Chapter 7: The Burial
The morning sun was a pale, sickly disc, barely piercing the gray veil of clouds that hung over the Georgia camp like a shroud. The air was heavy, thick with the scent of freshly turned earth, sharp pine sap, and the raw, aching sting of grief that clung to every breath. Elias Kane stood on the camp's edge, his boots sinking into the damp soil, the chill seeping through the worn leather, his breath shallow, tasting of dust and the bitter dregs of coffee from a tin mug long gone cold. His fingers fidgeted with the hilt of his knife, a nervous tic that pulsed like a heartbeat, the blade's grip warm and slick against his palm, his throat raw from the dry air. His temples throbbed, a dull ache from the ZACS system's constant strain, a fire in his mind that never fully faded. I'm a fraud standing among mourners, he thought, his cynical mind turning over survival odds, a memory flashing—his father at a graveside, face stoic, eyes distant, the air thick with unspoken loss.
The camp was a somber tableau, a ragged semicircle of survivors gathered around two fresh graves, their edges jagged, the black soil glistening like a wound. Only two bodies, not the half-dozen Elias had braced for, a small victory that felt hollow. Shovels scraped, a mournful rhythm, mingling with soft sobs—Carol's, her hand clutching Sophia's, her knuckles white, her breath trembling. Rick stood tall, his sheriff's hat casting a shadow over his weathered face, his breath smelling of leather and resolve, his eyes steady but heavy. Shane's jaw was tight, his eyes darting, his presence a coiled spring, his breath hot with suppressed rage. Elias's heart thudded, his fingers relentless on the knife, the tic a drumbeat. I saved Amy, but I'm still lying, he thought, guilt a cold knot in his gut, a memory of his sister's trusting smile flashing, her laughter a distant echo in a world now silent.
He was here to mourn, to show solidarity, but his mind was split, tethered to Z-001, "Karen," lurking in the woods, a secret guardian he couldn't reveal. I need her faster, he thought, his heart racing, the weight of his deception a stone in his chest. He slipped away, his boots silent on pine needles, the air cool and sharp with sap, each step a calculated risk. The camp's grief was a distant hum, but his focus was razor-sharp, the HUD flickering blue in his mind, a ghostly overlay guiding him to a dense thicket where Z-001 stood, its decayed form a shadow, its face a mottled ruin under the system's shimmering mark.
"Come on, Karen," he muttered, his voice a low whisper, the name a bitter joke from a bossy coworker long dead. He pushed, urging the walker's sluggish limbs to move, its shuffle quickening to a lurch, a small triumph that burned in his mind like a spark. The strain was a searing ache behind his eyes, his nose tingling with the threat of a bleed, his muscles tense, a specific burn in his shoulders from yesterday's labor.
[SYSTEM: Train Z-001: 50 SP. Balance: 0. Fatigue debuff: -1 Stamina. Pushing hard, Elias? You're not a superhero yet. Keep it up, you'll crash spectacularly.]
The HUD's serious tone was a cold jab, the strain a grinding fire, his stamina fraying like worn cloth. I'm risking everything, he thought, his fingers tightening on the knife, a memory of his coach's warning against overexertion flashing, the air thick with sweat and failure. The walker lurched again, its movements jagged but faster, and Elias felt a flicker of pride, quickly doused by guilt. They're burying friends, and I'm training a corpse, he thought, his heart heavy, the tic relentless. The risk of a glitch—a flicker in Z-001's control—was a shadow, growing darker, a potential betrayal that could unravel his fragile place in the group.
A twig snapped, sharp and loud. Elias whirled, his heart lurching, his hand gripping the knife, the tic a frantic pulse. Carl stood there, half-hidden by a pine, his small frame shivering, his sheriff's hat tilted, his eyes wide with curiosity, his breath smelling faintly of canned peaches. "What're you… uh, doing?" he asked, his voice a high-pitched whisper, hesitant but eager.
Elias's mind raced, panic spiking, his fingers relentless on the knife. He's too close, he thought, a memory of his brother catching him sneaking out flashing, his sly grin a warning. "Just… scouting," he said, his voice rough, forcing a grin that felt like a grimace. "Checking the perimeter, you know? Gotta find the weak spots." He knelt, the dirt cool under his knees, and grabbed a stick, drawing a jagged line in the soil, the motion deliberate, grounding. "See this, Carl? Walkers are dumb. You gotta think like 'em. Find the gaps, listen for the shuffle."
Carl's eyes lit up, his nod quick, his small hands mimicking Elias's grip, the stick wobbling in his grasp. Elias taught him—how to spot a clear path, how to hear the dry rustle of a walker's approach, his voice low, steady, a quiet moment of connection that warmed his chest. He's just a kid, he thought, a memory of his brother's eager questions about heroes flashing, the air warm with trust. His heart ached, the camp's grief a distant weight, Carl's trust a fragile gift he didn't deserve. "Don't… uh, don't tell your dad, okay?" he said, his voice soft, his hand on Carl's shoulder, warm through the boy's thin jacket. "He's got enough on his plate."
Carl nodded, his lips pressed tight, his eyes serious, a small soldier in a broken world. Elias stood, his fingers slowing, the tic fading for a moment, but the risk of exposure lingered, a cold blade at his throat. He could unravel me, he thought, his heart heavy, the camp's fragile hope a fire he was stoking with lies.
Back at the graves, Daryl stood apart, his lean frame taut, his shotgun cradled in the crook of his arm, his eyes glinting under matted hair, his breath smelling of sweat and gun oil. Elias braced for a challenge, his fingers twitching on the knife, but Daryl's gaze met his, a quick nod, raw and unspoken, a rare sign of respect from a man who valued action over words. He sees the work, Elias thought, a memory of a gruff coworker's nod after a hard shift flashing, the air heavy with camaraderie. Daryl's survivalist heart recognized Elias's practical help—shoveling dirt, steadying the group—and the nod was a bridge, tentative but real, a contrast to Shane's burning hostility.
[SYSTEM: Team Synergy: Daryl +5% trust. Hunters stick together. Keep Karen hidden, or you're toast.]
The HUD's witty jab was a sharp reminder, the blue flicker a warning in his mind. Elias's heart thudded, his fingers relentless, the knife's grip slick with sweat. The camp's somber air was a weight he carried back, the graves a stark reminder of what he was fighting to prevent, his secrets a shadow growing longer with every step.
To supporting Me in Pateron .
Love [ The Walking Dead Apocalypse System ]? Unlock More Chapters and Support the Story!
Dive deeper into the world of [ The Walking Dead Apocalypse System ] with exclusive access to 35+ chapters on my Patreon, plus new fanfic every week! Your support starting at just $5/month helps me keep crafting the stories you love across epic universes like [Grimm, Teen Wolf ,blacklist,Game Of Throne ,MCU and Arrowverse].
By joining, you're not just getting more chapters—you're helping me bring new worlds, twists, and adventures to life. Every pledge makes a huge difference!
👉 Join now at patreon.com/TheFinex5 and start reading today!