, if slightly damp, cushions of a large, upholstered armchair. Jack, similarly exhausted, sprawled onto a worn leather sofa, his blue hair sticking up at odd angles. Andy claimed a relatively clean patch of carpet beside a flipped bookshelf, while Gabby, ever practical, inflated a dusty air mattress he'd found tucked away in a cupboard. Carla was looking around to find a vending machine or a cafeteria since the group will need to eat after resting. Henry and Johan, after parking the truck out of sight behind a cluster of dense trees and ensuring the main gate leading into the area was securely locked, joined them, their own exhaustion evident in their slumped postures. They had bought themselves a few hours of relative safety, at least from the common threats. The elusive creature, Charity, however, was another matter entirely. He was a silent, intelligent predator, a monster that moved through the Shadows, and he was always a lurking danger they couldn't simply lock out.
The waterfall's continuous roar, a gentle white noise, soon began to soothe their frazzled nerves. It was a stark contrast to the crackle and distant screams of the burning base, a true melody of peace after days of relentless cacophony. The air, though damp and slightly musty, was cool against their sweat-soaked skin. For a while, no one spoke. The silence was too precious, too fragile to break. They were alive. They were safe, for now. And that was enough.
Maarg closed his eyes, the image of Remmy, his parents, Tara, and Mark, all chanting their terrible accusation, still vivid behind his eyelids. The headache was still a dull throb, a constant reminder of the physical and emotional toll. He rubbed his temples, trying to push the images away. He could feel the eyes of the others on him occasionally, silent questions hanging in the air, but no one pressed him further. They understood. Everyone carried their own ghosts.
After a while, Gabby, ever the one to break the tension, cleared his throat. "So," he began, his voice surprisingly subdued, "any thoughts on what we do next? Assuming we all wake up in one piece."
Carla sighed, leaning back against the wall. "First, we rest. Properly. We haven't had a decent night's sleep in days. Then, we assess. Our priority now is to reach the Viper's base, and inform Kai about the destruction of the man eater's base." After a few seconds she continued "Gunther or Mark might still be alive, if it's former it might not be much trouble but if it's prior we are in some really sticky situation."
Jack, from his sofa, shifted, wincing slightly. "We need to figure out what that serum does. What Gunther's endgame was. If there are more Marks out there, or if he's alive and planning to make more." He looked at Maarg "you clearly have an Idea about what that serum is, care to enlighten us all?"
Maarg was a little surprised by the straight question but he knew it was coming so he was prepared. "Gunther was able to turn the zombie infection into a weapon of mass destruction, he was planning to turn his followers into loyal super soldiers."
Gabby raises himself from the air mattress he was lying on, "Gunther was smart but it was his brother, Vik behind the actual formula for the serum. Vik was a genius and had different ideas from His brother but he couldn't revolt since he was physically weak and needed others to protect him while he creating his inventions." Gabby throws himself back into the mattress as he spoke before sleeping, "but we don't need to worry about that, if there are so low chances for Gunther to survive, Vik is most probably dead."
Now Henry spoke "but Mark might be alive right? He is a zombie now, I've seen them staying perfectly fine getting electrocuted what can fire do?
Maarg sighs and says "zombies don't have functioning nervous system, they can't feel pain, i tested myself but fire...They are afraid of it, it's like they know if they touch it they will suffer irreversible damage" Maarg's head falls on the back of the chair as he says "as for Mark his goal was to protect Tara, that's what made him different from the other zombies but whose to say he will revert back into a mindless zombie if tara died"
Nobody asked any more questions as everybody drifted off and gave in to their tiredness . The gentle rumble of the waterfall was a constant, soothing presence, a reminder of the peace that still existed in the world, even amidst the chaos they now inhabited. For a few precious hours, they could rest, gather their strength, and contemplate the horrifying new realities the night had unveiled.