Girl's Doomsday Rebirth Revenge & Survive novel Chapter 392

**Doomsday Rebirth 392**
**Chapter 392: Don’t Come Over**

Nelson inhaled deeply, the air filling his lungs as he pulled down his mask for just a moment. He took in the acrid scent of decay that hung in the air, a smell he had come to associate with despair and death. With a stark, expressionless face, he pointed at the man standing before them, his voice steady but tinged with urgency. “Don’t go near him. He’s carrying the plague.”

The weight of Nelson’s words struck Caroline and Tyler like a physical blow, leaving them momentarily speechless.

At that precise moment, their eyes were drawn to the ground beside the man, where more than ten figures suddenly began to rise!

They had been lying there, motionless, resembling lifeless corpses just moments before.

Now, each one of them was pushing up from the ground, their hands reaching out desperately toward Caroline’s group. “Help me!”

“Help me!”

“Help me!”

Their raspy cries echoed hauntingly through the deserted street, a chilling chorus of despair.

As they stumbled forward, the sight was grotesque; patches of their skin were rotting away, and their emaciated bodies looked like mere shadows of human forms, resembling walking skeletons.

With each step they took, chunks of flesh and skin sloughed off, creating a horrifying spectacle that made Caroline’s stomach churn.

Nelson, maintaining his calm demeanor, gestured toward the grotesque assembly. “They’re all infected with the plague.”

With that, he swiftly pulled his mask back over his face, shielding himself from the horror.

But Caroline couldn’t help but notice something alarming. In the brief seconds that Nelson had been unmasked, angry red welts had erupted across his skin, and the texture was beginning to peel away.

Yet, thanks to his formidable mutant abilities, he healed almost instantaneously.

Within moments, his skin returned to its normal state, smooth and unblemished once again.

Instinctively, everyone began to retreat, their bodies moving as far away from the infected as possible, driven by a primal urge to escape the looming threat.

What they failed to realize was that this was not the first wave of plague victims to approach the shelter’s gates.

Just thirty minutes prior, three others had been unceremoniously dumped even closer to the entrance, their bodies limp and lifeless.

Those unfortunate souls had been dragged inside for treatment by the guards stationed at the entrance, unaware of the impending doom.

Inside the shelter’s clinic, Summer Sinclair—known to most as Dr. Sinclair—struggled to lift her arm, biting down on her lip as she gazed at the assortment of herbs laid out before her.

Her own flesh was beginning to rot, a grim reminder of the plague that was creeping ever closer.

The two soldiers who had brought in the sick were also showing signs of infection, their faces pale and eyes hollow.

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