Miles had always been a man of the sea. The vast expanse of blue had always been his refuge, a place where he could escape the troubles of the world. But today, the sea was different—eerily calm, almost too quiet. He lay back in his small, weathered boat, letting the gentle waves rock him into a state of relaxation. The sun was setting, casting an orange glow across the horizon.
It would have been perfect if not for the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach.
He closed his eyes, trying to push away the unease. The days had been long and grueling since the world had changed, and sleep was a rare comfort. Out here, away from the chaos of the mainland, he could almost pretend things were normal again. No more bloodthirsty hordes of the undead, no more endless running. Just peace.
But peace, as Miles was about to learn, was an illusion.
He heard a faint splash in the distance, followed by another. Miles opened his eyes, staring up at the darkening sky. The ocean was still calm, but something was moving beneath the surface. He sat up, scanning the waters around him, and that's when he saw them.
Fins. Dozens of them, circling his boat like predators waiting for the kill.
Miles knew he should be scared, but he was too tired, too worn out to feel anything but a numb resignation. He'd faced worse than sharks since the world had fallen apart. He leaned back again, letting out a slow breath. "You're not getting me that easily," he muttered to himself, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
But then the fins drew closer, and Miles noticed something strange—these weren't the sleek, streamlined shapes of regular sharks. They were jagged, misshapen, and covered in something that looked suspiciously like rotting flesh.
Panic surged through him as the truth hit him like a punch to the gut. These weren't ordinary sharks. These were something far worse.
Miles reached for the oars, his heart pounding in his chest. But before he could make a move, the boat lurched violently, nearly throwing him into the water. He grabbed the sides, struggling to keep his balance as something massive collided with the hull.
The water around the boat began to churn, dark shapes swirling just beneath the surface. The fins disappeared, and in their place, pale, decayed hands began to reach out of the water, grasping at the boat's edges. Miles stared in horror as one of the creatures emerged—a grotesque fusion of man and shark, its lifeless eyes fixed on him with an insatiable hunger.
Zombies. Even out here, miles away from land, they had found him.
With a surge of adrenaline, Miles grabbed the nearest oar and swung it at the creature. The impact was enough to send it back into the water, but more were already clawing their way up the sides. The boat rocked violently, water sloshing over the edges as the undead swarmed.
There was no escape, no way out. Miles fought with everything he had, but he knew it was futile. He could feel the boat sinking, the cold water rising around him as the weight of the zombies dragged it down.
As the last of the daylight faded, Miles felt the icy grip of a rotting hand on his ankle. He closed his eyes, accepting his fate. At least it would be over soon.
The last thing he heard before the darkness took him was the sound of the boat splintering apart, swallowed by the Dead Sea.