The Walking Dead

(Second season:)

The sun beats down relentlessly on a deserted highway, littered with abandoned cars, open suitcases, and the remains of lives that came to an abrupt halt. Rick's car engine sputters to a halt, followed by awkward silence from the rest of the group. One by one, the vehicles stop. All you can hear is the whistling of the wind and the crunching of stones under boots.

Rick gets out of the car, his face covered in dust and tired. He looks around: hundreds of cars blocking the road, a sea of ​​metal and rust. —“We’re out of gas…” Shane murmurs, looking at the empty gauge. No one answers. Everyone understands what that means.

Glenn opens the door of a wrecked sedan and takes out a half-full water bottle. Daryl, with his crossbow slung over his shoulder, silently scans the horizon, as if he can smell danger before he sees it.

Lori takes Carl's hand. Carol gently calls Sophia back to keep her from wandering off. The group begins searching among the cars, looking for water, food, gasoline… anything.

Suddenly, Daryl raises his hand in a signal of alert. A distant sound rises—a drag, a low moan, multiplying. Rick peeks out between the cars, and his eyes suddenly open. A horde of walkers approaches, slow and noisy, moving through the heat haze.

—“Under the cars, now!” Rick whispers.

The group hides without making a sound. Carl huddles next to his mother. Andrea trembles inside the car, holding a gun with sweaty hands. The walkers pass by, one after another, their dirty feet brushing the ground inches from their faces. A suffocating silence dominates the scene. Only the sound of moans, dragging footsteps, and the held breath of the living.

And then… Sophia runs. A whisper, a creak, and his figure disappears among the trees. Carol's heart breaks in a silent scream. The road is empty again, but nothing will ever be the same. (All in Latin American Spanish ohzi)