Faction War. Entrapment.

- Hey, you! Come on move! Cletus pushed the prisoner unceremoniously and gritted his teeth. Sweat dripped down a faded print on a soiled T-shirt.

- Yes, I’m going, I’m going. Look what yelled — Hogan, despite his hands tied behind his back, was in a great mood. He was not spoiled even by unfriendly militias — the skinny Australian Michael, the dull redneck Cletus and the frightened bespectacled Henry.

— Where are we going? Hogan asked nonchalantly.

“Where you won’t have fun,” Michael grunted through his teeth and looked menacingly at Hogan.

- To your mother? — the former prison guard could not resist, for which he received a butt of a hunting rifle in the stomach.

“Geeaarr,” Hogan breathed, and fell silent.

They were moving through a small shabby town. Hogan himself grew up in this. If you are born here, you can immediately subscribe to the Twelve Step Program. Only now it was quiet and empty. Neither a living nor a dead soul — only miserable houses of the same type.

Hogan looked around curiously, catching every rustle. If an opportunity presents itself to escape, he will take it. And not just take advantage, but deal with those who grabbed him so unceremoniously.

Just think, he lied to the survivors that he organized a shelter in the prison, and then forced them to fight in a makeshift arena. Everyone has their own hobbies. He doesn’t blame that stupid hillbilly Cletus for going around with his lemonade. Or this Aussie for his stupid old movie hat. He doesn’t talk about Henry at all…

• Why are there no dead here? Henry glanced around nervously as he adjusted his helmet.

“Speak of the devil” — Hogan chuckled to himself.

- What do you want them for? Cletus asked indistinctly and spat loudly.

“They don’t matter to me at all. But in other places we met at least a couple, — Henry looked around in confusion.

- Well, it means that something has already been here. Like that comrade.” Cletus pointed at Hogan with the serrated blade of a makeshift weapon that looked like the love fruit of an old hoe and a lawnmower.

“Of course, I’m glad you think so highly of me,” Hogan couldn’t resist commenting, “but I’m also worried about the emptiness and… The sterility of this place. Even abandoned cities don’t look like that.

- Are you a professor of cities? Cletus spat again, “I’m thinking…

- Quiet! Michael motioned for everyone to stop.

— What is it…

- Quiet! The Australian tensed, his hands clutching the gun.

Hogan took a deep breath and closed his eyes to focus on the sounds. A barely perceptible rustle followed them all the way, and now it has subsided. You don’t have to be a crocodile hunter to know they’ve been surrounded.

What happened next happened in a fraction of a second. A well-aimed shot knocked the weapon out of Cletus’ hands. There was no time to think — Hogan kicked the redneck with a swing on the shin and rushed to the dilapidated wooden outbuilding, similar to a warehouse of old things. He slammed the door shut with his shoulder, lay down on the floor, buried himself in a pile of old rags, and began to watch the carnage through a gap between the boards.

Of course, not the Arena, but the sight is also pleasant. Against the now-familiar trio of the Home Guard came another group: a Santa Muerta-painted policewoman, a gray-haired girl whom Hogan promptly dubbed “Scarface,” and a middle-aged man with a crossbow. All clear. He got into a showdown between factions. Unity tried to kick the Militia. We’ll see…

The rising dust made it difficult to watch the carnage, so Hogan closed his eyes and focused on the sounds. A high-pitched scream and the sound of a body falling — someone had been shot. Sharp pops of shots — Michael spends the last cartridges. Scolding and roar — the fight turned into hand-to-hand.

Oh, how he missed those sounds! The cries of horror and pain, the rhythmic noise of the battle — the most beautiful melody. Hogan himself was a composer — he brought the crowd together and made them sing. Death songs are the most beautiful.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden silence and a long-drawn-out cry: “Beware! Zombie! We are surrounded by zombies! Hogan opened his eyes and peered into the dusty cloud that was slowly settling. A whole army of the dead was advancing on the survivors who had just fought fiercely.