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Chapter 72 - GTAG Chapter 72 The Girl and the Beast

GTAG Chapter 72 The Girl and the Beast

Hank had no interest in uncovering any so-called truth. Right now, he only knew one thing—every single zombie in his way had to die. 

The reason was simple. If he didn't clear them out, how was he supposed to drive a car out of here? 

He hadn't found his old motorcycle, nor had he returned to his base, but he had discovered something better—a proper vehicle. 

Without the dense forest obstructing him, Hank—axe in hand—was like a war god. Each swing felled swaths of the undead. 

In less than half an hour, the horde surrounding the vehicles was reduced to a pile of corpses, none left standing. 

Crunch. 

A clawed, scaly foot stomped down, bursting the skull of a still-wailing zombie. 

Relief washed over Hank. Every moving, groaning corpse was finally gone. 

Now it was time to see what spoils remained. 

But first, he needed food. 

He strode toward one of the modified buses. The seats had been stripped out, replaced with crates of supplies. 

Hank helped himself without hesitation, tearing into rations hungrily. 

But before he had swallowed more than a few bites, his ears twitched—he heard something strange. 

A dull, metallic clatter. 

He moved toward the other bus. 

Inside, the stench was overwhelming. Severed limbs littered the floor, congealed blood thick across the boards, squelching under his boots. 

His eyes scanned the interior until they fixed on a large iron crate. 

It was padlocked, surrounded by scattered cans of food. 

He didn't need to open it to know. 

There was a heartbeat inside. 

A human heartbeat. 

Alive. 

Rapid, frantic—whoever was inside was terrified, probably shaken by the sounds of Hank's slaughter outside. 

The closer he stepped, the faster the heart raced, so violent it seemed ready to burst out of their chest. 

Hank froze, realizing his monstrous appearance would terrify any survivor. He wasn't fit to face ordinary people anymore. 

His expression shifted. Without a word, he tore the lock off the crate with a clawed hand, then turned and walked away. 

He had no intention of taking the person with him. The zombies were dead, the area safe, and the bus still held supplies. Alone, they would survive far longer than if they followed him. 

At least, safer than staying with a beast like him. 

Hank descended the bus steps and approached one of the cars still in decent condition. 

The windows were all shattered, like every other vehicle in sight, but the interior was relatively intact. 

Aside from blood sprayed when the passengers were dragged out and devoured, it wasn't too filthy. Cleaner than the battlefield outside. 

Hank slid behind the wheel. The keys were still in the ignition. When he twisted them, the engine coughed to life. 

He slung his great axe across the back seat, sat at the driver's place, and prepared to leave. 

"Wait… please… take me with you." 

The voice startled him. 

Only then did Hank realize—the one inside the crate wasn't an adult at all, but a little girl. 

He didn't turn around. He didn't need to. The hoarse, fragile voice was clearly that of a child, probably no older than grade school age. 

In an instant, Hank yanked the ragged hood over his head, hiding his monstrous face. 

Now, his upper body was covered only by a torn jacket, his jeans riddled with holes, his feet bare—shoes long since destroyed by his warped, oversized form. 

"The supplies in the bus will last you a long time. Don't follow me," Hank rasped. 

His ruined voice sounded more like a growl than words, the kind of tone that could reduce a child to tears even in a world at peace. 

The little girl stumbled out of the bus, shivering, but somehow found the courage to speak. 

"I… I'm scared to be alone. Please, don't leave me." 

Her tone was desperate, pleading. 

She was far too young—too young to have witnessed the horrors she had. 

She had seen the outbreak with her own eyes. Watched the dead feast on the living. Watched humans butcher zombies in turn. 

She carried burdens no child should ever know. 

And yet, the cruelty of this world was forcing her to mature quickly. She knew full well she couldn't survive alone. 

To her, Hank was a lifeline—a monster perhaps, but one she had no choice but to cling to. 

She didn't think about who he truly was, or what her fate might be at his side. 

There was no time to think. 

If she had hesitated a moment longer, he would already be gone. 

"You don't want to follow me. I swear it," Hank growled. 

Her begging made something stir within him. 

Once, long ago, he had been nothing more than an ordinary man. Even after all he had endured, he still couldn't abandon a child outright. 

Had she been older, he would have walked away without a word. 

But so small, so fragile… even if surrounded by supplies, she likely wouldn't last. 

And yet, with him, she might not be safer. Perhaps she'd be in even greater danger. 

He hesitated, then turned the key again. The car rumbled to life. 

"Wait… please, don't leave me!" 

Her voice broke into sobs as the vehicle rolled forward. She ran after him, trying to keep up. 

But the blood-slick asphalt betrayed her. After only a few steps, she slipped, crashing hard onto the ground. 

She ignored the pain in her scraped elbows, lifting her head only to watch the car grow smaller in the distance. 

The glow in her eyes faded, just like the receding headlights. 

She had already lost her home. Lost her mother. Now, as the car disappeared, she felt abandoned by the last living soul. 

Tears welled, sliding down her face. 

Slowly, she pushed herself up, staring blankly at her blood-stained arms. She couldn't even tell if the blood was hers or the zombies'. 

It didn't matter. 

Her only thought was to return to the bus, to search for fragments of her mother's body. 

To try, hopelessly, to piece her together again. 

It was all she had left. 

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