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Chapter Sixteen
Last Updated:
2022-10-23 18:24:33
Latest chapter
Project Dakota: Rising of the dead Chapter Forty-eight
The return to consciousness was not a gentle dawn, but a violent, gasping rebirth. One moment, there was only the silent, weightless void of oblivion. The next, my lungs seized, dragging in a ragged, screaming breath that burned like fire. My eyes flew open, but there was no light, only a confused kaleidoscope of shadows and pressure. I was drowning on dry land, my body arching off the floor in a blind panic.Hands. There were hands on me. Holding me down. A chorus of voices, muffled and distorted as if I were deep underwater, crashed against my ears.“—she’s seizing, hold her arm—”“—get a cold cloth, now!”“Ethel! Ethel, can you hear me? You’re safe, you’re safe.”Safe. The word was a lie. The hands were restraints. The voices were threats. My mind, still shackled to the nightmares, saw Raiders, saw the cold, dead eyes of the infected. I fought, a wild, feral thing, thrashing against the grip, my nails scratching, my elbows flailing. A low, animal sound ripped from my throat, a sob
Project Dakota: Rising of the dead Chapter Forty-seven
The world outside the Toyota Corolla’s windows was a smeared, gray watercolor painting, the ruins of the city bleeding into one another as Moe pushed the rattling engine to its limits. Every pothole we hit sent a jarring shock through the chassis and up my spine, the car’s suspension groaning in protest. The sound was a constant, grinding reminder of our failure at the auto shop, a metallic counterpoint to the silence that had fallen inside the vehicle.No one spoke. Carlos was a statue in the passenger seat, his profile sharp and hard as he scanned the crumbling storefronts and alleyways we flew past, his finger resting alongside the trigger guard of his rifle. Moe’s focus was absolute, his hands tight on the cheap plastic of the steering wheel, his eyes flicking between the road ahead and the rearview mirror. He was watching for pursuit, for the slow, shambling shapes that would inevitably be drawn by the siren call of my gunshots.And me? I was curled in the back, my knees pulled u
Project Dakota: Rising of the dead chapter Forty-six
The world has become a study in shades of gray and decay, but the sound of Carlos’s axe biting into the padlock of the auto shop’s rear gate was a brilliant, shocking note of clarity. It wasn’t a delicate sound. It was a percussive, violent clang of steel meeting steel, a noise that seemed to tear a hole in the oppressive silence that had settled over this part of the city. I flinched, my knuckles turning white where they gripped the cold, familiar weight of my pistol. Every loud sound felt like a blasphemy now, a challenge issued to the dead who were always, always listening.Sparks flew, a tiny, fleeting fireworks display in the overcast afternoon light. Moe stood a few feet back, his own rifle sweeping the debris-strewn alley behind us, a constant, vigilant silhouette. I watched the muscles in Carlos’s back and shoulders bunch and release with each swing. He was a big man, built like a slab of granite, and the axe was an extension of his will. With a final, grunting heave, the lock
Project Dakota: Rising of the dead chapters Forty-five
The drive back to Birkin was long and quiet. The only sound was the hum of the car’s engine and the crunch of gravel under the tires. Carlos, sitting in the passenger seat, hadn't said a word for miles. He just stared out the window, his face a blank mask.I understood. He’d stayed at the settlement the longest, fighting for people long after it was hopeless. Even when they’d physically kicked him out, his heart was still back there. And Amanda… well, I shoved that thought away. Thinking about Amanda was like poking a fresh bruise. It hurt too much.I was lost in these gloomy thoughts when the world suddenly spun.The car jerked violently, tires screeching in protest. We did a full, dizzying 360-degree turn before lurching to a stop in the middle of the road, dust clouding the windows.“What the—” Moe started, but his words were cut off by a sound that turned my blood to ice.Pop-pop-pop!Gunfire.My mind went blank with panic. Seriously? We can’t get a single break?“Get your heads d
Project Dakota: Rising of the dead Chapter Forty-four
The world narrowed to the shattered maw of the doorway. My feet were rooted to the spot, fused to the concrete by a surge of primal ice that shot up from the ground and into my veins. My breath, which had been coming in ragged gasps from the fight on the bridge, simply stopped. The scene in the lobby was a still life of slaughter.It wasn’t the random, hungry chaos of the dead. This was… methodical. Calculated. Chairs were overturned not from a struggle, but from a systematic search. Lockers were pried open, their contents—old magazines, a few cans of food, a child’s torn teddy bear—strewn across the floor like garbage. And the bodies… they weren’t just bitten. They were executed.A man I vaguely recognized, Mark, was slumped against the reception desk. He’d been shot in the back of the head. A dark, tidy hole in his skull, the exit wound a grotesque blossom of bone and brain matter on the polished wood of the desk in front of him. Another, a woman named Sarah, lay face down in a cong
Project Dakota: Rising of the dead Chapter Forty-three
The thrumming in my skull was the first thing to greet me, a dull, insistent drumbeat against the back of my eyeballs. Consciousness wasn't a gentle dawn; it was a clumsy burglar tripping over the furniture of my mind. I winced, squeezing my eyes shut against the thin, grey light filtering through the grimy window. Every muscle fiber screamed in protest, a unified chorus begging for just five more minutes, an hour, maybe a week of oblivion.Last night’s meeting with Carlos and Moe hung in my memory like a ghost—a necessary, grim specter. We’d huddled in the pantry, the air thick with the scent of old potatoes and our own fear. Our voices were low, conspiratorial whispers that scraped against the silence of the sleeping house.“We can’t refuse them,” Carlos had said, his fingers tracing the grain of the wooden table. “Eli’s men. It’ll look like we’re hiding something. We need to appear… grateful. Cooperative.”Moe, ever the pragmatist, had nodded, his glasses catching the flicker of ou
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