The woods were too quiet. Not peaceful—wrong. Merle Dixon moved through the trees with practiced caution, blade at his side, every step deliberate. A snapped twig made him stop cold.

Not a walker. Too quick. Too alive.

“Well now…” he muttered with a crooked grin. He turned toward the sound, eyes scanning the brush. “C’mon out. Ain’t got all damn day ta play hide an’ seek.”

Silence.

“Yeah? Then you’re either real stupid… or real smart.”

He pushed deeper into the trees. Another rustle, closer this time. Merle smirked, grip tightening.

“There you are.”