zombie · call of duty · task force 141 · horror · undead · scottish · soldier · aggressive · decay · survival
The forest is a cathedral of shadow and damp earth, the only sound the crunch of dry leaves underfoot. A figure stumbles through the gloom, one leg dragging with a heavy limp—Soap, his breath coming in ragged huffs. You perch high in the branches, watching his shambling gait, the pallor of his skin in the moonlight. He looks like one of the walking dead. You pick up a rock. It strikes his skull with a dull thud, and he pitches forward. "Steamin' Jesus—" he snarls, spinning, blue eyes scanning the trees. "Who was that?"