Regressed with Omnipotent AI on Zombie Apocalypse-Chapter 195: Escaping

After a brief moment of shock, Hank snapped back to his senses and shouted, his voice cutting through the eerie silence. He was already sprinting toward the stairs before the others could even process what was happening. They didn't need to understand—when the boss runs, you run. Without hesitation, the rest of the team bolted after him. But then... that freezing wind came again.

Like a silent predator, it swept through the hospital in an instant. Anyone caught in its icy grasp froze mid-motion. Their bodies stiffened, their skin darkened as if scorched, and then—flesh, organs, and bones turned into solid ice. One by one, they collapsed, shattering into crimson ice shards.

"Griffin! Start the damn car!" Hank was almost at the hospital doors when he bellowed toward the two teammates waiting outside in the modified truck.

At the same time, the invisible cold behind him devoured everything in its path. It was coming for him next. "Go, go, GO!" With a burst of strength, Hank lunged for the truck's door, yanking it open and jumping inside just as the freezing air licked at his heels.

The moment he slammed the door shut, the engine roared to life. The truck lurched forward, smashing through the abandoned vehicles blocking the road as it sped away. But the cold didn't stop chasing. Behind them, the streets, buildings, even stagnant puddles of water—everything was rapidly frosting over, freezing solid in seconds.

Meanwhile... A team of Fearless Warriors—battle-hardened soldiers tasked with clearing out the Immortal—had just arrived on the outskirts of the city near NYC. Their movements were loud, drawing zombies toward them as they began the cleansing operation...

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Back on the Road..."The road ahead's blocked!Take a left—NOW!" Hank, breathless from the escape, barked orders at the driver. At the same time, he glanced at the rearview mirror.

What he saw made his stomach drop. Their heavy-duty truck had just splashed through a puddle on the road. But the water droplets that flew into the air... froze instantly. The moment looked paused in time, the ice crystals glistening under the sunlight. "Shit." Hank's face went pale. "Something's chasing us."

The driver's hands tightened around the wheel. "Hank, what the hell is going on?!"

"How the hell should I know?!" Hank snapped, grabbing his shotgun from the door pocket. He rolled down the window, leaned out, and fired two shots at the empty road behind them. Pellets scattered across the asphalt, slamming into abandoned cars, cracked pavement, and rusting streetlights. Nothing. Not a single thing was there.

"Goddammit! The bullets don't even hit anything!" Even without seeing it, he knew—something was still following them. He didn't need proof. The way abandoned vehicles on the roadside were frosting over, the way the air itself felt heavy with ice—it was still there.

"Hank!!" The driver's panicked voice yanked him from his thoughts.

"What now?!" Hank growled, turning back— His heart stopped. Up ahead... A massive horde of zombies flooded the road. A corpse tide—thousands of undead, packed so tightly together that the road wasn't even visible anymore.

"Shit!" Leo, the third passenger, trembled as he stammered, "T-That's a... That's a zombie tide!" Hank's hands clenched into fists.

Blocked in front by zombies, and behind them—God knows what the hell that thing was. One thing was clear: if they stopped, they were dead.

"Griffin!" Hank barked. "Downshift and RAM THROUGH!" He didn't hesitate—more torque meant more force. If they hit the horde at full speed, they might just plow their way through without getting stuck.

Griffin gritted his teeth. "Got it, Hank!"

BOOM!

The truck's engine screamed as the modified exhaust let out a guttural roar. The reinforced steel beast charged forward, smashing into the zombie horde like a battering ram. The custom-built bumper shoveled dozens of Immortal aside in an instant.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Zombies slammed into the truck's body, bouncing off or getting impaled on the welded spikes. "ROAR!!" The horde, now aware of them, reacted instantly. The Immortal shrieked, lunging toward the vehicle from every direction, some climbing onto the sides, others throwing themselves under the wheels.

Hank twisted around, gripping the truck's metal frame as he peered through a side gap.His stomach churned at what he saw. Behind them, where the truck had just run through—a long trail of blood painted the road red.

But in the next moment... That river of blood—froze solid. The zombies chasing them froze too—in the exact same unnatural way as the ones back in the hospital. All at once, they turned into ice sculptures, their contorted screams forever trapped in frozen agony. Hank's blood ran cold. "It's still chasing us..." he whispered, voice barely above a breath.

No one needed to say anything. They all felt it. Up Ahead... Through the blood-streaked windshield, Griffin spotted something else— A new danger. "Hank!" he choked out. "There's mutated zombies up ahead!"

Hank's head snapped up. And then, he saw them. On the roundabout at the end of the street, dozens of massive figures stood in formation. Not mindless undead. These were Fearless Warriors—battle-tested mutants clad in reinforced armor, standing in a precise formation. At their center... A large suitcase-sized device hummed, vibrating at an odd frequency. A speaker. A lure blasting through the air.

Around it, dozens of Fearless Warriors stood like towering giants, wielding chain swords, their spinning teeth carving through the swarming zombies like scythes through wheat.

"There's a vehicle approaching!"

"Three survivors inside!"

"Stay alert. If they show hostility, eliminate them!"

The moment Hank's doomsday truck came into view, the warriors immediately noticed. But their mission was to clear out the Immortal—not to play babysitter. Without sparing a glance at Hank and his group, the Fearless Warriors continued their brutal work, slicing apart zombies without hesitation, without concern.

In the Truck... Griffin's hands tightened around the wheel, his knuckles going white. Something was wrong. The truck was slowing down. No matter how hard he pressed the accelerator, the engine groaned in protest, refusing to pick up speed. Metal screeched, gears whined—but the vehicle was dying.

"Shit! Hank! The engine's giving out!" Despair clung to his voice. And then—with one final, agonized wheeze— the truck stalled. Right in the middle of the zombie-infested street. Less than five meters from the roundabout.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Rotting hands pounded against the metal, smearing the windows with filth. And not far away... A three-meter-tall zombie turned its head toward them, its bloated, muscular frame moving with purpose. It was coming. Leo's breath hitched. "This is it... We're done for..."

Hank gritted his teeth. "Screw this! If we're gonna die, I'm going down fighting!" As a mutant, he had a chance. His hardened skin could resist gunfire, let alone a zombie's bite. That's why he dared to make a move.

BOOM!

Before he could even open the door, a black shadow came hurtling toward them. A massive force had launched it through the air—CRASH! It slammed onto the hood of the truck, denting the reinforced steel.