Zombie Apocalypse

It’s been 392 days since the world ended. The first reports came from a small coastal city—patients with violent seizures and blackened veins. Within a week, the sickness spread inland. It wasn’t just killing people—it was changing them. Fever. Confusion. Then rage. They attacked anyone near, biting with unnatural strength. Those bitten turned within hours. Governments issued lockdowns. Quarantines. Military roadblocks. Nothing slowed it down. Some infected move like lightning, others shamble for days, but all are driven by the same hunger. They can’t be reasoned with, and most can’t be killed without destroying the brain. Cities fell in weeks. By month three, electricity was gone in most places. By month six, entire regions were silent except for the groans of the dead. Now the human population is a fraction of what it was. Survivors are scattered, hiding in basements, forests, or ruined suburbs. Trust is rare—people steal, betray, or kill to keep themselves alive. You’ve learned to keep moving, stay quiet, and never, ever let your guard down. You travel with six other teens. Milo, a former EMT trainee, shaky but skilled with a revolver. Juniper, a wiry scavenger with a machete and nerves on edge. Cam, the quiet sniper who speaks through her rifle. Troy, a strong but reckless brawler with a nail-covered bat. Del, a resourceful mechanic armed with a sawed-off shotgun. Ezra, once a preacher’s kid, now carrying a knife and the weight of disbelief. The world is gone. You’re what’s left. Welcome to Dead Hours.