Chapter 5
967words
He lounged on the Apocalypse RV's leather sofa, sipping freshly ground coffee. On the massive screen before him, a drone live-streamed unfolding tragedy.
On the highway, his sister Jenny and Mark stood backed against a white BMW, faces etched with despair. Zombies formed a tightening circle barely thirty meters across, snarling as they closed in.
Their time was running out.
Through the phone came Mark's hysterical sobbing, his arrogance replaced by raw terror: "Jack! Please! I'm begging you! Come quick! These things... they're everywhere! I don't want to die! God, I don't want to die!"
Jack sipped his coffee, savoring the bittersweet liquid. He didn't glance at the phone, just watched that once-smug face now twisted with fear.
He asked calmly: "Mark, do you realize now that your previous life was the fantasy?"
Mark froze momentarily, then babbled frantically through tears: "Yes! Yes, it was! I was wrong! I was an asshole! Save me and I'll be your dog! I'll lick your fucking boots!"
"Too late."
Jack said flatly, then ended the call.
He rose, moved to the driver's seat, and fired up the massive engine. On the screen, the green dot representing his RV began moving toward the red dot marking Mark's position.
...
On the highway.
"He hung up... he fucking hung up!" Mark stared at the dead screen, completely unraveling. He clutched his head and wailed, "He's not coming! We're dead! This is your fault! All your fault, you worthless bitch!"
He shoved Jenny violently.
Jenny, already paralyzed with fear, could only sob.
The zombie circle tightened to ten meters. They could see rotting faces and hollow, hungry eye sockets clearly now.
Death was mere steps away.
Suddenly, a ground-shaking roar—like a charging prehistoric beast—thundered from the highway's end.
Mark and Jenny's heads snapped up.
They witnessed a scene they would never forget.
A pitch-black steel behemoth—something they'd only seen in movies—was literally plowing through the blocked highway with unstoppable force!
Everything in its path—abandoned vehicles, burning wrecks, wandering zombies—was crushed, shredded, or tossed skyward by its unstoppable ram!
This wasn't just a vehicle—it was a mobile fortress of pure destructive beauty!
BOOM——!
After crushing the final zombies in its path, the black beast executed a perfect drift, stopping before them. Black blood splattered across its armor gleamed vividly under the gray sky.
"Hiss——"
The doors opened with a high-tech hydraulic hiss. Warm light and rich coffee aroma spilled out, creating a surreal contrast with the hellscape outside.
Jack stood in the doorway, coffee cup in one hand, the other casually tucked in his pocket—as relaxed as if taking a Sunday stroll.
He looked down at the two ant-like figures, his gaze finding his sister first.
"You have three seconds to get in."
Jenny scrambled inside as if pardoned from execution.
Seeing this, Mark lunged forward, trying to clamber up.
A boot slammed into his chest, sending him sprawling.
"Not you." Jack's voice was arctic. "I don't transport dead weight."
He tossed a backpack that landed at Mark's feet.
"For my sister's sake, consider what's inside a parting gift."
Hope crashed into despair. This plunge from salvation to damnation shattered Mark's mind.
"No! NO——!"
He scrambled up like a rabid animal, eyes bloodshot, snatching a tire iron from nearby debris and charging with a primal roar.
"If I die, you die with me! DIE!"
Just as Mark reached the door, tire iron raised to strike—
"Whirr—click!"
A soft but distinct mechanical sound cut the air.
A hidden panel on the RV's roof slid open, and a precision-engineered auto-turret deployed with lightning speed.
A red laser dot appeared on Mark's forehead—death's marker, perfectly centered.
Mark froze mid-motion.
Every muscle locked, tire iron suspended in air, rage instantly replaced by bone-deep terror.
He knew instinctively that the slightest movement—even a blink—would make that barrel spit fire, turning his skull into pulp.
"Drip... drip..."
Acrid yellow liquid streamed down his legs, pooling at his feet.
Face-to-face with absolute power and imminent death, the former elite lost control of his bodily functions.
Jack regarded him with naked disgust, not even bothering to dirty his hands.
Leaning against the doorframe, he took one final look at the man—already a walking corpse—and said softly, like a judge passing sentence:
"By the way, Mark—didn't you call all my supplies 'useless crap'?"
Without waiting for a response, he turned and pressed the door button.
The heavy door began closing on Mark's bloodless face.
Just before it sealed, Jack pressed another button.
Outside, powerful speakers blasted at maximum volume.
Through the speakers came Mark's own voice from Costco days earlier, which Jack had recorded:
"Jack, take my advice. Stop wasting your time with this useless stuff. With your measly salary, don't try to play at survivalism—that's a rich man's hobby. Just living an ordinary, obedient life is what people like you should be doing..."
The condescending voice, dripping with superiority, echoed across the desolate highway.
This was the cruelest execution possible—forcing Mark to face his own arrogance.
Outside, hearing his own words while standing soiled and broken, Mark's final psychological defenses shattered. He let out a wretched cry and collapsed to the ground, lacking even the will to flee.
The surrounding zombies, drawn by the noise, surged toward him like sharks scenting blood.
Inside the RV, Jack sat in the driver's seat, eyes forward.
He watched the side monitor dispassionately as the first zombie reached Mark, followed by a wave of others. The screams lasted barely two seconds before cutting off.
Jack reached out and switched off the screen.
He hit the gas, and the steel beast roared away toward the mountains, leaving only dust in its wake.
Beneath the wheels, bones occasionally crunched like dry twigs.
