’Is it sniffing for the humans inside?’ Sparrow’s mind raced, trying to piece together the creature’s behavioral pattern. It seemed to be deliberately holding back, resisting the urge to strike, as though it were rationing its prey.
But why? Was it waiting for more survivors to arrive, fattening the shelter’s numbers so it could feast on a larger meal later?
Sparrow didn’t understand, but something about its behavior was undeniably strange. The creature crawled back into the shadows from where it came, its gaze fixed on the shelter.
Even Sparrow felt his skin crawl under that watchful stare. If it was observing like this, did it deliberately let Adam and his team leave without interfering? Why? Could it be that it wanted Adam to bring back more people?
If so, it might already know Adam’s routine; perhaps it had seen him return with more survivors before. That would mean it considered Adam’s group a reliable source of food, leaving them unharmed when they went out, while keeping a close eye on those inside as if guarding against any escape.
If that was true, then this mutated zombie had grown far more intelligent than he expected.
Dread washed over him in waves. Sparrow realized he might have real trouble fighting, let alone killing, this mutated zombie. Judging by its build, he suspected it possessed not only intelligence but also speed and perhaps even heightened senses.
It wasn’t just because it looked vaguely like a dog, but because it behaved like one, marking its territory, patrolling with intent. If his guess was right, getting too close might alert it instantly.
The only reason it hadn’t noticed him yet was because he was perched atop a tall building, far away. No matter how sharp a creature’s sense of smell, it couldn’t track something hundreds of meters off.
But if his theory held true, they wouldn’t be able to approach without arousing suspicion. And if it fled? Without knowing where it went, they could be ambushed at any moment, a far more dangerous prospect than facing an enemy whose location was known.
Sparrow’s mind was racing, but his gaze never strayed from the mutated zombie. Then, movement caught his attention; several people emerged from the shelter, armed and ready.
They split into two groups, each taking a different route to patrol the perimeter. Their intent was clear: to ensure no zombies crept too close, giving them time to prepare in case of a zombie horde came too close.
It was a sound strategy... except they didn’t realize they were already under the watch of a mutated zombie. Hidden from sight, the creature tracked their every move. It even shifted in its hiding place, muscles tensing as if ready to spring at any moment.
But when it saw the patrol merely circling the area instead of retreating, it seemed to relax again, settling back into the shadows.
Sparrow kept his eyes on the scene for nearly an hour, unmoving, until the faint crackle of his walkie-talkie broke the silence.
"Captain, over..." Vulture’s voice came through the static.
Sparrow pressed the button to reply. "I hear you, over."
"Captain, we’re in position. Give the order whenever you’re ready."
But before Sparrow could respond, he caught a subtle shift; the mutated zombie’s head twitched, its gaze scanning the surroundings as if it had heard something. Sparrow froze, holding his breath, his thumb hovering over the button, unwilling to make another sound.
Sparrow finally spoke into the radio after calming down, his voice low and firm. "Vulture, pull everyone back fifty meters. We’ve got a situation. I’ll keep monitoring here, wait for my signal."
As the words left his mouth, the mutated zombie rose to its feet, scanning its surroundings with deliberate movements. A cold thought crept into Sparrow’s mind—could it hear their voices, or was it somehow picking up the radio frequency? He didn’t know, and he had no intention of finding out the hard way.

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