When Lancelot's father, Dave, heard Steve's words, his brows furrowed. A heavy feeling settled in his chest—he had a gut feeling that whatever Steve was about to say next would not be something good.
"So, what's your solution?" he asked in a cold voice, his eyes narrowing slightly. Deep down, he was hoping—praying—that they weren't thinking the same thing he was.
The atmosphere inside the car grew heavy, like a noose tightening around everyone's throat. Lancelot, though just a baby, could vaguely guess what was about to unfold.
'Was this… how my father died?' he thought, a deep pang of helplessness lodging in his chest. As much as he wanted to scream, to change what was coming, he couldn't. The future was already set, and he was far too weak to fight against fate.
Steve hesitated. Dave's cold voice clearly rattled him, but he still pressed on.
"Sacrifice... Sir," Steve finally muttered. "The beast… it seems to be attracted to your blood."
There was silence for a beat. Then—
"What are you insinuating?! You want to f*cking sacrifice my husband?! There is no way I'm letting that happen!" Dave's wife lashed out, her voice cracking from both fear and fury. Her eyes burned with anger and desperation.
Lancelot's blood boiled. His tiny fists clenched tightly. 'So these bastards… they're really that shameless? My father got injured trying to save them, and now this is how they repay him?'
He had already guessed it—ninety percent sure—but despite that, he still held out a sliver of hope that he was wrong. That maybe, just maybe, it didn't happen the way he feared.
But Steve's words confirmed it. That last bit of hope shattered. He was now a hundred percent sure.
Meanwhile, Dave sat silently, hands gripping the steering wheel tighter. His knuckles turned white. The beast behind them was closing in fast. Every second counted.
An angry sigh came from the backseat.
"Sir… you need to do it. I don't want to be the one to do it myself," Steve said, his voice trembling, "but you're endangering your son… your wife…"
"So, you've decided to show your true colours, huh?" Dave's cold voice cut through the air like a blade. "This is how you repay me?"
Steve and Jane froze. Their mouths hung open slightly, but no words came out. Just silence.
"If I had known it would turn out like this… I would've left you two behind for the beast to eat. I would've escaped with my family and left you to your fate!" Dave's voice now trembled with anger and pain. "You ungrateful bastards!"
"GET OUT OF MY CAR!"
"Sir, please—!"
"Sir, we didn't mean it like that—"
"Shut up!" Dave barked, his voice thunderous. "You think I'm a fool?! GET OUT OF MY CAR, BASTARDS! I'll give you ten seconds!"
The car was speeding down an abandoned highway—cars were nowhere in sight, but the road was far from empty. Zombies filled the sidewalks and even wandered onto the road. The occasional sane driver in another car would veer off in another direction the moment they spotted the terrifying beast chasing behind Dave's car. But the beast ignored everyone else, its maddened focus solely on Dave and his family.
"Ten!" Dave began the countdown.
"Nine!"
Steve and Jane were shaking now. Fear etched across their faces. They knew what kind of car they were in. They knew exactly what Dave could do with just the press of a button.
The car was a highly advanced model, built with futuristic defense mechanisms. With the remote in Dave's hand, he could open the car's roof and eject anyone out of their seat in an instant. If they chose to stand instead, the car's floor could open beneath them, dropping them to the road below—possibly to be crushed under the tires or left for the beast.
(Let me know if you want this car mechanism clarified or adjusted)
And they knew it. That's why they were terrified.
"S-Sir… y-you can't be serious… r-right?" Jane stammered, tears forming in her eyes.
But Dave ignored her. His hand held the steering wheel, the other hovering near the remote.
"Eight!"
Lancelot, still an infant, felt his heart swell with satisfaction. 'You dared to ask my father to die for you… but you're afraid to face death yourself? You think only my father should die so that you can live?'
Though he was confused why his father hadn't already gotten rid of them, he trusted that there was a reason. A plan. As for Steve and Jane, Lancelot was sure they had no bullets left—if they did, they would've already used them on his father long ago.
"Two!"
"One!"
PAA!!
A loud gunshot shattered the tense silence in the car. The deafening sound echoed violently inside the enclosed space, causing everyone to freeze.
"I didn't realize I had a shotgun with me," a voice said mockingly, laced with cruel delight.
Steve.
Everyone in the car recognized that voice instantly. But the tone… it was no longer the voice of someone afraid. It was the voice of a man who had embraced villainy. Cold. Evil. Ruthless.
Blood spurted from the back of Dave's head. A dark hole was now visible—deep, jagged, and fatal.
Dave's eyes widened, disbelief plastered across his face. His grip on the steering wheel faltered. Blood pooled in his mouth and trickled down his lips as he let out a harsh, choking cough.
When he had gone to save Steve and Jane earlier, he was so sure… so sure they had run out of bullets. He had trusted them, even after suspecting betrayal. If he had known this would happen, he would've activated the car's full defense system long ago. But now… now it was too late.
His vision darkened. Regret, disbelief, and pain consumed him. He was unwilling to die like this… not at the hands of the people he saved.
Dave died.