Twenty-two hours before the outbreak at Bullseye Mart, before the screams, the blood, and the death, a prison bus rumbled down the cracked highway, with its metal frame rattling with every pothole. Inside, the air was thick with sweat, vinyl, and old coffee. Ten men in orange jumpsuits sat in a line, with their wrists and ankles shackled and chained behind a metal gate.
On the other side of the gate, two officers stood guard. One was Officer Tasha Brooks, a black woman in her late twenties, with an athletic build, sharp eyes, hair pulled back in tight braids, and a faint scar above her left eyebrow. Next to her sat Officer Ray Martinez, a stocky Hispanic man in his forties with a Marine anchor tattoo on his forearm and a missing left pinky.
Up front, gripping the wheel was Officer Luis Castillo. A Hispanic man with a weathered face and streaks of gray in his hair.
Standing behind him with his arms folded was Sergeant Mike O'Neal. A white man in his early forties, built like a linebacker, with a buzz cut and a "Death Before Dishonor" tattoo on his left sleeve.
"Eyes up, Brooks," Castillo muttered, scanning the road. "Last time we came through here, some jackass left a mattress in the middle of the lane."
Brooks didn't miss a beat, smirking as she peered through the glass. "If I see a mattress, you're sleeping on it, Castillo."
But then, the bus jumped with a resounding, ugly thunk that you could feel in your teeth. The whole thing shook as it might just come apart. "¡Mierda!" Castillo barked, fighting the wheel as the bus pulled hard to the right, with its tires scraping against the edge of the road. From the back, the inmates erupted.
"Cuidado, pendejo!" one of the prisoners yelled, banging his cuffs on the bars.
"What the fuck was that?" another called out, craning to see through the smeared windows.
"Hope you got insurance, cabrón!" Chuy snickered, flashing a broken-toothed grin.
The chains clattered as the men jostled for a better view, with their voices bouncing off the frame and the glass.
"Fuck, that's a flat," O'Neal said while leaning forward with one hand braced on the frame. "Lucky for us, there's a store up ahead. Take it slow, Luis. Park on the far side of the lot, and I'll call it in."
"Copy that, Sarge," Castillo replied, guiding the bus off the main road and into the far corner of Bullseye Mart's parking lot. The tire was already flapping, and the bus was already leaning to one side. As he eased it into the last row of the parking lot, he shut the engine off.
Sergeant O'Neal straightened up and jerked his chin at Martinez. "Ray, come on. Let's go see how bad it is. Brooks, you've got the floor. Keep an eye on these guys."
Brooks nodded, shifting in her seat like she was ready to spring at the first sign of trouble. "Yes, Sarge. I got 'em," she said, her voice steady but her eyes never leaving the prisoners.
O'Neal gave the inmates a hard stare. "Don't try anything stupid. I'm not in the mood," then turned for the door with Martinez right behind him.
From the middle of the row, Gabriel Reyes leaned back against the seat, with a sly grin at the corner of his mouth. "No chingues, sargento. We're just along for the ride, right?" His voice was smooth, almost friendly, but his eyes never left O'Neal's face.
Next to him was Carlos "El Toro" Jimenez, a massive man with tattoos crawling up his neck and arms, who snorted. "Yeah, carnal, just tourists, ese."
Jesus "Chuy" Delgado, a wiry and sharp man missing his two front teeth, shot Brooks a crooked, sarcastic grin. He stretched his arms out wide, rattling his cuffs just enough to be annoying, and shrugged with exaggerated innocence. "Ain't nowhere else to go, unless you wanna carry us, officer." His eyes sparkled with mischief, and you could tell he was enjoying every second of it.
Brooks rolled her eyes, then stood up from her chair, squaring her shoulders. In an almost automatic move to assert control, she fixed the row of inmates with a hard stare and said, voice low and stern, "Just keep your mouths shut and your asses in those seats."
A few of the others chuckled. Rico Alvarez with his burn-scarred arms, Jensen Ward shifting his weight on the bench, and Ed Hastings fidgeting with his hands. Even the quiet ones were watching, sizing things up, waiting to see if tonight was going to get interesting.
Outside, the mountain air was crisp and thin. The lot was mostly quiet except for the low chatter of shoppers coming and going and the occasional headlights sweeping by as cars pulled in and out. O'Neal's boots crunched on the asphalt as he made his way to the back, with Martinez trailing him with a flashlight.
Castillo climbed down from the cab, rubbing his hands together against the cold, breath coming out in little clouds. "Man, it's colder than I thought."
Martinez crouched beside the tire, running his hand over the shredded rubber. "This thing's toast. We're gonna need the spare and a jack."
He swept the flashlight across the pavement, checking for any debris. "You got any signal out here, Sarge?"
O'Neal was already fiddling with his radio, frustration in his voice. "Nothing yet. Might have to get closer to the store for a signal."
Then Martinez caught a flicker of movement at the far end of the lot. He narrowed his eyes, raising the flashlight. "You see that, Sarge?"
O'Neal turned, following Martinez's gaze. A handful of silhouettes, human but moving weirdly, drifted from the main road into the parking lot.
Castillo, who'd wandered away from the bus over toward a busted shopping cart near the curb with a cigarette in his hand, straightened up and frowned. "What the hell? Is there some event tonight? Protest or something?"
Martinez cupped his hands around his mouth and called out, "Hey! This is a restricted area. Please stay back!"
The figures didn't even slow down. They just kept coming, slow and shuffling, their outlines smeared by the shadows.
O'Neal pressed the radio, his voice tight. "Dispatch, this is Sergeant O'Neal, we've got—" Static.
Martinez tried again, louder. "I said stop! Back away from the vehicle!"
Still nothing. Just that soft, dragging shuffle of feet on pavement.
O'Neal muttered, "Fuck, all we needed. Another bullshit anti-cop protest in the middle of nowhere." He stepped forward, jaw clenched, as the first shadow moved into the light. Its face smeared with blood, eyes black and empty.
Suddenly, the first one jerked and broke into a dead sprint. Then another, and another, feet slapping the pavement, arms windmilling. Their movements were all wrong. They were too fast.
O'Neal's eyes went wide. "Defensive positions! Martinez, on my left!"
Castillo, a few cars away, barely had time to reach for his baton before one of the things slammed into him, dragging him down hard onto the cold asphalt. He let out a raw, desperate scream as the creature's teeth tore into his shoulder, ripping his clothes and flesh. Another one also got on top of him, clawing at his face, with its nails raking deep cuts across his cheek. Blood sprayed in thick, dark arcs, splattering the curb and pooling beneath his thrashing boots. The last thing Martinez saw before he looked away was Castillo's hand, with his fingers twitching, as the creatures tore into him like wild dogs on a carcass.
O'Neal swung his nightstick and caught the first creature square in the jaw. He felt the bone give under the blow. A normal man would've dropped, maybe lost teeth, but this thing just staggered, then snapped its head back around, with its lips peeled over its bloody gums.
He gritted his teeth and swung again, cracking another across the temple. It went down hard, but started to push itself back up, twitching and snarling. Another grabbed at his arm, but O'Neal twisted and threw it off, sending it sprawling across the asphalt.
What the hell is this? he thought. They're strong, too strong. But they bleed like anyone else.
He kept swinging, fighting back as the creatures kept coming with their faces smashed and their jaws hanging loose, but still crawling.
As O'Neil began to fight the creatures, Martinez's eyes went wide. He didn't wait. He bolted for the bus, with his boots slipping on the pavement from Castillo's blood.
Inside, the prisoners jumped to their feet, straining to see out the fogged, streaked windows.
"¿Qué chingados está pasando?" Chuy yelled, pressing his face to the glass. "Is that blood?"
Brooks snapped, trying to sound in control, but her voice cracked. "Sit down! Everybody. Sit the fuck down!"
The bus door banged open, and Martinez stumbled in, shoving it closed behind him. He was breathing hard and looked pale, as if he had seen a ghost. "They're— They're eating Castillo! Jesus Christ, they're tearing him apart!"
Outside, O'Neal's shouts cut through the night. "Get back! Get the fuck off me!" There was a sickening crunch, the sound of bone and flesh colliding, and then a heavy, dragging scuffle just out of sight beside the bus. After that, only the pounding of fists onto the side of the bus and the hungry snarls of the creatures echoed through the darkness.
Inside, nobody could see what happened next.
Reyes stared at Martinez, voice low and tense. "What the fuck are those things, man?"
A white, tall prisoner known as Country leaned forward, with his eyes shining with a weird, hungry curiosity. "Predators, boys. Never seen 'em hunt like that, but I know the look. Like wolves on a wounded calf."
As Brooks gripped her radio, she yelled: "Where's O'Neal? Where's Sarge?"
Martinez shook his head, with hands trembling so badly that he kept having difficulties trying to pull his pistol out of his holster. "He— They got him. Right outside. I couldn't do anything. I just—"
Then the bus rocked hard as something slammed into the side, rattling the windows. For a moment, everyone inside froze, prisoners and officers alike, listening to the screams outside and the wet, animal sounds of feeding, and the mindless.
The pounding on the bus grew louder, a sick drumbeat of fists and skulls against steel. Inside, panic spread like wildfire.
Suddenly, Rico Alvarez started convulsing in his seat, with his eyes rolling back, and foam bubbling at his lips. He fell against his chains, making guttural choking sounds.
As he was twitching and jerking, numerous prisoners began to yell at the officers. "¡Ayúdalo! Something's wrong with him!" Reyes yelled with a sharp voice.
At the same time, Chuy scrambled away, with his eyes wide. "He's turning! He's fucking turning, man!"
Then, Frankie Miller pressed himself against the far end of the bench, with his face twisted in terror. "He's infected! Get him away from me!"
And Jensen Ward yelled, "Oh, hell no, hell no! Officer! Officer, help!" as he was gripping the bars.
As the shouting continued to turn into a frenzy, with the prisoners yelling in Spanish and English, Brooks hesitated, with her eyes moving away from the panicking inmates to Martinez, who was already moving toward the front of the bus away from the prisoners.
"Martinez, cover me!" Brooks barked, unlocking the gate and moving into the prisoner area.
Martinez didn't even look back. "Fuck that, we are getting out of here!" he muttered while fumbling with the ignition. When the key slot came up empty, he slammed his fist on the dashboard, spatting. "¡Pinche cabrón!" when he realized that Castillo had taken the keys with him.
Brooks knelt beside Rico, reaching for his shoulder. The moment she touched him, Rico lunged, grabbing her arm. In a flash, El Toro and Reyes surged forward, yanking Brooks off balance and pinning her arms, while Chuy snatched the pistol from her holster and pressed it to her temple.
"Quiet, officer," Reyes hissed, his voice cold and steady. "Nobody wants to die today."
Martinez spun around and drew his gun. Chuy pointed Brooks's pistol at her. "Drop it, cabrón, or she dies right now!"
Martinez froze as sweat ran down his face. He let his weapon clatter to the floor, hands raised high. Before he could say anything, El Toro stepped up and cracked him across the jaw hard. Martinez hit the floor, dazed and bleeding from the mouth.
The prisoners moved fast, stripping Brooks and Martinez of their belts, radios, and anything else useful. Ortiz, wearing a greasy, sly smirk, began patting Brooks down, with his hands lingering too long on her chest and sliding over her butt, pretending to check for hidden weapons. "Just making sure you're not hiding anything, officer, but we may need to have a deeper search," he said, with mock concern.
Brooks didn't hesitate. She spat right in Ortiz's face and jerked forward, trying to headbutt him. But her arms were pinned, and he sidestepped her lunge easily. He then slapped her, hard enough to snap her head to the side. Then, with a nasty grin, he wiped the spit off his cheek, looked at her dead in the eye, and licked it off his hand while sneering: "I like 'em feisty."
Reyes snapped. "Cut it out, Ortiz. We've got bigger problems. You want to have your fun, you wait until we're not about to get eaten alive."
Ortiz scowled but backed off, muttering under his breath.
Country, pocketing a flashlight and a baton, grinned at the officers on the floor. "Y'all are about as prepared as a deer in rut season."
Brooks glared, breathing hard, her cheek already reddening. "You're making a huge mistake."
Country just smiled, slow and unsettling. "Biggest mistake was thinking you were the predator, officer. Now, let's see who's hunting who."
The bus rocked again, harder this time, with a heavy thud that made the whole frame shudder. Everyone jumped. The shadows of the infected continued weaving between cars, and their numbers grew by the minute.
Ed Hastings, with his hands shaking, yells, "We can't drive! We're trapped!"
Chuy rolled his eyes. "No shit, genius."
Ortiz then said, "We gotta get out before those things break in!"
Country just grinned, licking his lips. "No sense panicking. Watch the herd, see how they move. Predators always circle before they pounce."
Reyes, now holding Martinez's gun, looked at him. "You always talk like a redneck fortune cookie?"
Chuy snorted. "Nah, man, he's like a fucking white Geronimo wannabe."
Country just tipped his head. "You city boys got no patience. You want to live, you listen to the patterns."
Suddenly, the lot exploded with the noise of screeching tires and an engine roaring. Headlights whipped across the asphalt as a sedan tore through, with the driver hunched low with his hands on the steering wheel while two of those things were holding on to the hood and windshield, clawing and snapping like rabid dogs. The car slammed into a row of shopping carts with a crash that sounded like a gunshot. Instantly, most of the creatures around the bus turned, drawn by the chaos and fresh noise.
Rico pressed his face to the glass, with his eyes wide. "Mira, buey! They're leaving!"
Country's eyes narrowed, tracking the herd. "That's our shot, boys. "You ever spook a herd of deer? The best time to move is when they're all looking the other way. Let the noise draw 'em off, then we slip out quiet."
Reyes didn't hesitate. "We go now. Stick together. The pigs go in the front."
Jensen's voice cracked. "What if they see us?"
Chuy grinned, showing those busted teeth. "Then you better run faster than the guy next to you, carnal."
With Brooks and Martinez cuffed and pushed out front as shields, the group crowded by the doors. Reyes counted down, keeping one eye on the infected that still lingered. "Three… two… one… go!"
They burst off the bus, boots pounding the cold asphalt. The parking lot was a mess. Broken glass everywhere, carts tipped over, the air full of distant screams and the crunch of their own footsteps. Most of the creatures had gone after the wreck, but a few remained between the bus and the store.
El Toro shoved a slow-moving one out of the way, and everyone else just kept their heads down, moving as fast as they could toward Bullseye Mart. Brooks and Martinez, wrists locked in front of them, stumbled along with the group, faces pale and eyes wide.
El Toro swung the nightstick and cracked one of the creatures right in the side of the head, dropping it hard. The rest of the group kept their heads down, moving as fast as they could toward Bullseye Mart.
As they approached the entrance, a trio of creatures spotted them and let out awful, guttural noises, then broke into a run, chasing the group.
"Move! Move!" Reyes barked, pushing everyone forward, not bothering to look back.
Two prisoners, Miguel Ortiz and Rico, stumbled as a creature lunged out from behind a minivan. Ortiz yanked open a car door and dove inside, dragging Rico with him, then slammed it shut just as the creature slammed into the doorframe. "¡Corre!" he yelled, pounding on the window as the rest of the group sprinted for the store as they were being chased.
Reyes, Chuy, Country, and the others crashed through the shattered entrance, dragging Brooks and Martinez in with them. From the vehicle, Ortiz and Rico watched, with their breath fogging up the windows.
Inside the car, Rico sat in the passenger seat with his arms crossed and looking between the bloody windshield and the shifting shadows outside. Ortiz kept wiping his palms on his jumpsuit, flinching every time something scraped against the car.
"Shit, buey," Ortiz whispered, voice tight. "We're sitting ducks in here. What if they tip the car?"
Rico shook his head. "Ain't much we can do right now. Just wait. Maybe the others'll come back for us."
Ortiz snorted. "You really think they're coming back?"
Rico didn't answer. He just kept staring out, watching the horde for any sign of an opening.
They tried to take turns keeping watch, but sometime before dawn, Ortiz's head drooped, and he started snoring. Rico elbowed him awake, scowling. "You were supposed to be watching, cabrón."
Ortiz rubbed his eyes, defensive. "I'm tired, man! You try sleeping with all that moaning and scratching going on!"
They bickered back and forth in low, sharp voices until the sun finally came up, making everything look pale and washed out. After a while, they just sat in silence, watching the creatures wander the lot. They tossed around theories about how the outbreak started. Government experiment, bad drugs, maybe even something in the water. In between, they swapped stories about the other inmates, talked about who was tough, who was trouble, and how things worked back inside. It was the kind of conversation you only had when you thought you might not see another sunrise.
Suddenly, Ortiz sat up and squinted out the window. "Oye, look at that van. Is that a kid?"
Across the lot, a small figure, Mateo, popped up from the sunroof of a beat-up minivan, clutching a water bottle. He chucked it at one of the creatures, the plastic bouncing off its shoulder. The infected turned, snarling, and for a few seconds started attacking anything nearby, like some mindless reflex. A couple of minutes later, the kid threw a glass bottle in a different direction. It shattered with a sharp crack, and the horde drifted after the noise, leaving a thin path open.
Rico whistled, genuinely impressed. "That little kid's got balls."
Ortiz chewed his lip, eyes on the van. "We could make a run for it. Bet that kid's got a hot mom hiding in there or something."
Rico shook his head. "Forget the van, buey. The rest of our crew's in the Mart. Safety in numbers, right?"
Ortiz kept looking back at the van, clearly tempted. "Man, I still think that van's the better shot…" He hesitated, then let out a frustrated sigh and nodded. "Fine, fine. We'll do it your way. On three, we go."
They slipped out of the car and crouched low. As they crept between the cars, Ortiz's foot landed on something small and hard, a remote. The van's lights blinked, and the alarm started blaring, loud enough to wake hibernating creatures.
Rico's eyes went wide. "¡Puta madre!"
The horde snapped to attention, and their heads whipped toward the sound. Rico and Ortiz didn't wait; they ran for their lives as the creatures surged toward the van, while chaos broke loose all over again in the Bullseye Mart lot.