Then, from the direction of the city, came a sound like a thousand wet fingers drumming on a thousand coffins.
"Run," a voice hissed from behind a toppled semi-truck. A woman in a blood-stained nurse's scrubs waved you over. "Don't fight it. It'll just summon more. They talk to each other through the dirt."
The rain stopped. The world went silent. Night of the Dead Early Access
You were standing on the exact overpass where you'd crashed your sedan. You could feel them waking up below.
The dead were coming. And now, they all knew your name. Then, from the direction of the city, came
You stumbled back, heart hammering against your ribs. The corpse that pulled itself from the mud wore a tattered business suit, its jaw unhinged in a silent scream. It didn't lunge. It just stared at your left hand. Specifically, at the faint tan line where a wedding ring used to be.
A gnarled, grey hand punched through the gravel at your feet. "Don't fight it
It had been your father-in-law. The man who never forgave you for the divorce.
It had been six months since the "Stitching," as the survivors called it. Not a virus. Not a bite. One night, every corpse on Earth—from the embalmed patriarch in his mahogany casket to the unmarked pauper in a shallow grave—simply stood up .