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chapter Fifty-three
Last Updated:
2025-10-25 00:23:02
Latest chapter
Project Dakota: Rising of the dead chapter Fifty-seven
The world inside the stockroom was a pocket of compressed, violent silence, broken only by Ethel’s ragged breaths and the soft, settling dust motes dancing in the slivers of light from the high windows. The five bodies lay in the awkward, graceless poses of the permanently still, their green aprons now stained with the dark, viscous evidence of their second death. The air was thick with the cloying stench of decay, fertilizer, and the sharp, metallic tang of blood. Ethel stood amidst the carnage, her chest heaving, the weight of the heavy hunting knife a familiar, grim comfort in her hand. The adrenaline was a live wire under her skin, making her senses hyper-acute. She could hear the faint, distant sounds of Jake’s distraction—a rhythmic, metallic clanging that was already beginning to fade, pulling the main horde further from the building.There was no time to process. The mission was the only thing that mattered. Her eyes, adjusted to the gloom, scanned the towering shelves and sta
Project Dakota: Rising of the dead chapter Fifty-six
The first thing Ethel became aware of was not the pale, greyish light filtering through the cracks in the boards, nor the familiar, low-grade chorus of groans from the street below. It was a profound, systemic disquiet, a deep-seated thrumming of anxiety that seemed to originate in her very bone marrow. It was the psychic hangover from the previous night’s potent cocktail of cannabis, confession, and near-catastrophic rescue. Her mouth felt stuffed with desiccated cotton, and her eyelids were gritty, leaden weights. Consciousness was not a gentle dawn but a cold, unwelcome flood, and she resisted it, trying to sink back into the blank, merciful oblivion of sleep.This resistance was violently, and quite literally, shattered.A hand clamped onto her shoulder and shook her, not with gentle concern, but with a frantic, jarring intensity. “Ethel! Ethel, wake up! Now!”It was Jake’s voice, but stripped of its usual low rumble, sharpened by an edge of pure panic. The shaking continued, rele
Project Dakota: Rising of the dead Chapter Fifty- five
The slam of the window was a full stop, a definitive end to the chaos outside. For a moment, the only sound in the small, dark room was the ragged symphony of their breathing—three different tempos, three different volumes, all underscored by the faint, persistent moaning from the street, now muffled into a distant, ambient threat. The adrenaline that had fueled the rescue was receding, leaving in its wake a hollow, jangling exhaustion and the lingering, fizzy residue of the cannabis high.The boy was the first to move. He slid down the wall beside the window until he was sitting on the floor, his knees drawn up to his chest. He dropped his head, and his entire body shuddered with a series of deep, wracking tremors that were more than just shivers. It was the physical manifestation of terror finally being released now that the immediate danger had passed. The tough, profane exterior had cracked, revealing the terrified child beneath.Jake stood over him, a dark silhouette against the
Project Dakota: Rising of the dead chapter Fifty-five
The scene unfolding in the moon-washed street below was not just a crisis; it was a surreal, brutal parody of one. The initial shock of the gunfire had pierced their cannabis-induced haze, but it had not fully dispelled it. Instead, the drug now acted as a filter, distorting the urgency of the moment, stretching seconds into long, ponderous thoughts, and making the boy’s desperate struggle seem like a piece of grim, avant-garde theatre.He was a scrawny thing, all sharp angles and jutting elbows, swimming in a dark grey hoodie that swallowed his frame. His movements were a frantic, uncoordinated dance of terror—backpedaling, stumbling, righting himself, all while fumbling with the bolt-action .22 rifle that seemed too large, too serious a weapon for his small hands. The pop-pop of the gun was a flat, unserious sound against the deep, guttural moans of the five figures shambling towards him. They were a mixed group: a former businessman in the tattered remains of a suit, a woman in a f
Project Dakota: Rising of the dead chapter Fifty-three
Of course. Here is the chapter, written to your exact specifications, with no added scenes and a focus on detailed, interesting conversations and descriptions, exceeding 6,000 words.---The world had shrunk to the dimensions of a single, dusty room, and within that new, smaller universe, the only laws that mattered were the gentle, spiraling rituals of the high. Ethel sat cross-legged on a threadbare rug that had once been a vibrant Persian blue, now faded to the colour of a tired sky. The intricate patterns were worn smooth in patches, a ghostly map of footsteps and furniture long since vanished. Jake was opposite her, his back against a heavy oak dresser, his long legs stretched out before him, the scuffed toes of his boots pointing towards the boarded-up window.Between them, on a low, scarred wooden crate that served as a table, lay the sacred implements of their temporary escape: a small, dark green bud of cannabis, a packet of rolling papers thinner than a moth’s wing, and a ch
Project Dakota: Rising of the dead chapter Fifty-two
The silence in the truck cab was a thick, tangible thing, layered with the lingering scent of smoke, cordite, and the coppery tang of blood. It was a silence of shared trauma, of adrenaline receding, leaving behind a hollow, shaky exhaustion. The green-black landscape of the dead suburbs blurred past my window, a monotonous tapestry of ruin that was both horrifying and, in its own way, comforting in its familiarity. At least out here, the threats were usually visible.My forearms rested on my knees, my hands dangling between them, palms up. They were trembling, a fine, constant vibration I couldn’t seem to stop. Dried blood, dark and flaking, coated my right hand and sleeve, a grisly souvenir from the point-blank shot in the cafeteria. My jacket was spattered with darker, viscous matter that I didn't allow myself to look at too closely. The memory of its warmth as it had sprayed across my face was enough to make my stomach clench.Jake drove with a focused intensity, his eyes constant
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