GTAG Chapter 65: Sudden Mutation
Hank ultimately did not succeed in ending his own life.
It wasn't just because his gun was out of bullets—more importantly, he noticed something unbelievable. The wounds on his arm had started to heal!
The process was slow, but the itching sensation and the scab forming confirmed that his body was undergoing a change he could not explain.
Whether it was good or bad, Hank didn't know.
But one thing was certain: maybe—just maybe—he wasn't going to become a zombie after all.
That possibility alone was worth betting his life on.
And right now, his body screamed for only one thing—food.
The exertion of his earlier fight had reignited the hunger gnawing at his insides, as if his stomach had never been full.
How many survivors still existed in the world?
No one could say for sure.
But one thing was known: the scattered bases of survivors, built for safety, were constantly monitored by the Umbrella Corporation. And those bases were also Umbrella's prime targets.
Compared to small groups of three or five, the larger bases with dozens or even hundreds of people were easier to crush.
Just a little manipulation could send a zombie horde straight at them, drowning everything in death.
In the town where Hank often scavenged for supplies, the shambling dead suddenly began to move with purpose.
If anyone had been watching closely, they would have noticed a towering figure among the zombies. Its head was covered by a filthy sack pinned down with long nails, and in its hands it dragged a massive battle axe.
This hulking monster deliberately made noise, steering the zombie swarm toward the nearest survivor base.
It was one of Umbrella's bio-weapons, engineered to execute missions.
The perfect battering ram to tear down fortified gates.
Under its axe, even reinforced iron doors twisted and broke.
Ordinary survivors could never hope to kill it. Only heavy weapons—machine guns, rocket launchers, explosives—might bring it down. And such firepower was rare.
The few bases with that kind of arsenal were naturally the ones Umbrella kept under special watch. When the time came, Umbrella would unleash not just one creature like this, but many.
"Look! Over there—what is that!?"
The base's lookouts were the first to spot it: a wall of rotting flesh approaching like a tide.
Even the axe-wielding brute was lost in the press of bodies. The sheer mass of the horde made spines shiver and courage falter.
Chaos erupted inside the base. Most people wanted to flee—and against a horde, that was the only sensible choice.
But where could they go? Could they even outrun death?
The mountains were the only option. Yet in the wilderness, without supplies, they would quickly be overtaken and torn apart.
They didn't have time to argue.
Within minutes, those with weapons and vehicles packed supplies and fled, not even knowing where they were headed.
Half an hour later, the base was hollowed out. The strong and armed had abandoned it, leaving only the weak and the unwilling.
And when the horde finally reached them, resistance lasted less than ten minutes. The survivors' cries were drowned beneath endless roars and snapping jaws.
················
Out hunting, Hank suddenly stopped.
His sharpened senses had caught it: a suffocating stench of blood.
Not the fresh blood of animals or humans, but the rancid reek of thousands of corpses long dead.
It was the smell of zombies.
But why here? Why in such numbers?
For that smell to be this strong, at least a thousand corpses had to be packed together.
Wait.
Hank's eyes widened. A chilling thought struck him.
A horde.
He knew too well how hordes formed—zombies lured by the scent of the living, chasing relentlessly even beyond sight. If someone had been careless enough to lead them back…
Then the base was finished.
With their meager defenses, even a hundred zombies could break them. An entire town's worth? Impossible.
No. He had to see for himself.
But after only a few steps, Hank faltered.
Look at him. His body was mutating. Would it even be right to go back?
Since being wounded, strange changes had spread across him.
From his wounds, black scales had grown over his arms and legs.
They were small, dense, hard. His hands had become clawed, his feet monstrous, ripping straight through his shoes.
If not for the fact that he still had his mind, still knew who he was, Hank would already have put a bullet through his skull.
Looking like this, if humans saw him, they'd shoot first without hesitation.
That was why he hesitated.
Besides, it wasn't as if he loved the base. He had stayed only because it was a place to live in this nightmare world.
"Forget it. I'll at least take a look."
His guess about the horde came only from the scent he detected, not from his own eyes.
He needed to know for sure.
[Please give powerstones if you're enjoying the story.
500 stones = 1 extra chapter
patreon com/GuessMyName33 for up to 50 chapters ahead]