《Restart: Dead Tomorrow》 Chapter 1: Hunger and Shadows Hugo sat in his dimly lit apartment, staring at the empty cans and crumpled food wrappers that littered his kitchen counter. Three weeks. That¡¯s how long he had managed to ration what little he had left. But now, there was nothing¡ªno more canned beans, no more instant noodles, not even a stale cracker to gnaw on. His stomach growled in protest, a sharp reminder of his dwindling chances. His apartment was on the third floor, giving him a decent view of the street below. He pulled aside the makeshift curtain and peered out. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the ruined cityscape. A few figures shambled in the distance, their movements slow and disjointed, their ragged clothes hanging loosely over emaciated frames. The sight sent a chill down his spine. He had seen them before, always wandering, never stopping, never resting. He ran a hand through his unkempt hair, his mind racing. Going outside was suicide. The undead roamed the streets, shuffling aimlessly, their chilling screams occasionally piercing the silence of the dead city. But if he stayed here, starvation would take him before they did. He had to find food. Hugo had been a cook once, before the world had turned into this rotting nightmare. A good one, too. He had made a living crafting delicate dishes, balancing flavors, ensuring every meal was a masterpiece. Now, he would settle for a can of cold soup or a crust of bread, something, anything to keep the gnawing hunger at bay. He looked at his phone. No reception¡ªcommunication had been the first thing to collapse when the virus spread. He had only 10% battery left, a small lifeline quickly draining away. The electricity had gone down a couple of days ago, though at least the water had still been running. But, he hadn¡¯t checked since yesterday. He had filled every bottle he owned and the bathtub just in case, but now he needed to confirm if it was still flowing. His eyes drifted back to the phone screen. The date read: June 12, 6 PM. Boredom was an enemy of its own. There wasn¡¯t a lot to read in his apartment¡ªmostly cookbooks and recipe collections. And he didn¡¯t want to look at those; it would be torture in his state. The only other books he had were a zombie novel¡ªwhich was definitely off the table¡ªand two books he had already read in college. He had already reread them out of sheer desperation, but they did little to distract him from his growing hunger. He couldn¡¯t even distract himself with games; his computer sat useless in the corner, just another relic of the world before. Board games? That was out of the question¡ªhe wasn¡¯t desperate enough to play alone, not yet. And making too much noise was a risk he wasn¡¯t willing to take. That left him with nothing but his thoughts, which was a dangerous place to be. His stomach twisted in hunger, and for a fleeting moment, he wondered if drinking more water would trick his body into feeling full. It was a miserable thought, but right now, it was all he had. As he got up, he grabbed a glass from the counter and twisted the faucet handle. A sinking feeling settled in his gut as he listened. The only sound was the faint creaking of the pipes¡ªnothing came out. Not even a drip. His stomach tightened. Maybe he had jinxed himself by thinking the water was still running. Now, with what he had, he estimated he could survive for at least a month. But the main problem was food. He had to formulate a plan. Going outside to find a store was dangerous, but starting with his neighbor¡¯s apartment seemed like a safer bet. It was better to start close, giving himself the option to retreat quickly if needed, rather than risk venturing outside at this hour. After some thought, he decided his best bet was the apartment next door. He hadn¡¯t heard a sound from it in weeks, which could mean it was abandoned¡ªor worse. But if there was food inside, it was worth the risk. He grabbed his backpack, shaking out anything unnecessary to make room for supplies. Taking a deep breath, he secured his prized Japanese kitchen knife in his belt. It was razor-sharp, well-maintained¡ªone of the few things he had left from his old life as a chef. He had paid a fortune for it, and over the years, it had been through a lot with him. Now, it wasn¡¯t just a tool for cooking; it was his best chance at survival. He picked up his flashlight, flicking it on and off to make sure it still worked. With no electricity, everything beyond his apartment was shrouded in darkness. The thought made his skin crawl. The silence was suffocating, and the idea of stepping into it sent a shiver down his spine. He took a steadying breath, trying to convince himself to move. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. Slowly, he cracked open his door and peered into the hallway. Pitch black. He stepped out, his footsteps silent against the concrete floor. His heart pounded, his grip tightening around the flashlight as he swung its beam across the corridor. No movement. No noise. Just the stale scent of dust and decay. He turned toward the apartment right in front of his¡ªApartment 302. He hesitated for a moment. He didn¡¯t even remember who his neighbor had been. Working in a restaurant meant he had always kept the opposite schedule of most people in the building, rarely crossing paths with them. Now, in this eerie silence, it felt strange to be stepping into a place that had once been occupied by someone he had never met. If anyone¡ªor anything¡ªwas inside, he needed to be ready to run. His pulse hammered in his ears as he reached for the doorknob. The door seemed closed, but it was slightly ajar. He pushed it open a little further, and the stench of blood and putrefaction hit him like a wall. Something had definitely died in there. He composed himself and creaked the door open further, shining his flashlight inside, ready to run. The beam illuminated flies buzzing over dust-covered furniture, but there was no sign of movement. Taking a deep breath, he decided to step in, careful not to make a sound. He closed the door behind him, sealing himself inside. At least this way, nothing could sneak up on him from the corridor. If anyone¡ªor anything¡ªwas inside, he needed to be ready to run. His pulse hammered in his ears as he reached for the doorknob. The door seemed closed, but it was slightly ajar. He pushed it open a little further, and the stench of blood and putrefaction hit him like a wall. Something had definitely died in there. He composed himself and creaked the door open further, shining his flashlight inside, ready to run. The beam illuminated flies buzzing over dust-covered furniture, but there was no sign of movement. Taking a deep breath, he decided to step in, careful not to make a sound. He closed the door behind him, sealing himself inside. At least this way, nothing could sneak up on him from the corridor. The apartment was unmistakably that of an old woman. The living room, which was visible from the entrance, was cluttered with gaudy floral wallpaper, faded from years of exposure to sunlight. A plastic-covered couch sat in the center, the cushions sunken from decades of use. A collection of porcelain figurines lined a dusty shelf, their glassy eyes seeming to watch him as he moved. A lace doily-covered coffee table stood in front of the couch, its surface cluttered with old magazines, some yellowed with age. To the right, the kitchen was cramped, its walls lined with outdated wooden cabinets. A tacky, fruit-patterned tablecloth covered the small dining table, now coated in dust. The faint scent of stale perfume lingered in the air, mingling with the putrid stench of decay. A single plate sat abandoned in the sink, its last meal long since rotted away. The apartment had two bedrooms, both doors wide open. The stench was stronger near one of them, an undeniable mix of rot and death. Hugo''s stomach churned, and he decided against checking that room first. Instead, he turned toward the kitchen. As he stepped inside, the first thing he spotted was a bowl filled with hard candy, sitting on a commode to his left. The wrappers were faded and brittle with age. The sight was almost surreal, a small remnant of normalcy amidst the decay. He scanned the room cautiously, his flashlight revealing more details¡ªthe dust-coated countertops, the worn-out linoleum floor, and a rusting faucet with a single droplet clinging to its tip, as if mocking his desperation. He had to stay focused. There might still be something useful here. He reached out and grabbed a few pieces of candy from the bowl, unwrapping one and popping it into his mouth. The sugar was stale, but it was something, a small comfort in the middle of this nightmare. Stuffing a few more into his pocket, he turned his attention to the kitchen cabinets. Carefully, he opened the first one, mindful of any sudden movements that could send objects tumbling and alert anything lurking nearby. Inside, only neatly stacked plates and glasses greeted him. He frowned and moved to the second cabinet¡ªmore dishes, untouched and useless. The third yielded the same result, only dust-covered mugs and an old teapot sitting in the back. He exhaled in frustration. So far, nothing edible. Turning toward the fridge, he hesitated before gripping the handle. He already had a bad feeling about it, but he needed to check. Bracing himself, he pulled the door open¡ªand immediately gagged. The overwhelming stench of rot and spoiled food poured out, nearly making him retch. He slammed the door shut, turning away as he wiped his watering eyes. Nothing in there was salvageable. Regaining his composure, he looked around for anything else. His eyes landed on the top of the fridge. Stretching on his toes, he reached up and felt around. His fingers brushed against something. He pulled it down¡ªan old can of chicken soup. His heart leapt. He kept searching and found a pack of crackers, slightly crushed but still sealed. After searching a little longer, he crouched and pulled open the cabinet beneath the sink. His eyes landed on a bag tucked into the corner¡ªcat food. He frowned, holding it up. If there was cat food, then maybe the cat was still around. Just as he examined the bag, a noise came from the corridor where the bedrooms were. He froze, his breath catching in his throat. Something was there. Heart pounding, he took a cautious step forward, but pain shot through his foot as he slammed his toes into a piece of unseen furniture. He clenched his jaw to keep from cursing aloud, the sudden noise echoing in the silent apartment. He stood completely still, listening. The noises from the room continued¡ªshuffling, a faint creak. Something, or someone, was definitely there. Not daring to move any closer, he swallowed and softly called out, "Here, kitty¡­" His voice was barely above a whisper, but in the eerie silence, it felt impossibly loud. The noise from the room intensified¡ªmore shuffling, a faint thump. Whatever was inside had heard him. His grip tightened around the flashlight, his muscles tensing, ready to bolt if needed. Then, just as he braced himself for the worst, a soft, familiar sound broke the silence. A meow. His breath hitched, and he spun around, the beam of his flashlight darting across the room. The light reflected off a pair of glowing yellow eyes¡ªwide, unblinking. The black cat stood there, watching him, its fur slightly raised. Relief flooded him, but it was short-lived. If the cat was here¡­ then what the hell was making noise in that room?? Chapter 2: The Awakening The cat¡¯s fur bristled as it let out a low, guttural hiss, its eyes locked on something behind Hugo. His stomach tightened. Slowly, he turned around, his flashlight trembling slightly in his grip. The old woman was moving. She had been lying on her bed, rotting in the oppressive darkness, but now she was on her feet, shambling toward him. Her skin was a sickly gray, sagging in places where decay had begun to take its toll, with patches of darkened flesh peeling away to expose yellowed bone underneath. Her nightgown, once pale blue, was now stained with dark, crusted streaks of dried blood and fluids that had seeped from her decomposing body. Her milky, unseeing eyes stared past him, sunken deep into their sockets, surrounded by blackened veins that stretched like cracks through her face. Her mouth hung slightly open, revealing gums that had receded, exposing long, uneven teeth. A thin, wet sound escaped her lips, like air struggling to pass through rotted lungs. The putrid scent of decay clung to her, thick and suffocating, filling the room with the undeniable stench of death. Her body moved with unnatural purpose, drawn by the sound of his voice, as if the last remnant of whatever she had been in life had faded, leaving only hunger behind. Hugo took an instinctive step back, bumping into the counter. The impact sent the bowl of candy toppling to the floor, shattering upon impact. The sharp crack of ceramic breaking echoed through the room, followed by the scattering of hard candies skidding across the tiles. The cat let out another hiss before darting away, disappearing into the shadows of the apartment. His pulse pounded in his ears as he tightened his grip on the flashlight, the only thing separating him from the horror advancing toward him. Hugo knew he had to act fast. His knife was still strapped to his belt, but getting close enough to use it was a risk he wasn¡¯t sure he wanted to take. His only advantage was speed. He had to get out before she reached him. The door. He turned his head just enough to glance at it. It was still closed, but the thought of opening it sent another wave of dread through him. The hallway outside was pitch black. If he made too much noise, the other things lurking in the apartment complex would hear. He was trapped between two dangers¡ªthe undead inside and the ones surely waiting beyond the door. The old woman groaned, the sound gurgling deep within her ruined throat, and lurched forward with sudden urgency. Hugo had no time to think. He had seen enough zombie movies to know the rule¡ªgo for the head. His hand darted to his belt, fingers closing around the handle of his knife. With a surge of adrenaline, he lunged forward and aimed for her face. But he missed. The blade glanced off her cheek, slicing through rotting flesh but failing to do any real damage. She lunged at him in response, her bony fingers clawing at his arm as they tumbled to the ground in a chaotic struggle. The flashlight clattered against the floor, spinning wildly and casting frantic shadows across the walls. Hugo gritted his teeth and thrashed, kicking with all his strength. He managed to twist free before she could sink her teeth into him, rolling away just as she reached for him again. He scrambled to his feet, heart hammering, and bolted for the door. His hands fumbled with the handle, but in his desperation, he yanked it open and threw himself into the dark hallway beyond. He didn¡¯t dare look back. He just ran. The hallway was pitch black. His flashlight was still on the floor in the old lady¡¯s apartment, spinning in the darkness, but he had no time to retrieve it. Stumbling forward, he felt the walls with desperate hands, trying to orient himself as his pulse pounded in his ears. Reaching his door, he fumbled for the handle, yanking at it¡ªlocked. A sinking dread gripped his chest. He had forgotten. The door locked itself when it shut, and his keys were still inside. It was a rookie mistake, one he couldn¡¯t afford in a world like this. His own stupidity sent a wave of frustration through him, but there was no time to dwell on it now. A guttural snarl echoed from the left. His breath caught as he turned his head. Shadows moved in the corridor, but the dim emergency exit sign at the far end provided just enough light to reveal the figures rushing toward him. More zombies. The noise had drawn them, and now they were closing in fast. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. Panic shot through him like electricity. He turned on his heel and bolted for the stairwell. His feet slammed against the floor, every step sending jolts of pain up his legs, but he didn¡¯t stop. The growls behind him grew louder, the sound of rotting feet slapping against the floor gaining on him. His mind raced as he ran. The hallway was too dangerous; his apartment was locked. The only place left was the roof. If he could get up there, maybe he could buy himself some time. Maybe there was a way down from the other side¡ªanything was better than getting trapped down here with the dead. As he neared the stairwell, a sudden snarl erupted from the darkness to his right. A zombie lunged at him from a side door, its rotting hands reaching for his throat. Instinct took over. Hugo threw his weight forward, shoving the undead creature with all his strength. It staggered back, colliding with the wall as he stumbled past it, his foot barely missing a loose floorboard that could have sent him sprawling. His heart pounded as he crashed through the stairwell door, taking the steps two at a time. He could hear them behind him, stumbling, but relentless. His lungs burned as he climbed higher, his muscles screaming for relief, but he couldn¡¯t stop¡ªnot now. The door to the roof was just ahead. He could make it. He lunged forward, shoving the heavy metal door open with his shoulder. It gave way, and he stumbled onto the rooftop, gasping for breath. Without thinking, he spun and grabbed the door, slamming it shut. The silence that followed was deafening. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Hugo had a moment to catch his breath. He leaned against the door, his chest rising and falling in rapid bursts, his muscles burning. The rooftop was eerily still. For a brief, fleeting second, a sliver of hope crept into his mind¡ªmaybe, just maybe, they would stop chasing him. Maybe the dead would lose interest and drift away. His muscles ached from the relentless sprint, and his lungs burned as if they had been set on fire. He had never been good with cardio, never had the endurance for this kind of exertion. He couldn¡¯t even remember the last time he had run that fast or that hard. His body screamed for rest, but there was no time to relax. He had survived¡ªfor now. For a moment, there was only silence. Then the pounding started. The door shuddered with every hit, the dead determined to reach him. Hugo was still pushing against the door, his entire body straining to keep it shut. If he let go, even for a second, they would be on him. More and more undead were piling against it, their combined weight making it nearly impossible to hold back. His eyes darted around the rooftop, desperate for anything to barricade the door with¡ªbut there was nothing. Just gravel and the vast open sky stretching above the city. No furniture, no pipes, nothing that could buy him even a few seconds. His mind raced. He was panting hard, his muscles already burning. The summer night air was warm, but a chill ran through him, not from the temperature but from the sheer terror of the moment. It was June, just past 8 PM, and the golden hues of the sunset had given way to deep blue shadows creeping over the skyline. Under any other circumstances, the evening would have been beautiful. But beauty didn¡¯t matter now. Survival did. His options were bleak¡ªstay and be torn apart or jump four floors down. His stomach twisted at the thought. The alley below was unforgiving concrete, but there were ledges, balconies a few floors down. If he aimed right, if he was lucky, maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªhe could survive the fall. A violent slam against the door jolted him back to reality. The door burst open with a deafening crash, and he was thrown aside by the sheer force of bodies pushing through. He hit the gravel hard, the impact knocking the wind out of him. Zombies spilled onto the rooftop, their weight causing them to stumble and collapse over one another in a writhing heap. There was no time to think¡ªonly to move. Scrambling to his feet, Hugo bolted toward the closest ledge, his breath ragged, heart hammering in his chest. As he skidded to a stop, dread shot through him like ice. He had chosen the wrong side. There was nothing but open air between him and the hard pavement below. No balconies, no fire escapes¡ªonly a single large garbage container on the street far beneath him. A cold sweat broke out on his skin. His body trembled as he stood at the edge of the flat rooftop, trying to summon the courage to jump. He had no other option. But as he peered over the edge, his stomach twisted in an entirely different way. Heights. He had always been afraid of heights. Just looking down made his knees feel weak, his breath shaky. The idea of jumping sent waves of nausea through him, but the alternative¡ªbeing torn apart¡ªwas far worse. Then, before he could react, a rotten hand grabbed his shoulder. He barely had time to twist before another shoved him hard. He felt the ground disappear beneath his feet. The world spun. His stomach lurched. He flailed in the air, his arms grasping at nothing. He had no time to aim¡ªno control. He felt the ground hit hard. Agony exploded through his body. He had missed the garbage container entirely. The impact sent a sharp, unbearable pain through his limbs, a sickening crunch reverberating through his skull. He knew instantly¡ªbones had shattered, organs had ruptured. The worst pain imaginable consumed him, drowning out every other sensation. He gasped, his breath coming in short, gurgling bursts. Blood filled his mouth, hot and metallic. He managed only two shallow, ragged breaths before his consciousness began to slip away. No flashes of his life. No comforting light at the end of a tunnel. Just the cold, unyielding embrace of concrete, and a body wracked with agony. Hugo died that night. Suddenly, he jolted awake in his apartment, his entire body drenched in sweat. His breath came in ragged gasps, his heart hammering in his chest. The pain¡ªthe unimaginable agony of his shattered bones¡ªstill lingered, phantom echoes coursing through his limbs. He clutched at his ribs, expecting to feel broken pieces beneath his fingers, but there was nothing. He was whole. His stomach twisted violently, nausea hitting him like a punch. He lurched forward, gagging, but his stomach was empty. Nothing came out. He remained slumped on the bed, shaking uncontrollably, his mind struggling to make sense of what had just happened. Minutes passed. Long, agonizing minutes filled with silent tears and shock. Slowly, his breathing steadied, and his mind clawed its way back to rationality. Was it a dream? It didn¡¯t feel like one. It was too vivid, too real¡ªthe sensation of falling, the unbearable pain, the way the cold concrete had swallowed him whole. That wasn¡¯t something a dream could replicate. Hands trembling, he reached for his phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up, casting a faint glow in the dim room. Battery: 10%. The same as before. His gaze drifted toward the window. Outside, the same morning sunlight bathed the city. The streets were eerily still, just as they had been before. Nothing had changed. Swallowing hard, he turned his head, scanning his apartment. The empty wrappers and instant ramen soup containers were exactly where he had left them. The mess, the dim lighting¡ªit was all identical. Every single detail. His breathing quickened as he looked down at his phone again, as if expecting the numbers to change. But they didn¡¯t. June 12, 10 AM. The same day. Again. Chapter 3: Back to the Start Hugo lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. His body trembled, though he wasn¡¯t cold. He was alive. Again. ¡°What kind of bullshit is this?¡± he muttered, his voice hoarse. His throat ached like he had been screaming, but he didn¡¯t remember doing so. He lifted his shaking hands, flexing his fingers as if expecting them to be broken, crushed¡ªanything. But they weren¡¯t. He was whole, untouched. His heart pounded against his ribs as his mind raced through the absurdity of it all. ¡°Is this hell?¡± he whispered, swallowing against the tightness in his throat. ¡°What kind of B-series horror movie am I trapped in?¡± The memory of his fall hit him like a sledgehammer. The sensation of the air rushing past him, the gut-wrenching moment he knew he had missed the dumpster, and the agony¡ªunimaginable, all-consuming¡ªwhen his body shattered on the concrete. He had died. He knew he had. There was no mistaking that pain, that finality. And yet, here he was. His phone lay beside him. He grabbed it with unsteady hands, his thumb pressing against the screen. June 12, 10 AM. The same day. Again. A dry, humorless laugh escaped him. It was an ugly sound, bitter and laced with disbelief. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to suppress the rising panic, but it clawed at him from beneath the surface. He rolled onto his side, curling in on himself, his breaths shaky. "No, no, no, no," he murmured, his fingers gripping his hair. "This isn¡¯t happening." But it was. And he had no idea what the hell to do next. After some time, he forced himself to sit up. The panic still clawed at his chest, but lying there, paralyzed by fear, wasn¡¯t going to change anything. He exhaled sharply and pushed himself to his feet. His legs felt weak, but he needed to move. He began pacing in circles around his small living room, his mind racing. He tried to piece everything together, recalling every moment that had led to his death. He had decided to leave his apartment, knowing he needed food. He had gone into the old lady¡¯s apartment first, searching for supplies. He found the soup, the crackers, the cat food. Then¡ª His breath hitched. The noise. The door. The old woman. His pacing slowed as he ran a hand through his hair. He had fought her, tried to stab her in the head like in the movies. But he had missed. He had barely gotten away, only to end up on the roof. And then¡­ the fall. A shudder ran through him as the memory of his broken body on the pavement resurfaced. He clenched his jaw, shaking his head as if trying to physically rid himself of the thought. What the hell was happening to him? He took a deep breath, forcing himself to think. He couldn''t just stay here and wait to starve. He had to do better this time. If he was going to step outside again, he needed to be prepared. His key. The thought hit him like a jolt. Last time, he had forgotten it, and it had cost him. Without hesitation, he grabbed his keyring from the counter and shoved it into his pocket. His shoes. He wasn¡¯t about to stumble around barefoot and slam his toes into furniture again. He quickly slipped them on, feeling slightly more grounded with each step. His knife¡ªhis prized Japanese blade¡ªwas a must. He retrieved it and secured it in his belt. But slashing alone wasn¡¯t enough. He needed something to bash with, something that could put distance between him and whatever came at him. His eyes scanned the apartment. There had to be something useful, something sturdy. He didn¡¯t have a baseball bat or anything obvious, but there had to be something. His gaze landed on a heavy metal pan resting on the stove. He walked over, picking it up and testing its weight in his hands. Solid. It wasn¡¯t ideal, but it could do some real damage if he swung it hard enough. He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. His first instinct was to reach for a kitchen tool¡ªprofessional deformation, he guessed. Even in a nightmare scenario like this, his mind still worked like a chef''s. What else could he bring? He needed his flashlight¡ªdefinitely. His backpack too, in case he found anything worth carrying. But what about protection? He needed something to shield himself, at least his arms. A makeshift barrier against bites or scratches. He had never been much of a sports guy, so he didn¡¯t own any protective gear. But then he remembered something from a movie¡ªtaping old magazines to his shins and forearms as improvised armor. Only problem? He didn¡¯t have any magazines. His eyes narrowed as he thought back to his previous attempt at scavenging. The old lady¡¯s apartment. He distinctly remembered seeing a stack of magazines sitting on her living room table. If he could get to them, he might just have a way to protect himself. But that was for later. He looked back at his equipment with a sense of dejection. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was all he had. The knife, the pan, his keys, and a flashlight. It felt woefully inadequate against the horrors lurking outside his apartment. But at least this time, he was thinking ahead. He had multiple objectives now. First and foremost¡ªfood. He wouldn¡¯t last long without it, and hunger made people reckless. Then, better weapons. His knife was sharp, but he needed something with reach, something that didn¡¯t require getting up close. Protection was next; duct tape was a survivalist¡¯s best friend, and in an apocalypse, it was practically gold. Reinforcing his arms and legs with makeshift armor could be the difference between life and death. And, of course, toilet paper. It wasn¡¯t a matter of survival, but in a world that had gone to hell, small comforts mattered. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. Every decision counted now, and he wasn¡¯t going to waste another chance. It was still early. Earlier than last time he had tried, which meant there would be more daylight. That gave him an advantage. Light meant visibility, and visibility meant a better chance at avoiding danger. He knew now that the roof was not a good option. It had been a death trap, and relying on it as an escape route again was out of the question. He needed a better alternative, something safer, something that wouldn¡¯t corner him like last time. His eyes drifted toward the balcony. An idea formed. He could make a backup escape route¡ªsomething that wouldn¡¯t leave him trapped. He hurried to his bedroom and yanked the sheets off his bed, then rummaged through his closet for more. He began knotting them together, pulling each knot tight, testing the strength. After several minutes, he had a makeshift rope. It wasn¡¯t perfect, but in an emergency, it could let him climb down to his neighbor¡¯s balcony below. Securing one end tightly to the balcony railing, he gave it a few strong tugs. It held firm. It would have to do. He wiped the sweat from his brow and turned his attention to his front door. Last time, when he had fled, he had nothing to slow the undead down. If he needed to get back inside in a hurry, he needed time¡ªseconds could make all the difference. He scanned the apartment for something heavy. His gaze landed on a sturdy wooden dresser. Grunting, he pushed it across the floor, inching it closer to the door. It wasn¡¯t a perfect barricade, but if he had to run back in with zombies on his heels, shoving it into place could buy him some time. With his escape plan set, Hugo exhaled, hands on his hips. It wasn¡¯t foolproof, but it was better than last time. He was learning. But the thought lingered in the back of his mind¡ªwhat if he didn¡¯t come back again? What if this was his only second chance? The memory of his last death, the unbearable pain, the way his body had shattered on the pavement, was still too fresh. He couldn¡¯t afford to make the same mistakes. He had no intention of testing whether he could come back again. Dying once had been more than enough. It was time to go. He steeled himself and moved toward the door, slipping his flashlight into his pocket. There was more daylight now than last time, making it less necessary for the moment. As he reached for the handle, a thought struck him¡ªApartment 302 had its door open when he last checked. He hadn¡¯t thought much of it at the time, but now he realized that all the other doors were likely locked, just like his had been when he forgot his keys. That meant he didn¡¯t really have a choice¡ª302 was the only apartment he could loot for supplies right now. He opened his door and cautiously peered into the corridor. It was silent¡ªtoo silent. The hallway stretched out before him, dimly lit by the weak daylight filtering through the cracks of distant windows. There was no movement, no sound. But he knew better than to let his guard down. The zombies were close. Last time, they had come down on him frighteningly fast, giving him little time to react. Just because he didn¡¯t see them now didn¡¯t mean they weren¡¯t lurking nearby, waiting for the slightest noise to set them off. He took a slow breath, steadying himself. Every step from here had to be deliberate. He stepped inside Apartment 302, careful to make as little noise as possible. The scent of rot still lingered, but he forced himself to push past it. His mind raced as he considered his next move. Should he start looting first, grab whatever supplies he could before dealing with the zombie? Or should he take care of it now, while he had the element of surprise? His eyes flickered toward the bedroom door, slightly ajar. He could just close it, trap whatever was inside, and buy himself more time. But was that really the safest option? His pulse hammered in his ears as he took a cautious step forward, moving as slowly as possible. Every movement felt exaggerated, his senses on high alert. The air inside the apartment felt thick, weighed down by the putrid stench of decay. Grimacing, he pulled the collar of his shirt over his nose, trying to block out the worst of it. It barely helped. The sour, cloying scent of rot seeped through the fabric, making his stomach churn, but it was better than nothing. He pressed his nose against the fabric, forcing himself to breathe shallowly through his mouth to keep from gagging. Reaching the door, he extended a shaky hand toward it. The wood was cool under his fingertips, slightly damp from the humidity in the sealed-off room. He swallowed hard. One wrong move, one creak too loud, and he could wake whatever was inside. His fingers curled around the edge, and he began to ease the door shut. It moved silently for the first few inches, but then¡ª A soft groan of wood against the frame made him freeze. His breath caught in his throat, his entire body rigid. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears, his heartbeat pounding against his ribs. He stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, waiting, listening. Nothing. No movement inside. He exhaled slowly and resumed pushing, millimeter by millimeter, every nerve in his body on edge. The latch was just within reach. One more push¡ª Click. The door was shut. Hugo stepped back, resisting the overwhelming urge to let out a relieved sigh. His body was stiff, his shoulders tense with anticipation. But nothing happened. No sudden bang against the door, no inhuman scream. For now, he had locked death behind that door. The real question was, for how long? He shook off the lingering tension and turned his focus to looting. First things first¡ªarmor. He moved toward the living room table, where he had previously seen the magazines. Stacking a few of the thickest ones, he quickly stuffed them into his backpack. If he could find duct tape later, he¡¯d be able to strap them to his arms and legs as makeshift protection. Next, food. He retraced his steps from before, heading toward the kitchen. The soup and crackers were exactly where he had found them last time, sitting on top of the fridge. He grabbed them and shoved them into his backpack without hesitation. He knew food wouldn¡¯t last forever, but it was enough to keep him going for now. As he crouched down to check the lower cabinets, his eyes landed on the bag of cat food tucked under the sink. The sight of it triggered something in his mind¡ªan unfinished thought from before. The cat. His breath caught as he realized he had completely forgotten about it. Last time, the cat had appeared behind him after he heard noises from the corridor. But now¡­ was it even still around? Was it even worth looking for? He had always preferred dogs, but that wasn¡¯t the point. Right now, he felt alone, and maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªsome company could soothe the gnawing isolation creeping into his mind. The idea of another living thing nearby, something that wasn¡¯t trying to kill him, felt oddly comforting. Decision made, he adjusted his backpack and prepared to look for the cat. Chapter 4: A Companion in the Dark Hugo tightened the straps of his backpack and took a steadying breath. He had made his decision¡ªhe was going to look for the cat. It was a strange priority, but in this world, where every second felt like borrowed time, the idea of having even the smallest bit of companionship felt like an anchor to his sanity.
Chapter 5: First kill Hugo sat on the edge of the couch, staring at the empty soup bowl in his hands. The warm meal had done little to ease the gnawing feeling in his stomach, both from hunger and the creeping realization that he was running out of time. His supplies were nearly gone. He couldn¡¯t wait any longer.
Chapter 6: Too much noise The apartment was deathly silent in the aftermath of the struggle. Hugo¡¯s chest heaved, his arm burned from the scratch, and his hands trembled as he gripped the blood-smeared pan. He had won, but at what cost? Chapter 7: First Kill (again) Hugo sat on the edge of his couch, running through the events of the past hours in his mind. The makeshift barricades he had built were out in the corridor. The weight of exhaustion still pressed on him, but for the first time in days¡ªmaybe weeks¡ªhe felt a sliver of control over his situation. Both stairwells were blocked. The zombies wouldn¡¯t be able to pour in from every direction like before. He had carved out a piece of safety for himself.
Chapter 8: Not like the movies Hugo stirred awake, blinking groggily as he adjusted to the dim morning light filtering through the window. He was warm, his body cocooned under his blanket, and for a fleeting second, he almost forgot where he was. Almost. Then the dull ache in his arm brought everything rushing back. He exhaled sharply, sitting up as his mind fully cleared. Salem was curled up beside him, motionless except for the slow rise and fall of his breathing. The cat¡¯s yellow eyes flicked open, watching Hugo as he moved. Without a sound, Salem hopped down from the bed and padded toward the kitchen. Hugo absentmindedly scratched his arm before pulling back his sleeve to check his wound. The bandage was still in place, slightly discolored from dried blood. His fingers hesitated before he carefully peeled it back. His heart pounded as he inspected the scratch. No redness. No swelling. No dark veins creeping up his skin. Just a wound. A plain, ordinary wound. He let out a long breath, the tension in his shoulders easing. He wasn¡¯t turning. It had been at least ten hours since the fight, and if anything were going to happen, it would have already. "Guess I¡¯m not infected," he muttered, shaking his head. "Not like the movies after all." He got to his feet, stretching his stiff limbs, and made his way to the kitchen. Salem flicked his tail and leaped onto the counter, sitting expectantly near the cupboard where Hugo kept the cat food. The silent demand was clear. Hugo chuckled despite himself. "Yeah, yeah. Breakfast." The apartment was quiet. For now, things were stable. He poured some cat food into a bowl, watching as Salem immediately began eating. Then, he turned his attention to his own meal, grabbing an apple from his dwindling stash and slicing it up. He scooped out a spoonful of peanut butter from a jar and spread it onto the slices, making a simple but satisfying breakfast. Hugo sat at the counter, slowly chewing on the apple and staring blankly at the wall. Last night, he''d decided to take a chance and sleep on the scratch. It had been a gamble, but now he had a confirmed piece of information¡ªscratches didn¡¯t turn people into zombies. That was huge. It meant he could afford minor injuries, that he didn¡¯t have to be terrified of every little scrape. But there were still too many unknowns. He needed more supplies, and now that he was relatively sure he wouldn¡¯t drop dead from infection, he could plan his next move properly. The apartment he had just cleared still had resources, and there was at least one more unit on his floor he hadn¡¯t gotten into yet. Before committing to anything, he decided to do a quick routine check. He walked over to the window, carefully pushing the curtain aside just enough to peek outside. The street below was mostly unchanged¡ªscattered debris, abandoned cars, and a few zombies shambling aimlessly. No new fires, no sudden destruction. Just the same lifeless city he had grown used to. He turned his attention to the hallway barricades next. Quietly, he unlocked his door and peeked out. The furniture he had stacked against the stairwells was still in place, and there were no signs of zombies pressing against them anymore. He waited a moment, listening, but heard nothing. That was a good sign. It meant they had moved on, at least for now. With his immediate surroundings secure, he turned to the next unpleasant task¡ªgetting rid of the bodies in the apartment next door. He couldn¡¯t leave them there to rot. Gritting his teeth, he entered the neighboring apartment, dragging a sheet from the bedroom to use as a makeshift body wrap. The first corpse was heavier than he expected, a dead weight that resisted every movement. He grunted as he pulled it across the floor, its limp limbs flopping with sickening looseness. He avoided looking at the face. Once he had it wrapped, he hauled it toward the window, pausing only to check the street below. The coast was clear. With a deep breath, he heaved the body over the edge. It fell silently at first, then landed with a sickening crunch on the pavement below. His stomach twisted, but he forced himself to move on. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. The second body was smaller but just as unsettling. He repeated the process, trying to ignore the way its limbs dangled unnaturally as he dragged it to the window. Another drop, another crunch. It was done. Hugo leaned against the wall, exhaling sharply. He felt grimy, exhausted, but lighter now that the apartment was cleared. At least now, it wouldn¡¯t stink up the place. He took another glance outside. Still no movement. Good. His next objective was forming in his mind. Loot the locked apartment. See if it had anything worthwhile. Maybe he could find another weapon, something more reliable than a frying pan and a kitchen knife. He needed to be better prepared if he was going to clear the building. Time to see what was behind that locked door. Hugo returned to his apartment and grabbed the toolbox he had looted earlier. He took out a screwdriver and a pry bar, weighing his options. If he could wedge the screwdriver into the doorframe and create enough leverage with the pry bar, he might be able to force it open without too much noise. He stepped into the hallway, making sure to move quietly. The locked apartment was just a few feet away. He pressed his ear against the door, listening for any movement inside. Nothing. That was a good start. He crouched down, wedging the screwdriver between the door and the frame, trying to create a gap wide enough to fit the pry bar. His hands worked carefully, aware that too much force could break the wood and cause a loud crack. He gritted his teeth as he applied slow, steady pressure, feeling the frame give slightly under the tension. A soft creak escaped as the wood shifted. Hugo froze, his breath catching. He waited, listening. No sounds from the hallway. No movement from inside. Encouraged, he pressed forward, working the pry bar into place. The lock was cheap¡ªnothing heavy-duty. With a little more effort, he felt the final resistance give way. The door popped open just an inch. Hugo held his breath and nudged it open further, peering inside. Darkness. Silence. He tightened his grip on his knife and stepped inside, ready for whatever was waiting beyond the threshold. What he found was better than he could have hoped for. The apartment was untouched. It was the cleanest, best-stocked place he had seen since this all started. The decor was different¡ªmore rugged, a distinctively masculine feel to it. Leather furniture, heavy wooden cabinets, and a faint lingering scent of oil and metal. A biker¡¯s apartment. Hugo''s eyes immediately landed on a black leather jacket hanging from a coat rack. He stepped closer, running his fingers over the thick material. It was sturdy, durable¡ªa perfect makeshift armor if he reinforced it. With magazines taped around his forearms underneath, it could protect him from bites and scratches. Beside it, he spotted something even better¡ªa full-face black motorcycle helmet. His breath hitched. A solid, protective helmet. If he got hit, it wouldn¡¯t be a death sentence. He picked it up, weighing it in his hands. This was a jackpot. He moved to the kitchen, rifling through the cabinets. More food than he had found anywhere else. Canned goods, dried pasta, jerky¡ªlots of jerky. It was the best haul yet, and he wasted no time stuffing his bag. Moving deeper inside, he spotted a baseball bat leaning against the wall, its surface slightly worn but still solid. Grinning, he picked it up. Finally, a real weapon. Near the closet, he found a large green army duffle bag, half-unzipped, revealing more supplies¡ªclothes, tools, even some first-aid items. Hugo exhaled, shaking his head. "Man, whoever you were, you were prepared. Thank you." After gathering his loot, Hugo carefully carried everything back to his apartment. He set the bag down and took a deep breath. Wasting no time, he began organizing. Food in the kitchen, medical supplies in the bathroom, weapons near the door. Then he turned his attention to his new gear. He slid into the leather jacket, feeling its weight settle over his shoulders. It was snug but durable. He grabbed a pair of jeans and, using the duct tape he had scavenged earlier, began reinforcing them. He carefully positioned thick magazines around his forearms and shins, securing them tightly with layers of duct tape. The extra weight was noticeable, but the added protection was worth it. He flexed his arms, testing his mobility. It wasn¡¯t perfect, but it was a hell of a lot better than before. Next, he dug through his supplies, assembling a makeshift first aid kit for his backpack. He packed bandages, alcohol wipes, painkillers, and the antibiotics he had found earlier. If he got hurt again, he needed to be able to treat himself immediately. Then, he turned his attention to the baseball bat. He pulled out a box of nails from his toolbox and began hammering them through the head of the bat, angling them outward. It was crude, but it would make each swing more devastating. He smirked, gripping the weapon with satisfaction. "Looks straight out of a movie," he muttered. By the time he was done, his apartment felt more like a preparation zone than a hiding place. He glanced at Salem, who had taken a seat on the counter, silently watching him. "Not bad, huh?" he said. The cat blinked slowly in response. For the first time in a while, Hugo felt ready. He wasn¡¯t just surviving anymore. He was preparing for whatever came next. Before leaving, Hugo took a moment to look at himself in the mirror near the door. The black leather jacket, reinforced jeans, the makeshift armor of magazines taped tightly to his arms and legs¡ªit made him look prepared. Dangerous, even. The motorcycle helmet rested beside him, ready to go. His baseball bat, now lined with jagged nails, hung at his side, and his Japanese kitchen knife was secured in his belt. For the first time since this nightmare began, he felt ready. Strong. "Alright," he murmured to himself. "Let¡¯s do this." With his gear ready, Hugo finally left his apartment, descending the stairs with a newfound sense of confidence. The grip of the bat was firm in his hands, and each step down felt like progress¡ªlike he was finally taking control of his situation. The moment he turned a corner on the stairwell, he spotted a lone zombie lingering on the landing below. It stood still, almost as if waiting for him. Grinning, Hugo tightened his grip on the bat. "Alright, let¡¯s see what this baby can do." He stepped forward, swinging hard. The bat connected with the zombie¡¯s skull, but instead of a clean hit, the nails embedded deep into the bone, lodging it in place. The force of the impact made Hugo stumble slightly. He tried to yank the bat free, but the zombie lurched toward him, snarling. Cursing, he struggled to pull it out, but it was stuck. The undead clawed at him, its movements jerky and erratic. Hugo barely managed to shove it back with his boot, sending it crashing against the stair railing. With no other option, he let go of the bat and drew his knife in a swift motion. With a quick thrust, he buried the blade into the side of its head. The zombie stiffened, then collapsed, motionless. Panting, Hugo stared at his bat, still wedged in its skull. "Great. Just great." Maybe the nails weren¡¯t such a brilliant idea after all. Chapter 9: No nails this time
Hugo sat back against the wall, staring at the lifeless zombie sprawled across the stairwell landing. His bat still stuck in its skull, useless for now. He shook his head with a smirk. "Alright, maybe not the best idea," he muttered to himself, rolling his shoulders. Despite the setback, he felt good. No¡ªhe felt invincible. Fully geared, armored, and with a solid understanding of how to fight these things, Hugo knew he had an edge now. He was ready to take back some ground. But first, a nap. The idea of resting before going in felt strategic. Like a video game where you saved before heading into a boss fight. If things went wrong, he could always try again. His body was tired, but strangely, his mind was racing. Sleep didn¡¯t come as easily as he expected. The adrenaline still buzzed in his veins, keeping him on edge even in the safety of his apartment. Lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling, he let his thoughts wander. He hadn¡¯t considered it much before, but the thought of dying again unsettled him. The resets were real, sure, but what if there was a limit? What if one day he just didn¡¯t wake up? That thought lodged itself in his brain like a splinter, refusing to let him drift off. Eventually, exhaustion won out, and he slipped into a restless sleep. A sound woke him¡ªsomething outside his window. He sat up instantly, every nerve in his body on alert. Shuffling noises, but different from the usual undead. Lower to the ground. Sniffing. He cautiously moved toward the window, peering through the gap in the curtain. At first, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. A dog. But something was wrong with it. Its fur was patchy, its mouth too wide open, tongue lolling as if it were overheating. Its chest rose and fell too rapidly, as though breathing wasn¡¯t natural anymore. And then it turned its head abruptly, revealing milky white, lifeless eyes. Hugo¡¯s stomach dropped. "Oh, shit..." The virus had mutated. If it could infect animals now, things were about to get a whole lot worse. His mind scrambled for an explanation. He remembered the last time he had seen the news, before everything collapsed. Reports were still coming in, theories bouncing between networks. At first, the outbreak was thought to be some kind of rabies variant¡ªhighly aggressive, fast-spreading, but limited to humans. The world was still laughing nervously about it, comparing it to old zombie movies. Then came the leaks. A whistleblower, a scientist from a high-security biolab in Europe, had come forward, claiming the virus was man-made. An experimental pathogen designed for... what? Hugo never found out. By then, the world was already unraveling. The news stopped, the networks fell silent, and the only thing left was the chaos outside. But one thing had been certain¡ªback then, the virus wasn¡¯t supposed to jump species. Three weeks. That¡¯s all it had taken to mutate. That was terrifyingly fast. His mind flashed back to the first days, the ones before everything fell apart. Hugo had been at work when it started. The lunch rush was just settling down, and the smell of sizzling meat and garlic filled the kitchen. The restaurant TV was on in the background, playing a news anchor reporting on growing civil unrest. More lockdowns were being suggested. More caution. But people were already getting tired of caution. His coworker, Jeremy, had been the first to point out that something was really off. ¡°Dude, check this out.¡± If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Hugo had turned, wiping his hands on his apron, and looked at the screen. The news feed had cut to live footage¡ªpeople running, screaming, an aerial shot of a city street clogged with cars and bodies. Police were trying to form a barricade, but something was wrong. The rioters weren¡¯t just fighting. They were attacking. Biting. Then, the camera zoomed in. A man¡ªblood covering his mouth¡ªlunging at an officer and dragging him to the ground. Hugo had felt the first pang of real fear then. Within hours, the restaurant had closed. The streets outside had started emptying, people rushing to stockpile supplies or hunker down. The first confirmed cases of whatever this was had popped up in the city by nightfall. Within two days, the hospital was overrun. By the end of the week, society had collapsed. Hugo snapped back to the present, his breath slow and steady as he forced himself to focus. That was then. This was now. And now, things had gotten even worse. The zombie-dog outside sniffed the air, its head tilting as if listening for something. Hugo held his breath, gripping the handle of his knife. If it could smell him, would it react the same way as the others? Were animal zombies faster? Smarter? He had no idea. And he really didn¡¯t want to find out the hard way. Hugo took a deep breath and forced himself to focus. He needed to get back to what he could control. The nails in his bat had been a terrible idea, and now was the time to fix that mistake. He pried each one out carefully, wincing at the effort. The bat was solid, still a good weapon, but now at least it wouldn¡¯t get stuck in skulls. With his bat fixed, he slung his backpack over his shoulder and carefully made his way downstairs. The lower floors were darker, the power long since dead, leaving only dim light filtering through cracks in boarded-up windows. The corridor was cluttered with overturned furniture, abandoned belongings, and dried streaks of blood. He moved cautiously, ears straining for any sound. Then, he spotted movement¡ªtwo zombies at the far end of the hallway, partially obscured by shadow. One was hunched over, gnawing on something. The other stood motionless, as if waiting. Hugo¡¯s pulse quickened. He had the advantage of surprise, but he needed to be smart. Bait one, take it out fast, then deal with the second. He picked up a small can from the floor and tossed it further down the hall. The clang echoed through the silence. As expected, the hunched zombie jerked its head up and stumbled toward the sound. Hugo gripped his bat tightly, waiting as it shambled closer. Just as it passed the nearest doorway, he swung hard, catching it across the side of the skull. The impact sent it reeling, but it didn¡¯t go down. Snarling, it turned toward him, arms outstretched. Hugo took another swing, this time with more force, and the second hit sent it crashing into the floor, motionless. He barely had time to catch his breath before the second zombie lunged from the darkness. It was faster than he expected. Hugo barely managed to sidestep, raising his bat in defense as it clawed wildly at him. He stumbled back, nearly tripping over the first corpse. With no room to swing, he shifted his grip and drove the end of the bat straight into its face like a battering ram. The zombie staggered but kept coming, its jaw snapping inches from his arm. Desperate, Hugo swung low, smashing its knee. The moment it buckled, he brought the bat down on its head with everything he had. The silence that followed was deafening. Hugo stood there, panting, his arms shaking from exertion. Two more down. But there were plenty more to go. He approached the apartment closest to the stairwell. The door was locked, just as he expected. He retrieved his screwdriver and pry bar, repeating the same method he had used before. It took a little effort, but with a few careful tugs and a solid push, the lock gave way. The apartment had once belonged to a family. He could tell from the scattered remnants of a normal life¡ªa toy car abandoned in the hallway, a framed photo left on a table, a child¡¯s drawing pinned to the fridge. But there was no one here. The family had left, and they had taken anything valuable with them. The living room was sparsely furnished now, but the space was still lived-in, the kind of place that had once been filled with warmth. A few open drawers and missing electronics told him they had left in a hurry, taking what they could carry. Hugo made his way to the kitchen first. He opened the cabinets, scanning for anything useful. Most of the shelves were empty, but he managed to find a few forgotten cans of food¡ªa small victory. In the pantry, there was a bag of rice, half-full, and some salt. Not much, but he¡¯d take what he could get. Moving into the bedrooms, he found the master bedroom stripped almost entirely bare. The closet was open, a few scattered hangers left behind. The bed had been hastily pulled apart, as if someone had been searching for something in a rush. The child¡¯s room was similar. The bed was unmade, and a few stuffed animals remained, their owners long gone. A small bookshelf stood against the wall, filled with children''s books. Hugo hesitated, then reached for one. He flipped through it absentmindedly before putting it back. Not useful, but a reminder that someone had lived here. That people had dreams here, plans. Now, it was just another empty home. He exhaled, adjusting his backpack. At least he had found some food. He had what he came for. He made one last sweep of the apartment before heading back to the hallway. After looting the last apartment, the sun had dipped lower, casting long shadows through the cracked windows. The building was getting darker, but Hugo decided to push his luck and try one more door. He approached another apartment, this one near the stairwell. Like the others, it was locked, but he knew the drill by now. He retrieved his screwdriver and pry bar, wedging them into the frame. A few precise tugs, and with a sharp crack, the lock gave way. The door creaked open, revealing a starkly different sight from the last home. This wasn¡¯t a family¡¯s residence. The place was practically empty, almost barren. The furniture was sparse¡ªjust a single camping chair, a mattress on the floor, and an old TV with a cracked screen. Whoever lived here hadn¡¯t had much to begin with. Hugo stepped inside cautiously. The walls were bare, no pictures, no decorations. A pile of empty food wrappers sat near the mattress, and a few discarded beer cans were lined against the wall. It was clear¡ªthe tenant had lived simply, maybe scraping by just before everything fell apart. He moved through the small apartment, checking the kitchenette first. The fridge was empty, long since defrosted, but in one of the cabinets, he found a few cans of cheap soup and an unopened bottle of water. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was something. The bedroom, if it could even be called that, had little more than the mattress. No dresser, just a pile of clothes in the corner. Hugo rifled through them, but there was nothing useful. The only other thing of interest was a flashlight, and a box of matches. He let out a quiet exhale. "Better than nothing." After one final sweep, he packed what he could carry and made his way back toward the door. The building was getting eerily quiet now, the kind of silence that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. It was time to head back before he pushed his luck too far.
Chapter 10: Routine Hugo woke up feeling more in control than he had since this nightmare began. The last few days had been a whirlwind of survival, fighting, and barely scraping by. But now, for the first time, he wasn¡¯t just reacting¡ªhe was planning, preparing. It was time to take the next step. The world outside was still chaos, but inside his apartment, he could create order. The first thing he did was establish a routine. It wasn¡¯t much, but it gave him a sense of stability. Every morning, he started with a workout¡ªpush-ups, sit-ups, squats. His body needed to be stronger, more resilient. He had no idea how long he would be stuck in this time loop, but if he was going to keep dying and coming back, he at least needed to be better prepared each time. After exercising, he cleaned his equipment. His knife was wiped down, his bat inspected for any cracks, and his makeshift armor adjusted. The magazines taped around his arms and legs were a crude defense, but they had already proven useful. His apartment had to remain a stronghold, so he also dedicated time to maintenance. He reinforced his barricades, making sure nothing had shifted overnight. His makeshift rope of bedsheets tied to the balcony was still in place¡ªhis emergency escape plan if things went south. Every piece of furniture he had used to block the stairwells was checked and adjusted if needed. After his morning routine, he took the time to patrol his floor. He moved quietly, bat in hand, checking each apartment door, listening for sounds of movement. Most of the zombies in the complex were accounted for¡ªhe had killed several, trapped one, and had a rough estimate of how many remained. But he couldn¡¯t afford to be careless. He also kept an eye on the outside world. He spent time each day at his window, observing the streets below. The patterns of the undead were becoming clearer¡ªwhen they moved, how they reacted to noise, where they clustered. The world might be dead, but it still had rules, and Hugo was learning them. As the day passed, he felt a growing sense of confidence. He wasn¡¯t just surviving anymore¡ªhe was preparing for whatever came next. After two days, he decided to go downstairs. He still had enough food for a couple more days, but it was getting low, and he knew he couldn¡¯t wait until starvation forced him out. He moved carefully down the stairwell, bat in hand, trying to be quiet. The air was thick with dust, the faint smell of decay lingering. The hallway below was dim, only small slivers of light breaking through the boarded-up windows. The silence made his pulse quicken¡ªtoo quiet. Too still. Then, as he took another step, something lunged at him from the darkness. The weight hit him hard, slamming him into the railing. He barely had time to raise his bat before gnashing teeth snapped just inches from his throat. His mind went blank with pure survival instinct. Hugo grunted, twisting his body to shove the thing back, but it was relentless, clawing and thrashing at him. He swung the bat in a desperate arc, smashing it into the zombie¡¯s side. It barely staggered. A flash of pain erupted in his ribs as the undead¡¯s flailing limbs struck him hard. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs. Panic surged through him. He gritted his teeth and swung again¡ªthis time, he aimed for the head. The bat connected with a sickening crunch, sending the creature reeling backward. He didn¡¯t hesitate. Hugo stepped forward and brought the bat down again, hard, until the writhing stopped. His breath came in ragged gasps as he stepped back, pressing a hand to his side. A nasty bruise was already forming along his ribs, pain radiating with every breath. Carelessness had almost cost him. Leaning against the wall, he forced himself to focus. The floor below was dangerous, more than he had thought. If he wanted to make it through this, he needed to be smarter. Still clutching his side, Hugo moved toward the next apartment, deciding against entering the one directly below his own. He had heard noises from there yesterday, and he wasn¡¯t ready to deal with whatever was inside. The next apartment was locked, but he had gotten good at breaking in by now. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. Pushing the door open cautiously, he stepped inside. This apartment was different¡ªneat, but minimal. A few posters on the walls, a collapsible table pushed against the wall, and an air mattress instead of a bed. There were several biking-related items scattered around¡ªhelmets, gloves, and a bike pump in the corner. A glance toward the kitchen confirmed what he had hoped for. The previous tenant had stocked up on food. Cans of beans, pasta, protein bars, and bottled water. Not an endless supply, but more than enough to make this trip worth it. He loaded his backpack carefully, making sure to distribute the weight evenly. Then he spotted it¡ªthe real jackpot. Against the wall near the entrance sat a sleek, well-maintained bicycle, complete with a mounted storage rack and reinforced tires. This wasn¡¯t just any bike; this was the kind used by couriers who raced through the city, dodging traffic like it was second nature. Hugo ran a hand over the handlebars. "This could be useful." The final find was an old, folded map of the city pinned to the fridge. He grabbed it, unfolding it carefully. The previous owner had marked several routes¡ªlikely shortcuts and safer paths they had used while working. He studied it for a moment before tucking it into his bag. This was a win. He had food, a faster way to move around, and information that could give him an advantage in the city. With his backpack full and his ribs aching, Hugo took one last look around before heading back out. This time, he moved with more caution. He had gained something valuable today, and he wasn¡¯t about to lose it by making another stupid mistake. It was time to head back. Back in his apartment, Hugo laid out the map on the kitchen table, smoothing out the creases. He scanned the area surrounding his complex, taking note of key locations¡ªsupermarkets, corner stores, gas stations. The previous owner had marked some areas with notes, likely places they had delivered to frequently. His original plan had been to fully loot his apartment complex before venturing outside, and now he was sure it was the best approach. There could be weapons, supplies, or anything else that might increase his chances of survival. A firearm would be ideal¡ªsomething to keep him safe when the bat wasn¡¯t enough. Beyond that, he needed to think about the long term. Water was his biggest concern. Could he set something up on the roof to collect rainwater? Maybe even a small garden up there? It wasn¡¯t like he was leaving anytime soon. His fingers tapped on the map thoughtfully. He needed to secure the present before planning for the future, but it felt good to have a future to plan for. The next morning, Hugo set out with a new goal¡ªclearing more of the apartment complex. If he wanted any chance of securing his long-term survival, he needed to make this building safe. The idea of finding a firearm was still fresh in his mind, and it kept him motivated. He moved carefully through the halls, trying to lure out any undead that might be lingering. He managed to isolate one¡ªa lanky man with sunken cheeks and torn clothes. It was slow, stumbling towards him, and Hugo easily dispatched it with two precise strikes to the skull. The second zombie he encountered was a different story. A massive man, once obese but now horrifyingly bloated and swollen, shuffled towards him. His flesh sagged unnaturally, and every step sent a wave of putrid stench into the air. Hugo braced himself and swung his bat hard into its temple. It barely flinched. His stomach dropped as the zombie lurched forward, swinging its thick arms wildly. Hugo dodged just in time, feeling the rush of air as the heavy limb narrowly missed him. He struck again, aiming for the knee this time. The zombie collapsed with a groan but kept crawling toward him, its thick fingers clawing at the floor. Panting, Hugo raised his bat again and brought it down with everything he had. Again. And again. It took five full-strength hits before the skull finally caved in, and the thing stopped moving. His arms burned from the exertion, his breath came in short gasps, but he had won. Two more down. He wiped sweat from his forehead, stepping back to take in his surroundings. Hugo decided it was time to reinforce the building further. His goal was to secure one floor at a time, ensuring his safety before expanding outward. He started by barricading the second-floor stairwell completely. Dragging a heavy dresser from one of the apartments, he wedged it firmly against the stairway entrance, ensuring there was no way anything could push through. He reinforced it with a bookshelf, stacking it with training weights to add significant heft. Then, to make sure nothing could climb over, he pulled in a wooden table and angled it across the top, filling any remaining gaps. For the remaining stairwell, he needed a quick and effective way to control access. He found a metal bar from a closet rod and wedged it against the door handle, making it difficult to open from the other side. This would be the only way he traveled between floors from now on. After securing the second floor, Hugo turned his focus to another crucial issue¡ªwater. The taps had already run dry, and there was no chance of them coming back. If he didn¡¯t prepare, he¡¯d be in real trouble soon. He gathered every pot, bowl, and container he could find from the emptied apartments and carried them up to the rooftop. Once there, he arranged them in a wide spread, making sure they were positioned to catch as much rain as possible. Some he placed directly under the drainage points where water would naturally collect, hoping to maximize efficiency. As he worked, he thought about long-term solutions. Could he build a proper rain catchment system? Maybe using plastic sheeting from some of the abandoned apartments to direct water into a larger basin? It was something to consider. With water somewhat addressed, he turned to another long-term issue¡ªfood. A garden could be a game-changer if he could get it started. He began searching through the apartments, hoping to find anything he could use. There were no seeds or vegetables to plant, but he managed to collect several flower pots, planters, and bags of soil. It was a start. He had never kept a garden before and had no idea what season was best for which vegetables, but he figured he could learn. Maybe there was a book or something in one of the apartments that could help. For now, it was about setting up the space and preparing for when he did find something worth planting. For now, this would have to do. He stood back and surveyed his work, satisfied that he was taking another step toward true survival. If the rain ever came, and if he could eventually find something to grow, he''d be ready. That evening, Hugo prepared a simple but warm meal, enjoying a quiet moment with Salem. The cat sat by his side, watching him cook with curious eyes as he boiled some instant noodles and added what little seasoning he had. It wasn¡¯t gourmet, but it was enough to make him feel accomplished. As he ate, he reflected on everything he had done that day. The barricades, the water collection, the makeshift garden. He was building something sustainable, something that could last. For the first time in a long while, he felt proud of himself. Just as he was about to turn in for the night, a distant explosion rocked the city. The walls trembled slightly, and Hugo sat up in alarm. Salem¡¯s ears perked up, the cat shifting uneasily. He rushed to the window, unlatching and pushing it open. A faint glow flickered in the distance, smoke rising against the night sky. "What the hell was that...?" he muttered, gripping the windowsill. From down below, a gruff voice broke the silence. "My thoughts exactly." Hugo''s breath caught. He wasn¡¯t alone. Chapter 11: Neighbor Hugo stared out the window for a long moment, his grip tightening on the frame. His heart was still pounding, but now it wasn¡¯t just from the explosion¡ªit was from the voice he had heard below. Another survivor. He wasn¡¯t alone. Closing the window, he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. That should¡¯ve been good news, but instead, his stomach twisted into knots. People were unpredictable. He had no idea what kind of man lived in that apartment below him, only that he had survived this long. That alone meant something. What if he was aggressive? Hugo had made it this far, only to be taken out by a paranoid neighbor? That would be a hell of a way to go. He glanced over at Salem, who was now curled up on the couch, completely unfazed. "Guess I¡¯m waiting until morning," Hugo muttered. There was no point in pushing his luck now. He needed to approach this carefully. Sleep didn¡¯t come easy that night. Every time he closed his eyes, he imagined the worst. A crazed old man, ready to put an end to anyone who came near him. A bitter recluse who saw everyone as a threat. It was too much to process. Morning arrived too soon, but Hugo had already made his decision. He was going to talk to the neighbor. After going through his routine, he geared up, making sure he had his knife at his side¡ªnot to use it, just in case things went south. Then, he made his way downstairs. Standing in front of Apartment 201, Hugo took a deep breath and knocked. No answer. He knocked again, this time a little louder. "Hey, I know you¡¯re in there. I heard you last night. I just want to talk." Silence. Hugo shifted uncomfortably. Maybe the guy really wasn¡¯t interested in conversation, but it was worth trying. "Look, I¡¯m not looking for trouble. Just figured it¡¯d be good to know each other. We¡¯re the only two people left here." A gruff voice finally came from inside. "Fuck off." Hugo blinked. Well, that was direct. He sighed, running a hand down his face. "Listen, man, I get it. You don¡¯t trust people. I don¡¯t either. But we¡¯re stuck here. We don¡¯t have to be friends, but we should at least¡ª" A deafening bang cut him off. Pain exploded in his chest before he even registered what had happened. The impact knocked him backward, and for a split second, he felt weightless before crashing onto the floor. His vision blurred, his breath came in ragged gasps, and warmth spread across his torso. His hand shakily reached for the wound. Blood. A lot of it. The door remained shut. No hesitation. No remorse. Hugo choked on his own breath, his body growing colder by the second. The last thing he saw was the ceiling, the cracks running through it, before everything went dark. Hugo jolted awake, gasping for breath, his hands clutching at his chest in pure panic. He scrambled upright, his heart hammering as he realized where he was. His apartment. His couch. Salem stretched lazily beside him, oblivious to the sheer horror Hugo had just relived. "That bastard!" Hugo shouted, his voice raw with anger. "He shot me!" If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. Adrenaline surged through him as he swung his legs off the couch, rage boiling over. He wasn¡¯t going to let this slide. Storming out of his apartment, he took the stairs two at a time, his hands clenched into fists. He didn¡¯t care about being careful anymore. He was done playing nice. He reached Apartment 201 and pounded on the door. "Hey, old man! Open up! You wanna shoot me again? Come on, do it to my face this time!" Silence. Hugo¡¯s patience snapped. "You think you¡¯re the only one left who matters?! We could help each other, but no¡ªyou just sit in there and shoot at people like a damn coward!" Another deafening bang echoed through the hall. Pain tore through his body. His legs gave out, and he collapsed to the floor. Blood pooled around him, the world spinning violently out of focus. As darkness crept in once more, his last thought was bitter and furious. That old bastard shot him again. Hugo woke with a sharp intake of breath, his body tensing instinctively. The now-familiar sensation of being yanked back from the brink of death left him shaking, disoriented, and filled with frustration. He groaned, pressing his hands against his face. "Goddamn it." His muscles still burned with phantom pain, his mind racing. Going in hot was clearly the wrong move. He had let his anger get the better of him, and he had paid for it. He pushed himself up, exhaling slowly, forcing himself to think. If he was going to deal with the neighbor, he needed to be smart about it. Rushing in and yelling wasn¡¯t going to work. From now on, he wouldn¡¯t stand in front of that door. He had to assume the old man would shoot first and not ask questions later. Hugo rubbed his temples, thinking. What was the right approach? He needed information. If he couldn¡¯t talk to the guy directly, maybe he could observe him, learn his habits. Did he ever leave his apartment? Was there another way to communicate? Hugo sat back on the couch, Salem hopping onto his lap, tail flicking. The cat, at least, didn¡¯t seem concerned about their grumpy neighbor. "Alright, old man," Hugo muttered, stroking Salem¡¯s fur absentmindedly. "Let¡¯s see what makes you tick." This wasn¡¯t over. But next time, he¡¯d be ready. Hugo took a deep breath and went downstairs for the third time, but this time, he had a plan. He knocked on the door and immediately stepped to the side, pressing himself against the wall next to the frame, out of the line of fire. "My name is Hugo," he called out calmly. "I live upstairs. I¡¯ve got a cat named Salem. I just want to talk." Silence. "If you don¡¯t want to talk, I get it," Hugo continued. "But if you need food or water, I¡¯m leaving some here. No strings attached. Just in case." Carefully, he set down a water bottle and a small pack of food in front of the door. He glanced at it for a moment, then took a step back. "I¡¯ll check back tomorrow," he added. "No pressure. Take care." With that, he turned and walked away, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease just slightly. He had done what he could for now. Back in his apartment, he settled into his usual routine, checking the barricades, maintaining his supplies, and keeping an eye on the outside world. Feeling emboldened, Hugo decided to scout the first floor. As soon as he stepped onto the landing, he froze. A massive cluster of zombies turned toward him, their vacant eyes locking onto their next meal. They screamed and charged. Hugo barely had time to react before they were upon him. He swung his bat wildly, the weapon cracking against skulls, but it wasn¡¯t enough. Hands clawed at him, yanking at his arms and legs as he kicked out desperately, sending a few of them stumbling back. He spun and bolted toward the stairwell, shoving a zombie aside as he ran. He reached the door, slammed it shut, and threw his weight against it, but the horde was too strong. The door burst open as the first zombie barreled through. With a roar, Hugo swung his bat straight into its head, caving it in. The body collapsed, blocking the entrance for a brief second, but the others shoved past it, surging forward. Panting, Hugo turned and ran toward Apartment 201, pounding on the door. "Let me in! Please! They¡¯re right behind me!" No response. His eyes flicked downward. The food and water were gone. Then the horde was on him. They tore into him, pulling him down, teeth sinking into his flesh. The pain was indescribable. He fought, but there were too many, the sheer weight of them crushing him to the cold floor. Agonized screams filled the air, then silence. Hugo woke up for the fourth time that day, gasping, his body drenched in sweat. That had been far worse than getting shot. The sensation of being torn apart still lingered in his mind, the memory making his stomach churn. Getting shot? That was quick. Getting eaten alive? That was a nightmare. At least something good had come of it¡ªthe old man had taken the food and water. That meant some part of him was willing to accept help, even if he refused to admit it. With a groan, Hugo sat up, rubbing his face. He had to do it all over again. Sighing, he grabbed a bottle of water and some food, making his way downstairs. This time, he would introduce himself properly. He knocked on the door and quickly stepped to the side, out of the line of fire. Taking a deep breath, he spoke, keeping his voice steady and calm. "Hey, I don¡¯t know if you can hear me, but my name is Hugo. I live upstairs. Used to be a cook before all this mess started. I¡¯ve been surviving up there, clearing the building out little by little. I have supplies, food, and water, but I know those things won¡¯t last forever." He hesitated for a second before continuing. "I have a cat too. His name¡¯s Salem. Not much of a talker, but he¡¯s good company. Figured I¡¯d mention him since he¡¯s the only other living thing I¡¯ve got with me." Hugo exhaled slowly. "I don¡¯t know what kind of man you are, and I¡¯m not asking you to be my friend. But we¡¯re both here, in the same building, and that means we¡¯ve got to look out for each other. Or at the very least, not shoot each other." He set the bottle of water and food down in front of the door. "I¡¯m leaving this here. No strings attached. If you don¡¯t want it, fine. If you do, that¡¯s fine too. I¡¯ll check back tomorrow." He lingered for a moment, but as expected, there was no response. That was okay. He wasn¡¯t expecting one. As he turned to head back upstairs, his footsteps echoed in the empty hallway, the silence pressing down on him. Just as he reached the first step, he heard it¡ªa faint creak of hinges. His body went rigid. For the first time, the neighbor opened his door. Hugo didn¡¯t dare turn around too quickly. He knew better than to startle a man who had already shot him twice. Instead, he slowly turned his head just enough to catch a glimpse. The door was only open a crack, the dim light from within casting a sliver of illumination into the darkened hallway. A shadow moved behind the door, barely visible. The old man was watching him. Hugo swallowed hard, keeping his hands relaxed at his sides. "I¡¯ll be back tomorrow," he repeated, his voice softer this time. "Take care." The door remained open for a few more seconds before it shut again, the locks clicking into place. Hugo let out a slow breath, forcing himself to remain calm as he made his way back up the stairs. His heart pounded against his ribs, not from fear, but from something else¡ªprogress. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was a start. Chapter 12: Frank Hugo woke up the next morning feeling a strange mix of determination and dread. The past few days had been a cycle of death and survival, trial and error, but today, he was going to try something different. Today, he would push the limits of his existence in this loop and see just how far it would let him go. He went through his morning routine as usual¡ªsome light exercises, checking the barricades, making sure Salem was fed. The cat had become a small comfort in this madness, a silent companion that reminded him that not everything in this world was out to kill him. Afterward, he gathered his thoughts and made his way downstairs. The tension was still there as he approached Apartment 201, but this time, it was less about fear and more about curiosity. Would the old man acknowledge him today? He knocked and stepped to the side, waiting a beat before speaking. "Morning. It¡¯s me, Hugo. I told you I¡¯d be back." Silence. He wasn¡¯t discouraged. Instead, he leaned against the wall and started talking. "I¡¯ve been working on securing the building. I blocked off one of the stairwells, reinforced my floor, and took out a few more of those things. Still a lot of them left, but I¡¯m getting there." Still nothing. Hugo sighed but kept going. "I found some useful stuff in the apartments¡ªfood, supplies, even a bike. Not sure how much use it''ll be in a city full of undead, but it might come in handy if I need to make a quick getaway." He crouched down and placed another bottle of water and some food in front of the door. "Anyway, leaving this here. No strings, just like before." As expected, there was no response, but he knew the old man was listening. He felt it. Maybe tomorrow, he¡¯d get something more than silence. With his morning interaction done, Hugo turned his focus to the next part of his plan¡ªclearing out more of the undead and testing the loop. He carefully descended to the next floor, gripping his bat tightly. The air was thick with the scent of decay, and the dim lighting made every shadow seem like a threat. He moved cautiously, peering into each hallway, trying to get a sense of where the zombies were lurking. The first one he encountered was easy¡ªan older woman, frail in her undeath, who barely put up a fight before he took her down. The next one was tougher¡ªa man built like a truck, his bloated body resistant to the blunt force of Hugo¡¯s bat. It took several swings, dodging slow but powerful swipes, before he managed to crack the skull open. Panting, Hugo leaned against the wall, taking stock of himself. That was two more down. He was getting better, more efficient. But he needed to know more about the loop. The thought had been in the back of his mind for a while now. He had died in all sorts of ways¡ªshot, torn apart, crushed from a fall. But what if he was in control of it? What if he could choose when to reset? He didn¡¯t want to test it under normal circumstances. But what if he had no choice? That was when he heard it¡ªthe guttural growl from deeper inside the hallway. A shape moved in the shadows, quick and low to the ground. Too fast. A dog. Hugo barely had time to react before it lunged. He swung the bat instinctively, but the creature dodged with unnatural speed. It latched onto his forearm first, teeth sinking into the magazines he had taped around it. The layers of paper held, but the force still sent a shock of pain up his arm as the creature thrashed. He tried to shake it off, but the dog was relentless, charging forward and sinking its teeth into his flank. Hugo roared in pain, stumbling back as the infected animal tore into him, its jagged teeth ripping through flesh this time. He barely had time to recover before the dog leaped again, its jaws clamping down on his shoulder. Hugo gritted his teeth, the pain shooting through his body like fire. He slammed his bat down on the dog''s back, but it didn¡¯t even flinch. The infected animal felt no pain, no hesitation. It only wanted to kill. He gasped, pressing his hand to his side¡ªhe was bleeding. Not profusely, but enough that, given time, it would become a serious problem. His arm throbbed, his vision swam slightly, and the weight of his injuries started pressing down on him. The dog recovered quickly, circling him, saliva dripping from its blackened jaws. Hugo forced himself to raise his bat again, even as exhaustion threatened to pull him down. The next time the dog lunged, he was ready. He swung with everything he had, the bat cracking against its skull. The creature collapsed on the floor, stunned but still twitching. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. Wasting no time, Hugo lifted his boot over its head and stomped down, again and again, until the thing finally stopped moving. He stood there, panting, staring at the lifeless body of the infected dog. His whole body was shaking. He was alive, but for how long? Blood continued to drip from his wounds. Slowly. Steadily. He wasn¡¯t going to die right away, but in a few hours? Without proper medical treatment? It was inevitable. And with those bites, he was surely infected¡ªor at least, he didn¡¯t want to wait and find out. This was it. He could feel himself fading, his body failing. He wouldn¡¯t make it back to his apartment like this. He had two choices¡ªsit here and wait to die, which could take hours, or end it himself. His hand trembled as he reached for his knife. Would the loop reset? Would he wake up again, whole and unhurt? Or would this be the end? There was only one way to find out. He took a breath, steadied himself, and made the cut. It didn¡¯t take long for his consciousness to fade. He woke up in his bed. The loop had restarted. His breathing was ragged as he stared at the ceiling, his body drenched in cold sweat. His hands instinctively reached for his side, for his shoulder¡ªnothing. No wounds, no pain. Just the phantom memory of the teeth tearing into him. He sat up slowly, exhaling. The loop had worked. He was alive, unhurt. At least now, he knew for sure¡ªit would still reset if he took his own life. There were still so many questions about how it worked, but at least this was a start. Hugo swung his legs over the edge of the bed, rubbing his temples. He didn¡¯t know whether to feel relieved or horrified by the knowledge he had just gained. But one thing was certain. He had another chance. He went about his routine again. The same interaction with the neighbor. It was getting exhausting to restart everything each time, but at least he was still alive. That made him think. What if he could take really short naps to save his progress more often? He returned to his apartment and forced himself to lie down, trying to sleep for just a few minutes. It took longer than expected, his mind racing with the implications, but eventually, he drifted off. Fifteen minutes later, he woke abruptly. It worked Now there was only one thing left to test¡ªhow to die in the least painful way possible. Hugo made his way to the rooftop, forcing himself to stare over the edge where he had once fallen. The memory of the impact flashed through his mind, but he shook it off. If he jumped headfirst, it would be over instantly. Quick. Painless. It took longer than he expected to force himself to move. Then, with a deep breath, he sprinted forward and leaped. Darkness. He woke up in his bed. The sun was shining. His heart pounded as he glanced at the clock. Morning. Not the couch where he had taken a nap¡ªhis bed. It didn¡¯t work. Fifteen minutes wasn¡¯t enough to create a restart point. He thought back to his previous naps. The one with Salem had worked. More than fifteen minutes, but less than two hours. That was the window. After two tests in the same day, Hugo decided he had learned enough. He had found out some useful information. Now it was time to restart again¡ªtraining, the neighbor, clearing the zombies, watching out for the dog. Determined not to repeat the same mistakes, he set out once more. This time, he was faster. More efficient. The old lady fell just as easily as before, and the big guy took fewer swings now that Hugo knew where to aim. And just as he heard the dog rushing toward him, he spun on his heels and bolted for the door. He reached it just in time, slamming it shut behind him, hearing the dog¡¯s body hit the wood with a dull thud. Panting, he braced himself against the door and grinned. "Not this time, fucker," he muttered. Then, chuckling, he added, "You won¡¯t get me twice." The dog barked and scratched at the door, frustrated at losing its prey. Hugo took a deep breath, gathering himself. He¡¯d won this round, but he knew he wasn¡¯t done yet. There were more things in this building¡ªmore threats, more dangers. Straightening up, he tapped his fingers against the door and smirked. "I¡¯ll deal with you later." The next morning, Hugo completed his routine before heading downstairs to speak to the old man again. Knocking and stepping to the side as always, he began talking. "Morning. I figured I¡¯d update you again. I¡¯ve been thinking about long-term survival, but I don¡¯t know the first thing about growing food. If I want to make use of the roof, I need to figure that out." He hesitated before adding, "Also, the virus has mutated. I found a zombie dog downstairs." For the first time, a gruff voice responded from the other side of the door. "...No shit." Hugo froze for a moment, caught off guard by the old man''s response. It was the first time he had acknowledged him beyond the sound of a gunshot. He shifted his weight, glancing at the door. "Yeah, no shit," Hugo muttered. "I barely got away from the thing. It¡¯s fast. Too fast." A pause. Then the neighbor spoke again, his voice rough like sandpaper. "You sure it was a dog?" Hugo frowned. "What else would it be? Had four legs, sharp teeth, and a nasty bite. If it wasn¡¯t a dog, then I don¡¯t know what it was." Another silence, but this one felt different. Like the old man was thinking. Hugo took a breath and pressed on. "Look, I get it. You don¡¯t trust me. But if animals are turning too, we¡¯ve got a whole new problem on our hands. This building might not be as safe as we thought." A scoff. "You just figuring that out now, kid? Now you¡¯re catching up." Hugo narrowed his eyes at the door. "Fine. You know more than me? Enlighten me, old man." No response. Of course. The guy was throwing scraps, nothing more. Hugo rubbed his temples and sighed. "At least tell me this¡ªare you seeing anything weird outside? Anything different? I check the streets from my window, but I don¡¯t have the best vantage point." Another long pause. Then, finally, a short, reluctant answer. "More of ¡®em. A lot more." Hugo straightened. "More zombies? Where are they coming from?" "Hell if I know," the old man grumbled. "But they weren¡¯t here before. Not this many. Started showing up a few days ago." That sent a chill down Hugo¡¯s spine. He had noticed more movement outside, but he assumed it was just the same undead shifting around. If more were arriving, that meant something was driving them closer. "Any idea why?" Hugo pressed. The old man hesitated. Then, with a tone that suggested he was already regretting speaking, he muttered, "Might be an enclave." Hugo¡¯s eyes widened. "A group? Survivors? Where?" "Didn¡¯t say I knew that much," the old man snapped. "Just that they might be out there. You think all these rotters are just wandering in by chance? Somethin¡¯s drawing ¡®em." Hugo exhaled sharply. "And you know this how?" Silence. Hugo clenched his jaw. The old man knew something, but he wasn¡¯t about to share details. Hugo had two options: push harder and risk losing the little progress he had made, or back off and let the information come naturally. He chose the latter. "Alright. I get it. You don¡¯t trust me. But if there are more survivors out there, that changes everything." "Not necessarily for the better," the old man muttered. Hugo leaned against the wall, processing the information. More zombies meant more danger, but if there were actually other people out there, he had to consider his next steps carefully. Did he try to find them? Would they even be friendly? The old man¡¯s hesitation suggested that meeting other survivors wasn¡¯t necessarily a good thing. "Well," Hugo said finally. "Appreciate the talk, old man. Guess I¡¯ll check back tomorrow." A grunt of acknowledgment came from inside the apartment, but nothing more. It was as close to a goodbye as Hugo was going to get. He turned and made his way back up the stairs. There was work to do. He needed to check outside, verify if there really were more zombies coming in, and figure out whether this enclave was worth investigating. Surviving was hard enough. Now, he had to decide if finding other people was even worth the risk. Chapter 13: Come here doggy Hugo woke up refreshed and ready for the day, blinking at the ceiling. The same morning light filtered through the curtains, and the same quiet reminded him that the world outside was still dead. But today, he wasn¡¯t going to just survive¡ªhe was going to secure his territory. He sat up, rubbing his face before glancing at Salem, who lay curled on his side. The cat barely stirred, stretching a single paw before resettling. Hugo exhaled slowly. ¡°Guess I should get moving.¡± The past loops had shown him enough. He¡¯d cleared parts of the building, gathered supplies, and survived some serious fights. But he needed control. The first floor was still a liability, and until it was clear, he wasn¡¯t truly safe. Hugo sat at his kitchen table, flipping through an old notebook he had found during a previous loop. Most of the pages were useless¡ªhalf-written recipes, some notes from his old job¡ªbut he turned to a fresh page and started writing. The loop resets when I die. If I die, everything resets. All items, progress, and events are wiped out like nothing ever happened. If I sleep, I ¡°save¡± progress at that moment (only if it¡¯s more than 15 minutes). Napping often = less time to react to threats. Avoiding sleep = more time to explore, but exhaustion slows me down. Nothing carries over when I die¡ªonly my knowledge. He tapped the pen against the table. This was the key to everything. No matter what, he had to stay alive long enough to sleep if he wanted to keep moving forward. After a couple of days of eating and regaining his strength, Salem was in full health and more active than before. He no longer moved sluggishly or slept all day. Instead, he followed Hugo around the apartment, his eyes sharp, his tail flicking with curiosity. When Hugo prepared to leave, Salem insisted on going with him. At first, Hugo refused, worried that the cat would get in the way or put himself in danger. But Salem was determined. No matter how many times Hugo set him down, he would leap back onto the backpack, eyes locked onto Hugo like he was making a statement. ¡°Damn stubborn cat,¡± Hugo muttered, finally relenting. ¡°Fine. But you stay close. No running off.¡± Salem blinked slowly, as if accepting the deal, and nestled himself into the front pocket of Hugo¡¯s backpack, where he could keep an eye on everything while staying out of trouble. Hugo equipped himself carefully before heading out. Baseball bat¡ªno nails this time. Kitchen knife¡ªdeadly up close, though he hated using it. Black leather jacket with magazines taped to his arms and shins for bite protection. Motorcycle helmet¡ªhe wasn¡¯t taking chances with head injuries anymore. Extra food and water¡ªjust in case. Salem, nestled in his backpack, watching everything. He moved toward the stairwell. The first floor was the real battlefield. It was the only entrance to the building, and he knew from past loops that it still had a large cluster of zombies inside. As he stepped off the last stair, he stayed low, keeping to the shadows. He had two choices¡ªgo straight for the biggest group and risk a fight, or lure them out one by one. He chose the smart way. Hugo found a piece of rubble on the floor and tossed it down the hallway. The sound echoed, and sure enough, a lone zombie peeled away from the group. A man in a security uniform, his vest still intact, his dead eyes locked onto the noise. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s do this,¡± Hugo muttered. The zombie guard looked tough to deal with. He had a Kevlar vest with a riot helmet. The vest absorbed some of the blows from Hugo¡¯s bat, making it harder to put him down. It took four heavy swings to the legs before the thing collapsed. He then jumped on its back and tried to remove the helmet to kill it with his knife. After a long struggle, he succeeded. Hugo barely had time to recover before he heard the unmistakable groan of another zombie nearby. He turned, heart pounding, as another one lunged from a nearby doorway. This one was different¡ªa massive, heavy-set man, his bloated body barely fitting in the doorframe. ¡°Oh, come on,¡± Hugo breathed, gripping his bat tighter. The fat zombie was slow but powerful. Its swipes were wide and reckless, forcing Hugo to duck and weave instead of going in for quick kills. When he finally managed to land a solid hit to the head, the damn thing didn¡¯t even go down. Hugo was breathing hard, his arms aching, but he kept swinging. On the sixth brutal strike, the zombie finally collapsed, twitching on the ground before going still. He exhaled heavily, his breath fogging up the inside of the motorcycle helmet. That was two more down. Then he heard it. A low, guttural growl from deeper inside the hallway. Hugo¡¯s stomach dropped. The dog. He didn¡¯t hesitate. He turned and ran. The sound of claws scraping against the floor shot up behind him, the infected hound launching itself into pursuit. Salem, startled by the sudden chase, jumped out of the bag in a panic and bolted ahead of Hugo, his small frame darting erratically as he tried to get away. ¡°Salem, no!¡± Hugo shouted, his heart leaping to his throat. The sound of claws was getting louder. Hugo barreled toward the stairwell, his legs burning with the effort. He risked one glance over his shoulder¡ªthe dog was gaining on him fast. He reached the stairwell door and slammed it shut, but he wasn¡¯t fast enough. The dog¡¯s head and one paw got through the gap, its jaws snapping wildly just inches away from his leg. Panic surged through Hugo as he instinctively pressed all his weight against the door, trapping the dog in place. It was pure luck, not skill. He didn¡¯t plan for this. The animal thrashed and snarled, its claws scraping at the floor in a desperate attempt to free itself. His knife was already in his hand. Without thinking, he drove the blade into the dog¡¯s skull, over and over, until the snarling stopped. Panting, he stepped back, hands shaking, staring at the lifeless body wedged in the doorframe. He had barely survived that. As the adrenaline wore off, Salem crept cautiously back toward the corpse, his fur still puffed up from fear. He hissed once before swiping a paw across the dead dog''s face, his claws raking over its lifeless snout as if to make sure it stayed down. Hugo exhaled a shaky breath. ¡°Yeah, I feel the same way, buddy.¡± For once, luck had been on his side. The rest of the day was spent clearing out the remaining zombies. Hugo knew he couldn¡¯t stop now. He took multiple breaks, pacing himself, but he kept going, methodically luring them out and taking them down. One by one. By nightfall, his muscles were sore, his knuckles bruised, and his body felt heavy with exhaustion. But the first floor was almost clear. Almost. The only thing left was to clear the apartments. The hallways were free of undead. The next step was to remove the corpses and barricade all the windows and the front door. The next morning, he woke up still sore from all the fighting the previous day. His morning routine of exercising was rougher than usual, the soreness making it difficult, but he pushed through. It was important to stay fit to have a better chance of survival. His plan for the day was to barricade the first floor as best he could and clean up all the corpses lying around. Looting the Kevlar vest from the guard was also high on his list of priorities. As he went downstairs to talk to the neighbor, he noticed something in front of the apartment door. All the food he had given since the beginning was there, untouched. The water was missing, though. He knocked on the door, stepping aside as always. A gruff voice answered. "Got plenty of food. Water¡¯s another story. Didn¡¯t plan for it to shut off this soon." Hugo frowned. "You didn¡¯t stock up?" A pause. "Had some. Not enough. Thought it¡¯d last longer." Hugo sighed, rubbing his temple. "Alright. I¡¯ll see what I can do." As Hugo continued speaking with the neighbor, he mentioned that he had set up containers on the roof to collect rainwater. To his surprise, the old man grunted in acknowledgment. ¡°I got a tarp and a barrel,¡± the neighbor muttered through the door. ¡°Might as well do it right. We¡¯ll set it up later.¡± Hugo raised an eyebrow. ¡°Wait¡ªyou¡¯re actually offering to help?¡± A pause. Then, ¡°Just don¡¯t screw it up.¡± Hugo smirked. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was progress. ¡°One more thing,¡± the old man added. ¡°Get rid of that damn rope to your balcony. I don¡¯t like it.¡± Hugo sighed. ¡°Fine.¡± As he walked away, he couldn''t help but feel a small sense of accomplishment. Slowly but surely, he was making progress with the old man downstairs. After clearing the first floor, Hugo knew the next step¡ªgetting rid of the bodies. If he left them inside, they would rot, attracting flies and disease. Worse, the stench might lure more undead to the building. Before taking the first body outside, he took a moment to thoroughly clean the Kevlar vest he had taken from the security guard. Using some spare rags and water, he scrubbed off the dried blood and grime. It wasn¡¯t perfect, but it was wearable now. Once it dried, he¡¯d wear it under his leather jacket. It was the first time he had stepped outside in weeks, aside from the roof. He moved carefully, dragging the corpses toward the entrance. The door creaked as he cracked it open, his pulse hammering. A deep breath. Slow movements. Stepping out, he felt the sun on his face for the first time in what felt like forever. The street was eerily quiet. He spotted some zombies far away, shuffling aimlessly, but none seemed to notice him. He held his breath as he worked, hauling each body one by one to the sidewalk and stacking them near the curb. The large zombie was by far the worst to move. Hugo had to grab it by the arms and drag it inch by inch, his muscles screaming with effort. The sheer weight of the bloated corpse made it feel like he was pulling a dead cow. He gritted his teeth, adjusting his grip, and kept going. Sweat dripped down his face as he finally heaved it over the threshold and out onto the pavement. It hit the ground with a sickening thud. It was slow, grueling work. Every time he stepped outside, he felt exposed, his muscles tensed, waiting for something to go wrong. Each glance toward the street sent a fresh wave of anxiety through him. He half-expected the distant zombies to turn their heads, to suddenly break into a sprint toward him. But they never did. When the last body was out, he took a final glance around before shutting the door, securing it tightly. He leaned against it, taking a moment to catch his breath. The building felt safer already. Now, it was time to reinforce the entrances. Hugo gathered whatever furniture he could find¡ªdesks, chairs, even a heavy filing cabinet from one of the apartment. He wedged them against the main door, layering them until it would take significant force to break through. Stepping back, he studied his work. It wasn¡¯t perfect, but it would hold. Hugo let out a tired sigh, looking at Salem, who was now sitting on a counter, watching him with an unreadable expression. ¡°Well, buddy,¡± Hugo muttered, wiping sweat from his forehead. ¡°That¡¯s one less thing to worry about.¡± The cat flicked his tail, as if unimpressed, before curling up into a ball. Hugo shook his head with a chuckle. The job was done. For now. Chapter 14: Setting up the roof The first floor was secured, the bodies were gone. He could finally walk through the halls without the constant threat of something lunging at him from the shadows. Now, it was time to finish what he started¡ªlooting the last four apartments on the first floor. Salem stretched beside him, his tail flicking as he watched Hugo prepare for the day. The cat had been more active lately, regaining his energy from proper meals and rest. He still wasn¡¯t thrilled about all the noise and movement, but he had settled into his new routine of watching Hugo¡¯s every move from his perch on the couch or backpack. ¡°Alright, buddy,¡± Hugo muttered as he strapped on his gear. ¡°Let¡¯s see what¡¯s left to find.¡± He made his way downstairs, baseball bat in hand, just in case. The first apartment was easy to break into; the lock was flimsy, and a well-placed kick forced the door open with a loud crack. The air inside was stale but not as bad as some of the others he¡¯d entered. Whoever lived here had left in a hurry. The drawers in the living room were pulled open, a few belongings scattered across the floor. A glance at the kitchen revealed that most of the food had been taken¡ªexcept for a few overlooked cans of soup hidden in the back of a lower cabinet. Score. In the bedroom, he found a well-worn hiking backpack, which was sturdier and more spacious than the one he had been using. It even had additional compartments he could use to organize his supplies. Tossing it onto the bed, he kept searching, finding a pack of batteries, a half-used box of protein bars, and, to his surprise, a roll of duct tape. He moved on to the second apartment. This one was cleaner, almost eerily so. The kitchen was stocked with canned goods, instant noodles, and a massive bag of rice. Hugo grinned¡ªthis was by far the best food haul he¡¯d had in a while. He scooped up as much as he could fit in his new backpack and made a mental note to come back for the rest later. In a closet near the entrance, he found an old toolbox. Most of it was standard stuff¡ªscrewdrivers, pliers, wrenches¡ªbut at the bottom, tucked beneath a rag, was a hunting knife in a leather sheath. Hugo pulled it out, inspecting the blade. It was sharp, well-maintained. Someone had cared for this tool. It would be a great backup if he ever needed something quicker than his bat or kitchen knife. Two apartments down, two to go. The third apartment was barely furnished, just a couch, a mattress on the floor, and a small table. Whoever had lived here either didn¡¯t own much or had taken most of it when they left. He found a wind-up flashlight in one of the kitchen drawers, along with some instant coffee packets. The fridge, of course, was useless, but the freezer had an ice pack that had long since melted but could still be used for first aid. Then, in the bedroom, he found something unexpected¡ªan old CB radio. He stared at it for a long moment. If he could get this working, he might be able to hear if there were other survivors broadcasting messages. But it needed power. Batteries wouldn¡¯t cut it; he¡¯d need an actual power source. ¡°I¡¯ll figure you out later,¡± he said, setting it aside. The last apartment was the most difficult to get into, but after some effort, he forced the lock. The living room had a small bookshelf, something he hadn¡¯t seen much of since the world fell apart. Most of the books were fiction, but one stood out: Edible and Medicinal Plants of North America. ¡°That¡¯s perfect,¡± Hugo murmured, flipping through the pages. He didn¡¯t know the first thing about gardening or foraging, but this book could help. He added it to his growing pile of loot. With the apartments looted, he took his findings back to his place, organizing everything before heading up to the roof. It was time to set up the rain-catching system with the old man. The sun was high by the time Hugo made his way up to the rooftop. The air was thick with heat, but the breeze at this height made it a little more bearable. He had expected to be the first one there, but to his surprise, the old man was already waiting, a folded tarp and a large plastic barrel beside him. ¡°You actually came up here,¡± Hugo said, adjusting his grip on the supplies he¡¯d brought. The old man¡ªstill just a voice behind a door until now¡ªglanced at him with a critical eye. He was in his seventies, maybe older, with a thin but sturdy frame. His gray hair was cropped short, and his face was lined with the weight of years. He wore an old flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing wiry forearms covered in faded scars. Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°You think I was gonna let you screw it up on your own?¡± the old man grumbled. ¡°We do this right, or we don¡¯t do it at all.¡± Hugo smirked. ¡°Fair enough.¡± They got to work, unfolding the tarp and positioning it at an angle over the barrel to maximize water collection. The old man showed him how to tie it down properly, securing it against the wind. As they worked, Hugo decided to push his luck. ¡°So¡­ you got a name, or am I just gonna keep calling you ¡®old man¡¯?¡± The old man snorted but didn¡¯t look up. ¡°Names don¡¯t matter much anymore.¡± ¡°Maybe. But you still got one.¡± A long pause. Then, finally: ¡°Call me Frank.¡± Hugo nodded. ¡°Nice to officially meet you, Frank.¡± They worked in silence for a bit before Hugo spoke again. ¡°You always live alone?¡± Frank¡¯s hands stilled for a fraction of a second before he continued tying down the tarp. ¡°No.¡± Hugo waited, but no more words came. He figured that was as much as he was going to get for now. After an hour of setting everything up, they stepped back to admire their work. The tarp stretched perfectly, angled just right to funnel water into the barrel. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was a start. Frank crossed his arms, nodding in approval. ¡°Not bad.¡± Hugo smirked. ¡°High praise coming from you.¡± Frank shot him a sideways glance but said nothing. As Hugo picked up his gear, he hesitated. ¡°You know,¡± he said carefully, ¡°I found an old CB radio in one of the apartments. If I can get it working, we might be able to pick up signals from other survivors.¡± Frank¡¯s expression darkened slightly. ¡°Be careful with that.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Because not everyone out there is friendly.¡± Hugo studied him for a moment. ¡°You¡¯ve run into bad people before.¡± Frank didn¡¯t answer right away. Instead, he turned, heading for the stairwell. Just before disappearing inside, he muttered, ¡°World didn¡¯t turn to shit overnight. Some folks were always like that.¡± Hugo watched him go, his mind turning over those words. There was more to Frank¡¯s story¡ªhe just wasn¡¯t ready to tell it yet. With a final glance at the sky, Hugo grabbed his things and followed him back inside. They had water now. They had security. For the first time in weeks, Hugo felt like they had something close to stability. Now, he just had to make sure it lasted. With everything in place, Hugo finally decided it was time to venture outside. Before leaving, he stopped by Frank¡¯s door. ¡°I¡¯m heading out. Gonna check around the complex, see if there¡¯s anything worth salvaging.¡± Frank¡¯s voice came from inside. ¡°Be careful.¡± Hugo smirked. ¡°You almost sound like you care.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t be an idiot.¡± Feeling a mix of confidence and nerves, Hugo stepped outside. The air was thick with the scent of decay, and the city was eerily quiet. The sun hung high, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. Weeds grew unchecked, sprouting from the asphalt and between sidewalk cracks. Cars sat abandoned, some with doors still ajar, others with shattered windows. He kept his bat at the ready, scanning the surroundings as he moved. Every step felt heavy, his senses heightened as he listened for any movement. Birds fluttered above, disturbed by his presence, but no immediate threats emerged. As he turned a corner, he spotted a small convenience store, its entrance partially collapsed. Looters had already been through it, but that didn¡¯t mean there was nothing left. He took a deep breath and made his way inside, the darkness swallowing him whole as he searched for anything useful. Inside, the air was stale, thick with the lingering scent of spoiled goods. Shelves were toppled, glass littered the floor, and the remains of looted items were scattered everywhere. Hugo moved carefully, stepping over broken displays and crushed snack bags. Salem hopped out of his backpack, sniffing around the aisles. The cat moved confidently, weaving between debris and overturned shelves. As Hugo searched through what remained, Salem let out a quiet noise, his tail flicking toward a corner near a bottom shelf. Curious, Hugo crouched down and found a few cans of cat food, dented but still sealed. ¡°Good job, buddy,¡± Hugo muttered, tossing them into his bag. Salem¡¯s ears twitched in satisfaction before he continued his exploration. Further into the store, Hugo managed to find a couple of canned goods and a pack of instant noodles tucked away behind a fallen shelf. Most of the food was long gone, but he still checked every nook and cranny. Behind the counter, his luck improved¡ªtwo bottles of hard liquor hidden behind an overturned crate. ¡°Well, this is a find,¡± he mused, examining the labels. One was whiskey, the other vodka. He had no real use for them right now, but liquor could be valuable for trade, if he ever met someone who wasn¡¯t trying to kill him. Satisfied with his haul, he called Salem back and carefully made his way out of the store. The streets remained eerily quiet, but Hugo didn¡¯t let his guard down. His trip had been successful, but he knew better than to assume it would always be this easy. With his backpack heavier than before, Hugo continued his exploration, venturing toward the apartment complex next to his. The buildings were identical in structure, but the atmosphere was vastly different. The air felt heavier here, the stench of rot much stronger. The entrance was partially collapsed, barricades hastily put together and later broken through. Blood smeared the walls, old and dried, telling a story of a fight that ended in carnage. Inside, the signs of struggle were everywhere¡ªbullet holes in the walls, splintered doors barely hanging on their hinges. Whoever had lived here had fought hard, but ultimately, they had lost. The corpses were gone, either devoured or moved elsewhere, but the stains of their deaths remained. Hugo moved cautiously through the wreckage, his bat gripped tightly. Every shadow felt like a potential ambush. He checked abandoned apartments, finding little more than ransacked belongings, empty shelves, and broken furniture. This place had been picked clean, not just by looters, but by the dead themselves. In one unit, he found a makeshift barricade still intact¡ªwhoever had built it had taken the time to do it properly. Pushing aside a heavy dresser, Hugo stepped into the room and scanned his surroundings. A pack of unopened energy bars sat on a counter, alongside a few canned goods that had been overlooked. He grabbed them quickly, stuffing them into his bag. Then, in the corner of the room, something caught his eye¡ªa small pile of notebooks stacked next to a lantern. Flipping through the pages, he realized they belonged to whoever had lived here last. Some were filled with survival notes, detailing scavenging routes, places to avoid, and names of people long gone. Others contained personal thoughts, last entries written in hurried, fearful script. He didn¡¯t linger on them. Some things were too personal to intrude upon. As he made his way back outside, he took one last look at the building. The tragedy here had played out differently than his own apartment complex. They had tried to hold out, but something¡ªor someone¡ªhad overwhelmed them. The thought sent a chill down his spine. Hugo adjusted his bag and turned back toward his own building. He had learned something valuable today¡ªthere were no guarantees in survival. Some places held out longer than others, but in the end, everything fell. The only thing he could do was make sure he didn¡¯t end up like them. With that sobering thought, he quickened his pace, heading home before the streets became any less dark. Chapter 15: Heading out Hugo woke up feeling confident, his body finally adjusted to the constant routine of scavenging, securing, and surviving. The last few days had gone well. He hadn¡¯t died in a while, and the apartment complex was safer than ever. He went through his morning ritual¡ªexercising, checking the barricades, organizing his supplies, feeding Salem. After grabbing a quick breakfast, Hugo made his way downstairs to check in on Frank. He knocked on the door, and after a pause, Frank opened it slightly, giving him a skeptical look. ¡°Morning,¡± Hugo said. ¡°Just checking in before I head out.¡± Frank grunted. ¡°You sure you wanna do that?¡± Hugo frowned. ¡°Why not?¡± ¡°Been watching the street,¡± Frank muttered. ¡°Saw something. Not just the dead.¡± That got Hugo¡¯s attention. ¡°Someone alive?¡± ¡°Maybe,¡± Frank said vaguely. ¡°Could be nothing. Could be trouble. Either way, don¡¯t be an idiot.¡± Hugo smirked. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t dream of it.¡± Frank shook his head and shut the door. The conversation was over. Hugo stepped outside, his bat at the ready. The streets were eerily quiet as always, only the occasional shuffle of distant zombies breaking the silence. He moved cautiously, sticking to the edges of buildings as he made his way further than he had before. The streets were lined with rusting cars, abandoned shopping carts, and the occasional long-dried bloodstain smeared across the pavement. Some buildings had been scorched, their windows shattered, while others remained eerily intact, their interiors dark and silent. Every so often, he spotted the slow, shambling figures of the undead in the distance, but none were close enough to be a threat¡ªyet. After a few blocks, he spotted what he was looking for¡ªa pawnshop. The windows were broken, the door slightly ajar. It had clearly been looted before, but pawnshops carried all kinds of miscellaneous junk. Maybe something useful had been overlooked. Stepping inside, he was greeted by stale air and the sight of overturned shelves. Glass crunched under his boots as he moved cautiously between aisles. Most of the electronics were gone, along with anything of obvious value, but in a dusty corner, he found something unexpected¡ªan old Sony Walkman. It was in decent shape, though the batteries were long dead. Next to it was a small case with a collection of mixtape CDs. Someone¡¯s personal music stash. Hugo smirked, slipping the Walkman and CDs into his bag. It wasn¡¯t exactly a survival tool, but music might help keep him sane. Further down the store, he spotted something even better¡ªa large crowbar resting against a toppled display case. He lifted it, testing its weight. It was solid, a better tool for prying open doors and a decent backup weapon. He attached it securely to the side of his backpack for easy access and kept searching. As he continued looking, he made his way to the back storage room. There, covered in dust and surrounded by discarded junk, was something far more valuable¡ªa generator. Hugo exhaled sharply. ¡°Now that¡¯s a find.¡± The problem? It was way too heavy to carry back alone. He inspected it, noting that it had no fuel, but if he could get it running, it could power some serious equipment. ¡°Need to come back for you,¡± he muttered, making a mental note of its location. As he prepared to leave, something caught his eye¡ªfootprints in the dust near the entrance. His breath hitched. Those weren¡¯t his. He turned sharply, scanning the street through the broken window. For a moment, there was nothing. Then¡ªmovement. A figure, watching him from a distance. Hugo¡¯s heartbeat quickened. He had been alone for so long that the sight of another person felt surreal. He hesitated. Should he call out? Try to approach? Before he could decide, the figure turned and disappeared down an alley. His gut twisted. Someone had been watching him. And now they were gone. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. Hugo barely had time to process what happened before he heard the sound of shuffling feet behind him. Zombies. He turned, realizing too late that he had made a mistake. Maybe he had knocked something over, or maybe the watcher had drawn them toward him. Either way, they were here now¡ªblocking his only exit. ¡°Shit,¡± he breathed, tightening his grip on the bat. The first zombie lunged. He sidestepped, swinging his bat hard into its skull. The impact sent a jolt up his arms, but the creature collapsed instantly. Another one followed, arms grasping at him, and he barely managed to shove it away before cracking its head open as well. He kept moving, dodging and striking, but the zombies just kept coming. Sweat dripped down his back as he swung his bat again, feeling the familiar impact of bone splintering under force. Then, suddenly, a sharp crack echoed through the shop. The bat¡¯s handle gave way, splitting right where his grip tightened. "Oh, you¡¯ve got to be kidding me," Hugo muttered, barely managing to toss the broken weapon aside before the next zombie lunged at him. He yanked the crowbar from his backpack, its solid weight immediately noticeable. "Didn¡¯t think I¡¯d need this so soon." The metal tool was heavier than his bat, making each swing slower but far more devastating. The first zombie that came too close had its skull caved in with a sickening crunch, the sheer force knocking it back into a display shelf. But there were too many¡ªat least five already inside the shop, and the sounds of more gathering outside. His breathing turned ragged as he assessed the rapidly worsening situation. He needed to move. Fast. Spotting a gap between the shelves, he charged forward, ramming into one of the zombies and knocking it aside. He stumbled into the open air, quickly turning and slamming the door behind him. He heard them crashing through the main window. There was way too much noise. It would certainly attract even more of them. Just as he turned to leave, another zombie rounded the corner, groaning as it lunged. Hugo swung the crowbar with both hands, the weight of it making the blow devastating. The zombie¡¯s skull caved in, sending it crumpling to the ground. He turned around. He was completely surrounded. The only way out was the alley the mysterious figure went through. He didn¡¯t hesitate and ran to it. The alley was narrow, lined with dumpsters and abandoned debris. He dodged a toppled cart, leaping over a discarded trash bag as the horde pressed in behind him. His heart pounded as he pushed himself forward. The sound of dozens of feet and snarling breath grew closer. Ahead, a chain-link fence blocked the way. Without thinking, Hugo vaulted toward it, grabbing onto the metal links and pulling himself up as fast as he could. Hands clawed at his boots just as he swung his legs over, landing hard on the other side. He stumbled but kept moving, darting through another alley. As he rounded the only exit, he came face-to-face with another horde of undead. He skidded to a halt, his breath catching in his throat. Turning sharply, he scanned his surroundings, heart pounding. The alley walls loomed on either side, too high to climb, and the snarling dead were closing in fast. His only real chance was above. His eyes darted upward, spotting a fire escape several feet away, hanging just out of reach. It was a long jump. Too long. But there was no other choice. He backed up, bracing himself as the horde pressed forward. With a deep breath, he sprinted, leaping onto a nearby garbage bin, using the momentum to push off with everything he had. For a terrifying moment, he was suspended in the air, arms reaching¡ª His fingers barely caught the bottom railing of the fire escape. His grip almost failed. His boots scraped against the wall as he scrambled to pull himself up. Below, the zombies crashed into the dumpster, hands clawing at the metal, snarling in frustration. His arms strained as he heaved himself onto the platform, rolling onto his back, panting hard. Looking down at the mass of undead writhing below, Hugo swallowed hard. That had been way too close. Panting, he turned toward the window behind him. Inside, he saw movement¡ªshadows shifting beyond the dusty glass. His pulse pounded as he quickly scanned his surroundings. His chest heaved as he forced himself to think. The only real option was to go inside the building. His chest heaved as he forced himself to think. His only real option was to go inside the building. His eyes darted around, searching for alternatives¡ªan open door, a break in the crowd, anything that might offer a safer route. But there was nothing. The horde below stretched through the alley, more and more zombies pressing in from every direction. His escape routes were closing fast. He quickly scanned the building''s exterior, his mind racing for alternatives. If he could climb just a little higher, maybe he¡¯d find another way in¡ªa window that wasn¡¯t locked, or at least one he could pry open. His eyes followed the fire escape¡¯s path upward, spotting a window two floors above that seemed slightly ajar. It was a gamble, but a necessary one. With a deep breath, he began his ascent, moving cautiously up the fire escape ladder, every step making the rusted metal groan beneath his weight. Below, the dead continued their relentless reach, hands grasping at the air as they sensed movement above them. Hugo gritted his teeth and kept climbing, his muscles burning as he pulled himself up. The higher he got, the more the city sprawled out before him, broken and lifeless under the setting sun. Finally, he reached the window. It was cracked open just enough to wedge his fingers in. He braced himself, took a breath, and heaved it upward. With one last glance at the writhing mass of undead below, he swung a leg over the windowsill and slipped inside, landing in a crouch. The air inside was stale, thick with the scent of dust, old paper, and the faint lingering of mildew. Rows of cubicles stretched before him, papers scattered across desks, overturned chairs left in haste. It was clear that this office had been abandoned in a hurry. Computer monitors sat dark, some shattered, their screens cracked from either looters or the initial chaos. His breath caught as he listened. Silence¡ªexcept for the distant groans outside and the occasional creak of the building settling. He exhaled in relief but didn¡¯t let his guard down. His fingers tightened around his crowbar as he crept forward, eyes adjusting to the dim lighting. A faint glow from the shattered office windows cast jagged patterns on the floor. He moved carefully, weaving between cubicles, stepping over discarded keyboards and unplugged power strips. A dried stain of something dark marred the carpet near a toppled water cooler. He didn¡¯t want to think about what it was. He edged toward the main hallway, placing each step carefully to avoid making noise. The corridor stretched out ahead, lined with closed office doors, some ajar, others shut tight. He hesitated at the threshold, listening. A slow, dragging shuffle echoed from somewhere deeper in the building. Not close, but not far enough either. Hugo swallowed, keeping low as he moved, hugging the wall. His heartbeat pounded in his ears as he crept forward, careful to avoid anything that might make a sound. He needed to find a way out¡ªfast. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to run, but he knew better. He¡¯d have to be patient, methodical. One mistake, and he was done. A sign on the wall caught his eye¡ªan emergency exit placard, arrows pointing toward the stairwell at the far end of the hall. That was his way out. But first, he had to make it there in one piece. Hugo pressed his back against the wall, breathing slowly through his nose. He took careful steps down the hallway, keeping his weight balanced to avoid making any unnecessary noise. The further he moved, the more signs of chaos he noticed¡ªoverturned chairs, dried blood smeared on the walls, broken picture frames. Papers fluttered slightly under an unseen draft, making the space feel eerily alive. As he reached the first office door, he peered inside. The room was a mess, the desk shoved against the wall, a chair tipped over beside it. A half-eaten sandwich sat decomposing on a stack of files, green fuzz growing across its surface. Whoever had worked here had left in a hurry. A groan echoed from deeper in the building, sending a chill down his spine. He tightened his grip on the crowbar and kept moving. He reached the emergency exit door and hesitated. Something was off. The door wasn¡¯t fully closed¡ªit had been pushed just slightly ajar. His stomach twisted as he slowly pressed his ear against the metal surface. The sound hit him instantly¡ªshuffling, wet breaths, the occasional scrape of a foot dragging against the ground. It wasn¡¯t just one zombie. It was many. He swallowed hard and carefully pulled the door open just a crack. A gust of stale air rushed past him, carrying the scent of decay. He peered through the gap and his stomach dropped. The stairwell was packed. Chapter 16: Descent into Darkness Bodies pressed against one another, their movements sluggish but constant. It looked like people had tried to flee when the outbreak started, only to get trapped in the narrow stairwell. The result was a jam of undead, all stuck in place, some wedged between the railing and the walls, others crushed beneath the weight of the crowd. Arms twitched, heads lolled, jaws snapped weakly. There was no way through. Hugo¡¯s pulse pounded. He let the door shut as quietly as he could, then backed away. His only escape route was blocked. Panic clawed at his chest. He turned back toward the office floor, scanning the darkened space. He needed another way down. The elevators were out of the question¡ªno power meant no movement. But what about the shaft? He turned down another hallway, eyes darting from door to door until he spotted the sign: Maintenance Access - Authorized Personnel Only. Bingo. He rushed forward, testing the handle. Locked. Hugo gritted his teeth and yanked the crowbar from his backpack. Wedge. Pull. Crack. The door gave after a few tugs, swinging open to reveal a cramped storage space filled with old equipment. A rusted mop bucket, empty cleaning solution bottles, and a supply cart blocked his way. He stepped inside, scanning quickly. Then he saw it¡ªan access hatch marked Elevator Shaft. Hugo didn¡¯t waste a second. He pushed the cart, gripping the handle of the hatch and giving it a hard tug. It didn¡¯t budge. He repositioned himself, bracing his feet on the shelf below and yanked again. The metal groaned before giving way with a loud clang. The sound made his stomach lurch. He froze, listening. The groans of the zombies in the stairwell remained the same, but somewhere behind him, something shuffled. Slow. Heavy. He had seconds. Hugo swung himself up into the open hatch, scrambling onto the metal platform above. He pulled his legs in just as the sound of something crashing echoed behind him. Too close. He exhaled sharply and turned to the shaft. Darkness stretched below, the dim emergency lighting barely illuminating the depths. The cables hung taut, disappearing into the abyss. He had two choices: climb down or stay trapped. With a deep breath, he gripped the nearest support beam and lowered himself over the edge. The climb was slow, careful. His fingers ached from holding onto the rough metal, his legs trembling slightly from the tension. Each movement sent a faint creak through the shaft, making his heart pound harder. He descended past one floor. Then another. Then¡ªsnap. The section of metal railing he had been gripping suddenly gave way, rusted bolts snapping clean off. Hugo¡¯s stomach lurched as he dropped. For a brief, terrifying moment, he was weightless. Then his hand shot out, catching onto one of the thick elevator cables. Pain flared through his palm, but he held on, body swinging violently before slamming into the side of the shaft. He barely bit back a grunt of pain. Panting, he glanced down. The elevator car was just below him, stuck between floors. He could make it. Bracing himself, he let go and dropped the last few feet, landing hard on the metal roof. His knees buckled, and for a second, he thought he¡¯d roll right off, but he caught himself. He lay there, breathing heavily, his pulse a thunderous rhythm in his ears. Then, above him, a sound. Something was climbing down after him. Hugo¡¯s eyes widened. He scrambled forward, searching for the emergency hatch on the elevator roof. His fingers found the latch, but it was rusted shut. ¡°Come on, come on,¡± he hissed, yanking at it. A guttural growl echoed above. Then, the sound of something dropping. He didn¡¯t look. He didn¡¯t need to. With one last desperate tug, the hatch popped open. Hugo didn¡¯t hesitate¡ªhe dropped inside, landing in a heap on the dusty elevator floor just as something heavy slammed onto the roof above him. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. He didn¡¯t wait to see if it would break through. He scrambled to his feet and forced the elevator doors open with the crowbar. They groaned in protest before finally parting. The lobby stretched before him. He was on the ground floor. Without looking back, he sprinted forward, tearing through the office entrance and bursting onto the street. The moment fresh air hit him, he stumbled, gasping. His entire body ached. His hands were raw, his muscles burned, but he was alive. He turned just in time to see a single, gnarled hand clawing at the edge of the elevator roof, struggling to pull itself inside. He didn¡¯t stick around to see if it succeeded. The sun had set, leaving the city cloaked in darkness. Hugo stood in the shadow of the office building, his breath heavy, his limbs aching. His usual route home was too exposed, too risky now that night had fallen. He needed another way back. Sticking to the alleys, he moved carefully, each step deliberate. The dark twisted the city into something unfamiliar. The broken glass on the ground reflected faint moonlight like scattered stars, and the buildings loomed taller, their shattered windows like empty eyes watching his every move. Then, in the distance, a sound. A faint scuff of movement. Hugo froze. He turned his head, listening. The city was never truly silent, not with the dead wandering its streets. But this sound was different. Closer. Controlled. A survivor? He crouched low, gripping the crowbar tightly as he pressed himself into the shadows. His heart pounded as he scanned the darkness, his breath shallow. Something¡ªsomeone¡ªwas nearby. But where? A rustling noise came from behind a burned-out sedan. Hugo squinted, trying to make out movement in the dim light. His body tensed, ready to spring into action if necessary. Then, a growl. His blood turned cold as a shadowed figure shambled forward. More followed, their outlines barely visible against the ruined cityscape. Zombies. They were slow, but in the dark, they were unpredictable. He couldn¡¯t afford a fight, not with his body already exhausted. Hugo took a deep breath and moved carefully, staying low, weaving between debris as he navigated the ruined landscape. He spotted an old overpass, its supports still intact despite the wear of time. A collapsed section of roadway had created a natural slope leading down into a narrow tunnel beneath it. It wasn¡¯t part of his usual path, but it was better than open streets. He ducked into the tunnel, the air immediately cooling around him. The darkness was suffocating. Each step echoed, his own breathing too loud in the confined space. The ground was uneven, strewn with rubble and abandoned belongings. He stepped over a discarded backpack, resisting the urge to check it¡ªhis priority was getting home. Then, his foot hit something soft. A body. Hugo recoiled, gripping his crowbar as he backed away. The corpse didn¡¯t move, but its presence sent a shiver down his spine. Someone else had been here recently. And they hadn¡¯t made it out. He exhaled slowly and pressed forward, ignoring the tight knot forming in his stomach. The scent of decay hit him hard. He was near an abandoned checkpoint, the remains of a failed quarantine effort. The barriers were toppled, sandbags torn open, and scattered bullet casings gleamed in the faint light, a scene of chaos unfolded before him. Multiple police cars sat scattered, some doors left wide open, their lights long dead. Bodies littered the pavement, slumped over barriers and sprawled across the cracked asphalt. The smell of dried blood and rot lingered in the warm night air. Gunshot wounds. Every single body had been shot in the head. Hugo crouched behind a car, scanning the scene. Whoever had been here had made a stand, a desperate one. Spent shell casings glinted in the dim light. Some bodies wore police uniforms, others civilian clothing. The officers had fought, and they had lost. Slowly, he moved forward, careful not to step on anything that might make noise. He reached the first police car and peered inside. The seats were stained, the radio dead. The glove compartment hung open, already looted. He moved to the next car. More of the same¡ªemptied out. But in the trunk of one cruiser, he found something useful: a half-full medical kit. Bandages, disinfectant, painkillers. He grabbed it all and stuffed it into his bag. Further down, a police officer¡¯s body lay against the hood of a car, a shotgun still clutched in stiff fingers. The barrel was empty, and the extra shells on the officer¡¯s belt were already gone. He carefully unclutched the gun from the dead body. Finally, a gun. It was too bad that he didn''t have any ammo, but it was still a good find. He could maybe bluff his way out of a situation if he met some unsavory survivors out there. After some more inspection of the cars and bodies, he came to a conclusion. Someone had been here before him. Someone thorough. As he was leaving the scene, something shiny caught his eye. Under one of the cars that had crashed into a streetlight, there was something metallic. Maybe another gun? He crept closer, only to find an empty metal can. But to his surprise, right next to it, there was a small backpack. After pulling it out from under the wreckage, he unzipped it and looked inside. There were some water bottles, an energy drink, and a box of 9mm rounds. He took the ammo, knowing it might come in handy later, even without a gun for now, and stuffed the rest of the supplies into his bag. As he finished looting, a distant sound reached his ears. A shuffle. Then another. Something was moving in the darkness beyond the checkpoint. Hugo tensed, his grip tightening on the crowbar. He turned his head slowly, eyes scanning the shadows. Something was watching him. Hugo remained perfectly still, crouched behind a police cruiser, his fingers tightening around the crowbar. The noise had come from somewhere past the checkpoint, in the deeper shadows where the streetlights no longer reached. His breath was slow, controlled, barely making a sound. Another shuffle. Closer this time. Not a single groan. No dragging feet. This wasn¡¯t a mindless corpse. His heartbeat pounded in his ears as he strained to listen. Whoever¡ªor whatever¡ªwas out there was careful. Too careful. A survivor? The same one from earlier? He weighed his options. He could wait them out, try to slip away unnoticed. Or he could take the risk and investigate. If they were human, maybe he could learn something. But if they weren¡¯t alone, if this was an ambush¡ª A soft metallic clink. Hugo¡¯s eyes snapped toward the sound. He saw a faint glint of metal shifting near the husk of a burned-out car. A shoe scraped against pavement. That was it. He had to move. With slow, deliberate movements, he ducked lower and started creeping backward, staying behind cover. He kept his pace steady, resisting the urge to bolt. His best chance was to slip away before whoever was out there realized he was aware of them. He was halfway past the last police car when something in the darkness shifted again¡ªfaster this time. A sharp breath. The faintest rustle of fabric. Then¡ª A voice. Low, tense. ¡°Don¡¯t move.¡± Hugo froze, his blood running cold. His instincts screamed at him to run, but he forced himself to stay still. His eyes darted to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of the person speaking. Footsteps approached, slow and deliberate. Hugo tightened his grip on the crowbar. Then the figure stepped into view. A man. Tall, wearing a tattered hoodie and cargo pants. A rifle slung across his back, a handgun held steady in both hands, aimed directly at Hugo. ¡°Drop the bag,¡± the man ordered, his voice rough but controlled. ¡°Now.¡± Hugo¡¯s jaw clenched. His mind raced, calculating his options. He could try to talk his way out. He could fight. Or he could run. The man took a step closer, his gun unwavering. ¡°You deaf? I said¡ª¡± A sound tore through the night. A scream¡ªhigh-pitched, guttural, wrong. It wasn¡¯t like the usual screams of the infected. It was layered, a shrieking, wailing noise that made Hugo¡¯s skin crawl. The man stiffened, his eyes darting toward the darkness. Hugo saw it then, the flicker of genuine fear crossing his face. The sound came again¡ªthis time answered by another. Then another. Then dozens. The air filled with a chorus of unnatural screeches, echoing through the empty streets. From the shadows beyond the checkpoint, figures emerged¡ªfast-moving, twisted things, their emaciated frames hunched forward, sprinting on all fours like feral beasts. Their limbs looked too long, their movements erratic and unnatural. Their skin was stretched tight over their bones, gray and mottled with patches of blackened veins. Some of them had exposed muscle and tendons, as if their flesh had begun rotting away in patches while the rest adapted¡ªmutated. Their eyes burned with a faint, eerie glow. Not regular zombies. Something worse. Hugo¡¯s stomach twisted in horror. The second the man¡¯s focus shifted, Hugo swung the crowbar. It wasn¡¯t a perfect hit, but it was enough¡ªknocking the gun aside just as Hugo lunged forward. The man grunted in surprise, stumbling back, but Hugo didn¡¯t stick around to finish the fight. He bolted. Gunfire erupted behind him. Short, controlled bursts. The man was fighting back, but it wouldn¡¯t be enough. The creatures shrieked, their bodies moving in unnatural jerks, almost insect-like in their speed. They pounced¡ªlaunching themselves forward with terrifying agility. Hugo sprinted past the last police car, weaving between wreckage, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The shrieks grew louder, closing in. He risked a glance over his shoulder¡ªdozens of them, clawing over each other in a rabid frenzy, their elongated fingers curling into twisted claws. But they weren¡¯t chasing him. They had swarmed the man instead. Hugo didn¡¯t slow down, didn¡¯t stop to look back. His only thought was to get as far away as possible before they turned their attention toward him. He pushed harder, his legs burning as he darted through an abandoned alleyway, weaving past rusting dumpsters and wrecked cars. The street ahead was clear. Maybe he¡¯d gotten lucky¡ª A screech. Close. Too close. Hugo¡¯s stomach twisted as he realized his mistake. One of them had noticed him. Chapter 17: Runners A single runner had broken away from the frenzy, locked onto him, and was now sprinting at an impossible speed. Hugo threw himself forward, pumping his arms as he ran. He swerved hard, turning a corner into another alley, hoping to lose it in the maze of buildings. His boots slammed against the cracked pavement, each step jolting through his body as his breath came in short, desperate bursts. He couldn¡¯t outrun it. He needed to hide. His eyes darted wildly, searching for cover. His only chance was a wrecked delivery truck, its back doors half open. He veered toward it, diving behind a stack of wooden pallets just as the creature skidded around the corner. Hugo pressed himself against the ground, forcing his breath to slow. Silence. For a brief moment, all he could hear was his heartbeat hammering in his ears. Then¡ª A slow, rasping breath. Hugo clenched his teeth, muscles coiled. The creature was close. A shadow passed over him. His blood ran cold. Then the awful sound of claws scraping against metal. His pulse slammed against his ribs as he turned his head¡ª The runner was above him. Perched on the edge of the truck¡¯s roof, its emaciated frame crouched low, its glowing eyes peering down directly at him. Its head tilted unnaturally to the side, its mouth stretching into a jagged, twitching grin, as if it knew exactly where he was. Hugo had seconds. It pounced. He rolled just in time. The creature slammed into the pallets, sending wood splintering in all directions. Hugo scrambled to his feet, gripping the crowbar like a lifeline as the thing twisted, limbs jerking unnaturally as it realigned itself. No more running. It was either fight or die. Hugo braced himself as the runner let out another shriek, its body tensing to lunge again. This time, he was ready. As it launched toward him, Hugo swung the crowbar with everything he had. The metal connected with a sickening crunch, slamming into the runner¡¯s jaw and sending it reeling. It crashed against the side of the truck but barely faltered. Its head snapped back unnaturally, then realigned, that horrific grin still spread across its face. Hugo didn¡¯t wait. He lunged forward, bringing the crowbar down again¡ªthis time aiming for the skull. The impact caved part of its temple, but the damn thing kept moving, clawing at him even as blackened blood oozed from the wound. Panic surged through him. It wasn¡¯t going down. The runner lashed out, claws grazing his jacket, barely missing his flesh. Hugo twisted, stumbling backward, his breath ragged. He needed to finish it fast. His eyes darted to the truck. The open cargo area. He didn¡¯t think¡ªjust moved. Ducking low, he faked to the left, drawing the creature toward him before pivoting sharply and lunging toward the open side door. The runner shrieked and sprang at him¡ª At the last second, Hugo sidestepped and kicked out hard, sending the thing tumbling inside. Before it could scramble back out, he gripped the van¡¯s sliding door and yanked it shut with all his strength. The metal slammed into place, sealing the runner inside. A second later, the truck rocked violently as the thing threw itself at the walls, its shrieks turning into deafening wails. It clawed at the metal, rattling the doors, but it was trapped. For now. Hugo staggered back, sucking in deep breaths. His arms ached, his chest burned, but he was alive. He wasn¡¯t waiting to see if it found a way out. Spinning on his heel, he ran. The city around him was eerily silent again, but he knew better than to trust the calm. Those creatures¡ªmutants, whatever they were¡ªhad changed the game. If more of them were out there, the city was no longer just dangerous. It was a death trap. Hugo kept moving, cutting through side streets, his focus locked on one goal: home. The air was thick with the scent of decay and burned-out wreckage as he navigated through the remains of the old world. Abandoned cars sat like tombstones on the roads, their windshields cracked and interiors looted. He passed a convenience store with its front ripped open, shelves toppled and scavenged long ago. Ahead, he spotted a pharmacy, its front windows shattered but the inside still somewhat intact. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. A quick stop. Just a few supplies. Hugo stepped inside, immediately hit by the stale scent of dust and faint rot. Shelves had been ransacked, bottles of medicine and boxes of bandages strewn across the floor. He moved quickly, knowing he didn¡¯t have much time. Most of the painkillers and antibiotics were gone, but further down, behind a fallen display, he found a stash of pill bottles still sealed. Sleeping pills. He grabbed a bottle¡ªsleep had been elusive, and exhaustion was becoming a real threat. Next, he spotted caffeine pills. Those went into his bag too. If he ever needed to stay alert through the night, they¡¯d be a lifesaver. A few more minutes of searching, and he added some bandages, antiseptic wipes, and a roll of gauze to his haul. Not the best finds, but good enough. As he turned to leave, a rustling sound from the back of the pharmacy made his pulse spike. Not again. He froze, listening. A slow, dragging shuffle. A regular zombie. Hugo tightened his grip on the crowbar, slipping through the store quietly before it could notice him. He reached the front, stepping carefully over broken glass, and slipped back onto the street. The city wasn¡¯t silent anymore. Somewhere in the distance, a chorus of shrieks echoed through the ruins, far away but too close for comfort. He had to move faster. A shortcut¡ªhe needed a shortcut. Hugo spotted an old service tunnel ahead, one he had never used before. It was risky, but if it cut through the streets and avoided open areas, it could be his best shot. He climbed over a chain-link fence, careful not to make too much noise, and slipped into the darkness. Inside, the air was heavy, damp. His footsteps echoed faintly against the walls. Rusted pipes lined the ceiling, and the scent of mold clung to the stagnant air. He moved quickly, weaving through the narrow passage, his fingers brushing against the rough concrete for balance. Then, a noise. A faint drip of water. And something else. A low, wet sound. Breathing. Hugo¡¯s grip tightened on the crowbar as he froze. He wasn¡¯t alone. Somewhere in the darkness, something shifted. A shuffle of movement. Then a low, guttural growl. Hugo exhaled slowly, every muscle in his body tensed. He turned his head, trying to pinpoint the source. Then¡ª A shape lunged from the darkness. He barely had time to react. The force sent him sprawling backward, crashing against the damp floor. The crowbar slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground. A weight pinned him down, cold, rotting hands clawing at his shoulders. A regular zombie¡ªthank god. Still, it was trying to rip his throat out. Hugo bucked hard, twisting his body. His fingers scrambled against the floor until they closed around something¡ªbroken rebar, rusted but solid. He didn¡¯t hesitate. With a guttural yell, he rammed it upward. The jagged metal punched through the zombie¡¯s skull. It twitched once, then went still. Hugo shoved the corpse off him, chest heaving. He retrieved his crowbar and wiped his sweaty brow. That was too close. He couldn¡¯t keep doing this. Exhausted, battered, but unwilling to stop, he pushed forward. The tunnel eventually let out into an alleyway not far from his complex. Relief flooded through him as he recognized the familiar broken fence leading into his block. Almost home. He hurried forward, slipping through the gap, but he didn¡¯t relax until he reached the stairwell of his building. His muscles screamed in protest as he climbed, each step feeling heavier than the last. Finally, finally, he reached his door. The moment he stepped inside, he locked it behind him and collapsed onto the couch. Salem stirred from his corner, giving him a sleepy, unimpressed look before curling back up. Hugo exhaled, running a shaky hand through his hair. He had made it. But the city had changed. And whatever those things were¡­ They were only the beginning. Sleep took him before he could even process everything that had happened. A noise jolted him awake. Hugo¡¯s eyes snapped open. It was still early¡ªdim light barely filtered through the covered windows. Then he heard it again. Voices. He sat up, his pulse kicking up. They weren¡¯t whispers. They weren¡¯t careful. Whoever was outside wasn¡¯t trying to be quiet. Then¡ª A single gunshot rang through the air. Hugo was on his feet in an instant, grabbing his gear. He threw on his Kevlar vest, slung the empty shotgun over his shoulder, and took up his crowbar. Salem was already up, ears flattened, tail flicking with agitation. The cat was staring at the door, low to the ground like he sensed the tension thick in the air. The voices outside grew clearer as Hugo crept toward the window. He lifted a slat of the blinds just enough to see what was happening. Twelve men stood outside the complex, all wearing masks. Armed. Hugo remained crouched behind the window, keeping his breathing steady as he studied the group below. The men were standing in a loose formation, their weapons held at the ready but not aimed¡ªyet. They weren¡¯t just some ragtag survivors looking to scavenge. They moved with purpose, with discipline. These were people who knew how to handle a fight. A cold weight settled in his stomach. This wasn¡¯t just some chance encounter. They had followed him. Salem flicked his tail and let out a small, almost impatient chuff, his green eyes fixed on Hugo. It was as if the cat could sense his unease. Hugo forced himself to move. He slung the shotgun over his shoulder, gripping the crowbar tight, and crept toward the door. The apartment was still and silent apart from his own breathing. Every footstep felt too loud, too obvious. As he made his way toward Frank¡¯s apartment, he kept to the shadows, listening to the muffled voices from outside. ¡°¡­we know someone¡¯s in there.¡± ¡°Come on, no need to make this difficult. Let¡¯s talk.¡± Hugo¡¯s jaw clenched. He reached Frank¡¯s door and knocked once¡ªlight but firm. It swung open almost instantly. Frank was waiting, rifle at the ready, his face unreadable in the dim light. The old man¡¯s eyes flicked down to the shotgun on Hugo¡¯s back before he gave a slow nod. ¡°You see them?¡± Frank murmured. Hugo nodded. ¡°Twelve, all armed.¡± Frank exhaled through his nose, his grip tightening on the rifle. ¡°Figures.¡± ¡°What happened before I got here?¡± Hugo whispered. Frank¡¯s gaze didn¡¯t waver from the window. ¡°One of them got too close. I fired a warning shot. Didn¡¯t hit ¡®em, just let ¡®em know we¡¯re not easy targets.¡± Hugo swallowed. ¡°And now?¡± ¡°They¡¯re waiting. Testing us. Trying to figure out if we¡¯re worth the trouble.¡± From outside, a voice called again. ¡°We just want to talk.¡± Hugo exchanged a look with Frank. Neither of them believed that. Frank sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. ¡°Hope you got a plan, kid.¡± Hugo tightened his grip on the crowbar. He didn¡¯t. But he needed one. Fast. "You see them?" Hugo whispered. Frank nodded. "Been watchin'' since before dawn. Bunch of ''em. Too many to take in a straight fight." Hugo swallowed. "That gunshot¡ªwas that you?" Frank grunted. "Warning shot. They got too close. Figured it¡¯d make ¡®em think twice." Hugo exhaled. "What do they want?" Frank¡¯s eyes narrowed. "Don¡¯t know. But they sure as hell ain¡¯t here to help." Outside, one of the masked men stepped forward. He carried himself with authority, the others standing slightly behind him like they were waiting for orders. His voice rang out, calm, but firm. "We know someone¡¯s in there. We¡¯re not looking for trouble¡ªjust a conversation. Step out, and let¡¯s talk." Neither Hugo nor Frank moved. A long silence stretched. Then the man spoke again. "Don¡¯t make us come in." Hugo gritted his teeth, muscles tensing. This wasn¡¯t good. Frank¡¯s grip tightened on his rifle. "Guess we¡¯re in for a long morning." Hugo nodded, his pulse steadying. He wasn¡¯t going anywhere. Neither was Frank. Tension hung thick in the air as the stand-off began. Chapter 18: The Price of Defiance Hugo and Frank remained inside Frank¡¯s apartment, crouched near the window, peering through a narrow gap in the blinds. Outside, the Enclave stood in formation, their leader positioned at the center with an air of command, exuding authority that demanded attention. He was a striking figure, not in the way of brute force, but in presence. He wasn¡¯t the biggest man in the group, but something about him made him feel larger than life. He carried himself with the easy confidence of a man who had killed before and had no problem doing it again. His clothes were clean¡ªpractical, but a cut above the usual scavenged rags. A tactical jacket, dark jeans, boots that hadn¡¯t seen months of decay. His face was sharp, all edges and purpose, with cold blue eyes that missed nothing. A scar ran from the corner of his mouth down to his chin, twisting his smirk into something permanently lopsided. His dark hair was cropped short, and a light stubble covered his jaw, just enough to give him a rugged, seasoned look. He looked up toward the apartment, as if he could see them watching. When he spoke, his voice was smooth¡ªcalm, persuasive. The kind of voice that belonged to a man who was used to being obeyed. ¡°Gentlemen,¡± he called out, tone almost casual. ¡°I¡¯m going to assume you¡¯ve been watching us as much as we¡¯ve been watching you. So let¡¯s not waste time pretending we don¡¯t know what¡¯s happening here.¡± Hugo¡¯s jaw clenched. Frank didn¡¯t move, his rifle steady in his hands. The leader continued, pacing slowly. ¡°One of my men was following you last night, but he never came back. That¡¯s a problem. I don¡¯t like problems.¡± He stopped, looking up again. ¡°And when I have problems, I solve them.¡± Frank let out a slow breath. ¡°He¡¯s fishing.¡± Hugo nodded. The guy didn¡¯t know what had happened to his scout, but he wanted to see if they¡¯d react. Hugo leaned closer to the window and called out. ¡°If your man¡¯s missing, that¡¯s not our problem.¡± The leader let out a short laugh. ¡°Oh, but it is.¡± Silence hung between them. Then the man¡¯s voice turned sharper. ¡°Here¡¯s the deal. This city¡¯s dangerous. You know that. But we¡¯re offering protection. We keep the worst of the dead off these streets, we make sure no one else moves in on our territory.¡± He gestured broadly. ¡°That includes you. You want to stay here? Fine. But you pay tribute. Supplies. Food. Medicine. And in return, we make sure nothing¡­ unfortunate happens to you.¡± Hugo narrowed his eyes. ¡°Sounds more like extortion than protection.¡± The leader¡¯s grin widened. ¡°Call it what you want. Doesn¡¯t change the facts.¡± Frank exhaled through his nose. ¡°And if we say no?¡± The leader tilted his head, considering. ¡°Well, then I¡¯m afraid we¡¯ll have to take what we need by force.¡± Hugo glanced at Frank, who met his gaze with a grim nod. No way in hell they were going to roll over for these bastards. ¡°Here¡¯s my counteroffer,¡± Hugo said. ¡°Go to hell.¡± The leader let out a long sigh, almost disappointed. Then he turned to his men. ¡°Kill them.¡± Gunfire erupted, shattering the window as Frank and Hugo dove for cover. Bullets ripped through the walls, sending splinters of wood and plaster into the air. Frank rolled onto his stomach, raising his rifle and firing a quick shot through the broken window. One of the masked men dropped instantly. ¡°They¡¯re coming!¡± Hugo shouted, shoving a table onto its side for cover just as the apartment door burst open. The first Enclave thug through the door barely had time to react before Frank put a bullet through his chest. The man crumpled, but another was right behind him, firing wildly into the room. Hugo ducked as the couch cushions exploded in a cloud of stuffing. Frank fired again, but this time, they were ready. Two more men stormed in, forcing him to duck behind the kitchen counter. Hugo gripped his crowbar, heart hammering, waiting for an opening. One of the men moved to flank Frank¡ª Hugo didn¡¯t hesitate. He surged forward, swinging the crowbar with both hands. The metal connected with the man¡¯s knee, shattering it with a sickening crunch. The thug screamed, collapsing as Hugo brought the crowbar down again, silencing him permanently. But the distraction cost them. The remaining Enclave soldier raised his gun and fired¡ª This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. Frank grunted, staggering back against the counter. Blood bloomed across his shirt. ¡°No!¡± Hugo lunged at the attacker, smashing his crowbar into the man¡¯s skull with a desperate, furious strike. The man crumpled, but outside, more footsteps pounded up the stairs. More were coming. Frank slumped against the counter, gripping his wound. ¡°Dammit, kid¡­ looks bad.¡± ¡°Shut up, don¡¯t say that.¡± Hugo grabbed him, trying to put pressure on the wound, but the old man shook his head. ¡°Too late for me.¡± Frank¡¯s grip tightened on Hugo¡¯s arm. ¡°Don¡¯t let them take you. Make ¡®em work for it.¡± The door burst open again. Hugo barely had time to react before something struck him hard across the temple. Stars exploded in his vision as he hit the floor. Rough hands yanked him up, forcing his arms behind his back. Through his blurred vision, he saw Frank raise his rifle one last time, blood dripping from his lips. Then¡ª A gunshot. Frank¡¯s body crumpled. ¡°No!¡± Hugo roared, struggling against his captors, but a heavy fist crashed into his jaw, sending him spiraling into darkness. The last thing he heard was the leader¡¯s voice, low and satisfied. ¡°Welcome to the Enclave.¡± Pain dragged him back to consciousness. Hugo¡¯s head lolled forward, his skull throbbing like a war drum. A sharp, burning ache spread across his cheek where he had been struck. He was seated, arms bound tightly behind him. The rough scrape of rope dug into his wrists. Slowly, he lifted his head. The leader stood before him, rolling his shoulders like a man preparing for a long conversation. The dim candlelight flickered, casting shadows along the cracked walls. Hugo was in another apartment, stripped of his weapons, blood dried at the corner of his mouth. The leader knelt down, leveling those cold blue eyes with him. ¡°You went down faster than I expected,¡± he said smoothly. ¡°I was hoping for a bit more of a fight.¡± Hugo worked his jaw, tasting copper. ¡°Go fuck yourself.¡± The leader chuckled. ¡°See, that¡¯s the problem. You still think you have options.¡± He reached to his side, pulled a knife from his belt, and twirled it lazily. ¡°I know you¡¯ve been watching the city. I know you¡¯ve seen how this world works now. And yet, you chose to make this difficult.¡± Hugo met his gaze without flinching. ¡°I choose not to be your bitch.¡± The leader exhaled through his nose, like a disappointed teacher. Then, without warning, he drove the knife into Hugo¡¯s thigh. Hugo hissed, body jerking against the restraints as pain flared through his leg. The leader leaned in close. ¡°Let¡¯s try this again,¡± he murmured. ¡°Where¡¯s my man?¡± Hugo clenched his teeth, breath coming sharp through his nose. The leader twisted the blade. A choked sound escaped Hugo¡¯s throat, but he refused to scream. The leader smiled. ¡°Take your time. We have all night.¡± Hugo sucked in a ragged breath, glaring up at him. His pulse pounded in his ears. He had to find a way out of this. Hugo worked his jaw, tasting copper. ¡°How long was I out?¡± The leader smirked. ¡°Does it matter?¡± Hugo¡¯s gaze didn¡¯t waver. ¡°I¡¯d like to know how much time your man knocked me out.¡± The leader chuckled, tapping his knife against Hugo¡¯s thigh¡ªthe same leg he had stabbed before. ¡°Why does it matter?¡± Hugo clenched his teeth. ¡°Figured I¡¯d ask before you got bored and decided to slit my throat.¡± The leader¡¯s grin widened. ¡°You¡¯re assuming I¡¯ll get bored.¡± He twisted the knife slightly. Hugo inhaled sharply, but he refused to let the bastard see him break. The leader sighed. ¡°You¡¯re really not going to make this easy, are you?¡± Hugo lifted his chin defiantly. ¡°Go fuck yourself.¡± The leader¡¯s expression darkened. Then, without warning, he drove his fist into Hugo¡¯s gut, knocking the air from his lungs. As Hugo gasped, the leader leaned in close. ¡°We¡¯re just getting started.¡± Hugo let the pain wash over him, rolling his shoulders back against the chair. His breath came in short, controlled bursts. He wouldn¡¯t let this bastard see him break. The leader stood back, flexing his fingers like he was deciding where to hit next. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you what,¡± he said casually, pacing the room. ¡°You give me something, and I¡¯ll give you something. You tell me where my man is, and I¡¯ll tell you how long you¡¯ve been out.¡± Hugo exhaled slowly through his nose. He had two options: Lie or tell the truth. If they didn¡¯t already know what had happened to the scout, they had no way to verify. But if he lied, and they found the truth later, they¡¯d kill him in a heartbeat. So he went with something in between. ¡°He¡¯s dead.¡± The leader stopped pacing, tilting his head slightly. ¡°How?¡± Hugo locked eyes with him. ¡°He ran into something worse than us.¡± A flicker of interest crossed the leader¡¯s face. ¡°Worse?¡± Hugo didn¡¯t blink. ¡°Mutants. Runners. Whatever the hell they are, they tore him apart.¡± For a moment, the leader studied him, like he was weighing whether or not to believe him. Then, surprisingly, he let out a soft chuckle. ¡°Yeah. I figured something happened to him.¡± He shook his head. ¡°Idiot was too cocky for his own good.¡± Hugo narrowed his eyes. ¡°You don¡¯t seem too broken up about it.¡± The leader gave a lazy shrug. ¡°He wasn¡¯t the first. Won¡¯t be the last.¡± He stepped closer, leaning down until their faces were nearly level. ¡°But you, Hugo¡ªyou¡¯re still alive. That makes you a whole lot more valuable.¡± Hugo refused to lean back. ¡°So? I told you where your man is. Now tell me.¡± The leader smirked. ¡°You were out for five minutes.¡± Hugo blinked. ¡°Five minutes?¡± The leader chuckled at his surprise. ¡°I don¡¯t like to waste time.¡± Hugo clenched his jaw. ¡°If you were going to kill me, you would¡¯ve done it already.¡± The leader¡¯s grin widened. ¡°That¡¯s the spirit.¡± He tapped the hilt of his knife against Hugo¡¯s leg again, lightly this time. ¡°But you¡¯ve got it backward. I don¡¯t need to kill you. I need to know what¡¯s in that head of yours.¡± Hugo inhaled slowly. ¡°You¡¯re not getting shit from me.¡± The leader let out a dramatic sigh. ¡°See, that¡¯s what Frank said too.¡± Hugo stiffened. The leader watched him closely, looking for a crack. ¡°Old bastard went out with some fire, I¡¯ll give him that. But in the end?¡± He leaned in, voice lowering. ¡°He still bled like anyone else.¡± Hugo¡¯s fingers curled into fists behind the chair. A slow burn of fury crawled up his spine, threatening to boil over. The leader studied his face, and for a moment, his smirk almost seemed amused. Like he enjoyed seeing how much he could push before Hugo snapped. Then, suddenly, he straightened, clapping his hands once. ¡°Alright, enough of this back and forth. You¡¯re smart enough to know your situation. You don¡¯t have to die here, Hugo.¡± Hugo let out a sharp laugh. ¡°And let me guess. If I ¡®cooperate,¡¯ you¡¯ll let me live?¡± The leader nodded. ¡°Exactly. See? You catch on quick.¡± Hugo gave him a hollow smile. ¡°I¡¯d rather take my chances with the dead.¡± The leader tsked, shaking his head. ¡°That¡¯s the wrong answer.¡± He raised the knife again¡ª Then a knock at the door. One of the Enclave soldiers stepped inside, helmet still on. ¡°Sir, we need to move soon. Too much noise.¡± The leader sighed, rolling his shoulders. ¡°Yeah, yeah.¡± He turned back to Hugo, lips curling into a smirk. ¡°Looks like you get a little more time to think about your options.¡± Hugo met his gaze with a defiant glare. ¡°Go fuck yourself.¡± The leader just laughed. ¡°Oh, I like you, Hugo. Let¡¯s see if that attitude holds up tomorrow.¡± Then he turned and walked out, leaving Hugo alone in the dark, tied to the chair, blood dripping from his mouth. Chapter 19: Blood and Fire A dull, throbbing pain settled in Hugo¡¯s skull, pulsing in time with his ragged breaths. His body screamed in protest, muscles weak, his skin slick with sweat and blood. The chair beneath him felt unstable, the ropes around his wrists biting into his flesh. Every inch of him ached¡ªhis ribs, his arms, his busted lip and the knife wound on his thigh. The metallic tang of blood coated his tongue. Chapter 21: Nowhere Left To Run The morning had been quiet. Chapter 22: The Final Stand
The fire station had become a fortress. Every door, every hallway, every possible entry point¡ªthey had fortified, booby-trapped, and turned into a death trap. If the Enclave wanted them, they would have to bleed for it. Hugo wiped sweat from his brow as he crouched in the garage, watching Frank inspect the five compressed air cylinders they had looted from storage. The old man¡¯s face was lined with concentration, his hands working with the kind of precision that came from experience. The cylinders were lined up in a row, their metal casings dull and scratched from years of use. ¡°You ever made a bomb before?¡± Frank asked without looking up. Hugo hesitated. ¡°No.¡± Frank grunted. ¡°Figured. Ain¡¯t somethin¡¯ most folks do for fun.¡± He tapped one of the cylinders, rolling it slightly. ¡°This ain¡¯t gonna be pretty, but it don¡¯t need to be.¡± Hugo knelt beside him, watching closely. Frank took a deep breath, then started. ¡°See, these tanks hold compressed air, real tight. When you rupture one, that air don¡¯t just leak out¡ªit explodes out. That alone can send shrapnel flying, but we¡¯re gonna make sure it does a helluva lot more than that.¡± He gestured to a large metal crate they had dragged over. It was filled with rusted nails, broken bolts, jagged scraps of metal torn from the wreckage of old lockers and shelving. ¡°This here,¡± Frank said, patting the crate, ¡°is what¡¯s gonna turn this into a real nasty mess.¡± He reached for the duct tape and began wrapping handfuls of the sharp metal debris around each cylinder. Every layer added more weight, more lethality. Hugo watched, absorbing every detail. ¡°You ain¡¯t just strappin¡¯ shit to it,¡± Frank explained. ¡°Gotta space it out right, let the force of the blast carry this stuff outward. Too much in one place, and it¡¯ll just melt into the fire instead of tearin¡¯ through someone¡¯s gut.¡± Hugo nodded, mimicking Frank¡¯s work on another tank. He felt the weight of what they were doing¡ªnot just in the physical sense, but in the sheer brutality of it. This wasn¡¯t just about defense. It was a statement. They were making sure the Enclave never left this place alive. When all five bombs were wrapped, Frank grabbed some of the remaining wires they had salvaged earlier. ¡°Now, detonation.¡± Hugo frowned. ¡°How do we set them off?¡± Frank smirked. ¡°That¡¯s where things get fun.¡± He walked over to the gasoline they had siphoned from the fire truck earlier, twisting open the cap and inhaling slightly before pulling back. ¡°Still good.¡± He grabbed one of the empty plastic buckets they had found and poured a heavy dose of gasoline into it. Then, he took a handful of rags and dunked them in, soaking them through. ¡°We pour this all over the floor at the bottom of the stairs,¡± Frank said. ¡°When they breach, they¡¯ll think they got us cornered.¡± He looked at Hugo. ¡°That¡¯s when you use that fancy flare gun of yours.¡± Hugo tightened his grip on the flare gun holstered at his side. ¡°Light them up.¡± Frank nodded. ¡°The fire¡¯ll spread fast. The heat alone will weaken the tanks, but if we do this right¡­¡± He tapped one of the cylinders. ¡°They¡¯ll blow all at once.¡± Hugo could already picture it¡ªthe Enclave flooding into the building, thinking they had their prey trapped, only to be consumed in a firestorm of flames and shrapnel. It was brutal. But necessary. With the bomb nearly ready, Frank led Hugo upstairs to work on the rest of their defenses. The second floor had become their last line of defense¡ªif they were pushed back here, they would fight to the last breath. Frank started by setting up spike traps. They used pieces of broken metal rods from the lockers, hammering them into wooden planks and securing them beneath loose floorboards. When stepped on, the planks would snap up, driving rusted spikes through boots and flesh. ¡°Simple,¡± Frank said, wiping his forehead. ¡°Ain¡¯t gonna kill ¡®em, but it¡¯ll slow ¡®em down real nice.¡± Hugo helped set up tripwires along the main hallway. They used old electrical cords and fishing line, tying them low across the passage. Some were just to make them trip. Others were connected to pieces of furniture that would crash down when disturbed. At the farthest end of the second floor, near their fallback position, Frank set up a deadfall trap. They stacked one of the old metal bunks at an angle against the ceiling, rigging it with a pulley system made from scavenged fire hoses. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. ¡°When they get too close,¡± Frank explained, ¡°cut the rope, and this thing¡¯ll drop straight down. If we¡¯re lucky, it¡¯ll crush someone. If not, it¡¯ll still make ¡®em hesitate.¡± As they worked, Salem moved between them, occasionally stopping to sniff at their handiwork before moving on. His presence was a small comfort¡ªsilent but reassuring. Hugo wiped sweat from his brow, stepping back to look at their work. ¡°This is a lot.¡± Frank gave a short laugh. ¡°Ain¡¯t enough.¡± As the last of the traps were set, Frank and Hugo returned to the garage. The gasoline was already poured. The cylinders were in place, each one a ticking time bomb waiting to erupt. Frank knelt beside the setup, checking everything one last time. ¡°This is it,¡± he muttered. ¡°No goin¡¯ back after this.¡± Hugo crouched beside him, resting a hand on his knee. ¡°You sure about this?¡± Hugo asked. Frank glanced at him, then let out a dry chuckle. ¡°Ain¡¯t got much of a choice, do we?¡± Hugo didn¡¯t respond. Frank sat back, exhaling deeply. ¡°I fought my whole life, kid. Some wars, some personal battles. And you know what I learned?¡± Hugo waited. Frank smirked. ¡°Sometimes, you don¡¯t win. You just make sure the other bastard loses more.¡± Hugo let those words settle. He thought of all the times he had died. The way he had woken up, over and over, forced to live through this nightmare again. This time, maybe¡­ maybe he wouldn¡¯t need to. Frank stood, stretching his back with a groan. ¡°Alright. We got a few hours before they show up. Get some rest.¡± Hugo frowned. ¡°You think we¡¯ll need it?¡± Frank looked at him, his expression dark. ¡°Oh, I know we will.¡± Hugo swallowed hard. He cast one last glance at the fire station, now a battlefield. Tomorrow, hell would come to them. And they would be ready. Hugo sat against the cold concrete wall of the fire station¡¯s second floor, his fingers absently gripping the handle of the firefighter¡¯s axe resting beside him. The room was quiet, save for the faint sound of Frank finishing the last of the traps downstairs. Salem curled up near the barricaded doorway, his ears twitching in the silence, as if even in sleep, he was alert. The weight of exhaustion pressed down on Hugo¡¯s shoulders like a lead blanket. His body screamed for rest. His muscles ached, his mind fogged from the hours of planning and preparing. He had fought against sleep for as long as he could, knowing that once he closed his eyes, everything would reset to that moment. The thought gnawed at him, an unseen force keeping him awake despite the overwhelming fatigue. They weren¡¯t ready to die. Not yet. He exhaled, rubbing his temples. If he died now, all of their effort would be undone. He would be back to the enclave waking him up at the apartment complex. He would have to fight them and most likely run away again. If he pushed forward in this state, exhausted and slow, they would be overwhelmed. The Enclave would slaughter them. But if he reset the loop, if he let himself sleep¡­ they would have another chance. A better chance. His vision blurred slightly. The weight behind his eyes grew unbearable. His body had made the decision for him. He had to sleep. With a slow breath, Hugo leaned his head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling for a long moment before closing his eyes. And the world went dark. Hugo¡¯s eyes snapped open, his body jolting awake as though he had been yanked from drowning waters. He flexed his fingers, feeling the renewed strength in them, the absence of exhaustion. The tension in his body had faded, replaced by the clarity of a full rest. A new starting point. This time, he wasn¡¯t going to hesitate. They had work to do. He wasted no time rousing Frank, who grumbled but didn¡¯t question Hugo¡¯s urgency. Together, they went through everything again¡ª the barricades, the traps, the bomb. Hugo didn¡¯t have to second-guess anything this time. He knew what needed to be done. By the time the sun began to set, everything was in place and ready. And then¡­ they waited. The fire station remained eerily silent, the darkness thick outside. Hugo crouched near one of the narrow windows, peering down at the streets below. Shadows moved between abandoned cars, creeping along the alleyway toward the station¡¯s entrances. The Enclave wasn¡¯t storming in like before. They were taking their time, slipping through the night like predators stalking their prey. Frank whispered from his position near the stairs. ¡°They¡¯re tryin¡¯ to be smart this time.¡± Hugo¡¯s grip tightened on the firefighter¡¯s axe. ¡°That works in our favor.¡± The sound of metal scraping against wood echoed from the lower level. Someone was prying at the barricaded doors, testing for a weak point. More footsteps followed¡ªsilent, calculated movements as the Enclave men fanned out, covering all possible exits. Then, a soft creak. A figure slipped inside through a partially opened window, barely making a sound. Another one followed. Hugo exhaled slowly. They were waiting until enough of them were inside. More shadows moved past the shattered front entrance, slipping into the fire station¡¯s first floor. Three, four, five¡­ A faint voice whispered in the distance, barely audible. Orders being given. Their leader wasn¡¯t inside yet, but his men were doing exactly what he wanted¡ªsweeping the building before committing to a full breach. Frank adjusted his rifle, barely peeking through the gaps in the barricade. ¡°They think they¡¯ve got us boxed in.¡± Hugo took a deep breath, reaching for the flare gun at his side. ¡°Then let¡¯s show ¡®em how wrong they are.¡± The moment another pair of Enclave men stepped through the door, Hugo pulled the trigger. The flare shot downward, landing in the pool of gasoline they had spread across the floor. Fire erupted instantly, flames roaring to life, consuming everything in its path. The lower level turned into an inferno in seconds, smoke billowing as the fire surged up the stairwell. Screams echoed through the station. The men inside panicked, some trying to escape the flames, others diving for cover. Chaos rippled through the Enclave¡¯s ranks as their careful infiltration turned into an all-out disaster. Then, the makeshift bomb went off. The explosion ripped through the first floor. The compressed air cylinders ruptured, sending a shockwave through the building. Shrapnel tore through the air, cutting down those caught in the blast. The walls shook, dust and debris raining from the ceiling. Frank wasted no time. He raised his rifle and fired, dropping a man who had managed to scramble away from the explosion. Another shot¡ªanother body hitting the ground. ¡°Five down,¡± Frank muttered, reloading quickly. Through the smoke and fire, Hugo spotted movement. The leader. Horribly burned, his clothing charred, but still standing, still moving, a handgun clenched in his raw, blistered fingers. Hugo met his eyes. This wasn¡¯t over yet. They had survived the first wave. But the final battle had only just begun. Chapter 23: The Final Stand Part 2
The fire raged below, casting flickering shadows against the walls as the building trembled from the blast. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burning flesh, the screams of the wounded mixing with the crackling flames. Smoke curled upward, billowing into the second floor. The Enclave had taken heavy losses, but they weren¡¯t done yet.
Chapter 24: 42 Loops later Hugo jolted awake, the memories of his last death clung to him like a suffocating weight. He could still feel the pain in his leg, the burn in his ribs, the helpless rage as Frank bled out in his arms. It didn¡¯t matter what he did. No matter how many times he reset, Frank died. Chapter 25: Moving Forward The fire raged below, thick smoke curling up through the stairwell. The heat pressed against Hugo¡¯s skin, sweat dripping from his brow as the battle raged on. Gunfire echoed through the fire station, the scent of burning wood and blood mingling in the air. The Enclave was still coming, pushing forward through the chaos. Chapter 26: Into The City The city stretched before him, silent and ruined. Hugo sat against a crumbling brick wall, his fingers idly tracing the edges of his crowbar. The cold morning air bit at his skin, the sky a dull gray overhead. He could still smell the smoke from the fire station¡ªor maybe that was just in his head. Salem sat beside him, his yellow eyes watching the empty street, tail flicking lazily. He wasn¡¯t tense, but he wasn¡¯t relaxed either. Always waiting, always listening. Hugo exhaled slowly, letting his head rest against the bricks. He was alive. That meant Frank wasn¡¯t. The thought curled in his stomach like a fist, but he forced himself to push past it. He had already made peace with it. Hadn¡¯t he? Hugo¡¯s fingers tightened around the crowbar. The last few weeks had been a slow, bloody descent into something he still wasn¡¯t sure he understood. He had died more times than he could count, each time waking up exactly where he had started. He had learned, adapted, fought, and failed¡ªuntil failing was no longer an option. He had survived the Enclave. Killed their leader. Burned their men alive. He had reset that battle so many times that winning felt more like a necessity than a victory. But it hadn¡¯t been enough to save Frank. And now, for the first time since this nightmare began, there was no going back. He had slept. That meant whatever happened next was real. Permanent. His hand moved instinctively to his backpack, fingers brushing over the weight of Frank¡¯s rifle. It still felt wrong¡ªlike it didn¡¯t belong to him. But he had taken it anyway. He had taken everything he could carry¡ªammo, supplies, the Enclave leader¡¯s pistol. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was enough to keep going. The only question was where? He glanced at the city ahead. Downtown. That was the only way forward. The bridge leading to his brothers was on the other side of that towering graveyard of steel and concrete. He had spent so long avoiding it, circling its edges like prey watching a predator from a safe distance. But now, there was no more circling. He had to go through. And that meant facing whatever was waiting inside. Salem stretched, yawning lazily before hopping onto the ledge of a broken window. His ears twitched, his nose sniffing the cold morning air. He turned back to Hugo with an expectant look. It¡¯s time. Hugo exhaled, pushed himself to his feet, and swung his backpack onto his shoulders. His body ached, but the pain was good. It meant he was still here. Still moving. One last glance at the smoke-stained sky. Then he turned, stepping into the ruins of the dead city. He had somewhere to be. Hugo moved carefully through the ruined streets, the towering glass and steel of downtown looming over him. The air was thick with the scent of rot and damp concrete, every gust of wind carrying the faint echo of distant groans. He kept to the shadows, his footfalls silent against the cracked pavement. Downtown was a death trap. He knew that much the moment he stepped past the outskirts. The sheer number of abandoned vehicles, collapsed storefronts, and broken windows told the story¡ªpeople had tried to flee, but no one had made it out. Salem crept ahead, his yellow eyes wide and alert, his body low to the ground. Hugo followed the cat¡¯s lead, trusting his instincts to warn him of danger before he saw it himself. Then he spotted it¡ªa sporting goods store wedged between the skeletal remains of a coffee shop and a burned-out pharmacy. Its sign hung crookedly above shattered glass doors, the words "Ridgeway Outfitters" barely legible under the grime. Looters had already been here, but that didn¡¯t mean everything was gone. Hugo crouched near the entrance, scanning the inside through the broken glass. The store was dark, the shelves mostly ransacked, but a lot of the larger equipment had been left untouched. More importantly, there were no signs of movement inside. He slipped inside, careful not to crunch any broken glass under his boots. The place smelled of mildew and dust, a sharp contrast to the stench of decay outside. Rows of empty shelves lined the walls, stripped of their more obvious valuables¡ªcamping stoves, hunting knives, and prepackaged survival kits were long gone. But Hugo wasn¡¯t looking for the obvious. He moved past the front counters, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. Toward the back, near the employee storage area, he spotted a display of backpacks still hanging from their hooks. Most were cheap, flimsy things meant for casual hikers¡ªbut one stood out. A heavy-duty tactical backpack. Dark gray, reinforced with multiple compartments, durable straps, and a built-in water bladder. Exactly what he needed. He yanked it down, giving the zippers a quick test. It was sturdy, well-made. His current pack had served him well, but this one was better¡ªroomier, stronger, and far more comfortable to carry long distances. Sliding it onto his shoulders, he felt the difference immediately. The weight distributed better across his back, and the straps didn¡¯t dig into his shoulders like his old one. Salem jumped onto a toppled display rack, sniffing at a pile of discarded gear. Hugo followed, eyes sweeping the area. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. Then he saw it. A bow. It was resting inside an open display case, a sleek black compound bow. The sight of it sent a strange nostalgia creeping through his chest. He had used one before¡ªonce or twice, when he was a kid. His uncle had taken him and his brothers to an archery range one summer. He had barely been able to pull the string back then, but he remembered the mechanics, the way the shot had felt when he finally landed an arrow on the target. He reached for it slowly, his fingers grazing the smooth grip. A gun was faster. More reliable. But a bow was quiet. And quiet mattered. Carefully, he lifted it, testing the tension of the string. It was in good condition, the limbs solid, the cams unbroken. He slung it over his shoulder, along with a quiver of arrows¡ªmost were missing, but there were still about fifteen left. A low chuff from Salem made him glance down. The cat was sniffing at something near a pile of collapsed shelves. Hugo crouched, pushing aside the scattered debris until his fingers closed around a bundle of thick rope. He grinned. This would come in handy. Looping the rope over his Backpack, he did one last sweep of the store. Further searching revealed a small hand-cranked flashlight, some protein bars, and a pack of water purification tablets. Good finds. Most of what remained was useless¡ªbroken fishing rods, shattered glass cases, a deflated raft. But as far as he was concerned, he had just hit a jackpot. A better backpack. A bow and arrows. A rope. He had everything he needed to keep moving. Adjusting the straps of his new pack, he gave Salem a small nod. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± The cat flicked his tail, then padded toward the exit. He had no idea what awaited him in the heart of downtown. But at least now, he was better prepared. Hugo kept low as he moved through the skeletal remains of downtown, his new gear settling against his back with every step. The bow felt foreign slung over his shoulder, a weapon he had barely used, but the weight of it was oddly reassuring. Guns were loud. The bow? That was something he could learn, something that wouldn¡¯t call an entire horde down on him with every shot. Salem padded ahead, weaving through the debris of the ruined city. Hugo stopped at the mouth of a crumbling intersection. Skyscrapers loomed around him like silent grave markers, their glass windows shattered, steel frameworks exposed where time and destruction had gutted them. Some buildings had partially collapsed, blocking entire streets with mountains of rubble. And everywhere¡ªeverywhere¡ªthere were the dead. Hugo clenched his jaw, tightening his grip on the crowbar as he scanned the streets. The density of zombies here was unlike anything he had faced before. The suburbs, the outskirts¡ªthose places had walkers, but they were spread out, easier to deal with. Here? The entire city felt suffocated with them. Some stood idle, their heads lolling, bodies swaying in the cold wind. Others wandered aimlessly between rusted, abandoned cars. And worse¡ªsome of them moved with unnatural sharpness. Runners. Hugo let out a slow breath, steadying himself. What he had hoped would be a day¡¯s journey through downtown now stretched impossibly long. The road leading out of the city had been blocked¡ªcollapsed buildings, abandoned military barricades, overturned buses jammed together like a tomb. He had tried backtracking, looking for alternate routes, but each path only revealed more problems: impassable ruins, flooded underpasses, streets so clogged with wreckage they were unusable. The only way forward was through the heart of the city. And it was going to take days. He adjusted his pack and moved. He had barely gone three blocks when everything went wrong. A runner. It spotted him from across an intersection¡ªperched on the hood of an abandoned taxi, its body twitching unnaturally. Then it screamed. Hugo¡¯s stomach dropped. A second later, it lunged. He sprinted. The first runner was faster than he expected. It vaulted over a car hood, its elongated limbs clawing at the pavement as it closed the distance. Hugo veered left, ducking into an alley, his boots pounding against the ground. Salem bolted ahead, slipping under a collapsed fence. Hugo followed, barely squeezing through before the runner slammed against it, clawing at the gaps. More shrieks. They weren¡¯t alone. He didn¡¯t stop. He sprinted through the narrow passage, vaulting over fallen debris. Up ahead¡ªa fire escape. Hugo leapt, grabbing onto the rusted ladder, scrambling up just as the first runner slid into the alley. He climbed, breath ragged, pulling himself onto the roof. Hugo barely had time to catch his breath. Below, the runners snarled and clawed at the fire escape, their elongated fingers scraping against rusted metal. Their bodies twitched unnaturally, their glowing eyes locked onto him. Then one of them leapt. Hugo¡¯s heart stopped. The first runner vaulted off the ground, its powerful legs launching it into the air. It grabbed onto the edge of the roof with ease, its fingers digging into the crumbling brick. Another one jumped, landing just short but catching a drainage pipe, scrambling up like a rabid spider. Hugo didn¡¯t wait. He bolted. Salem shot ahead, his sleek black form barely visible against the shadows of the rooftop. The first runner pulled itself up, its head snapping toward Hugo as it let out another ear-piercing shriek. A second later, it charged. Hugo sprinted, his boots pounding against the rooftop, the wind whipping past his face. His lungs burned, his pulse hammered. The gap between buildings was coming fast. He didn¡¯t stop to think. He jumped. For a split second, he was airborne¡ªweightless¡ªbefore his feet slammed onto the next rooftop. He stumbled, nearly going over the edge, but caught himself just in time. The first runner cleared the gap effortlessly, landing behind him. Another one followed. Hugo cursed under his breath. There were at least three of them now, moving with terrifying speed. He veered left, cutting across a rooftop littered with old air conditioning units and satellite dishes. The layout was uneven, but that barely slowed them down. Salem leapt onto a ledge, landing gracefully before darting across a rusted metal beam that connected to another building. Hugo didn¡¯t have that option. The runners were closing in. He swung the backpack off one shoulder, yanking free his bow. Fumbling, he nocked an arrow¡ªhis first real shot since finding the thing. The lead runner lunged. Hugo loosed the arrow. It whistled through the air¡ªnot perfect, but not a total miss. The tip slammed into the runner¡¯s shoulder, throwing it off balance. It crashed onto the rooftop with a snarl, struggling to regain its footing. Hugo didn¡¯t stop. He cut right, aiming for a fire escape ahead. The metal ladder dangled, just barely within reach¡ªtoo high to grab in a standing jump. Behind him, the second runner let out a shriek and leapt. Hugo took a running start. At the last second, he kicked off an old ventilation duct, using the extra height to snag the bottom rung of the fire escape. His fingers burned as he hoisted himself up, the muscles in his arms screaming in protest. Below, the first runner recovered, ripping the arrow from its shoulder, its head snapping up toward him. The second runner slammed into the side of the building, its fingers clawing at the bricks, searching for a grip. Hugo climbed. Faster. Above, Salem hopped onto the railing, watching as Hugo scrambled up. The moment he reached the platform, he kicked the ladder down. Metal clattered violently against the wall as the loose ladder tumbled, striking one of the runners below. It howled in frustration, but they weren¡¯t giving up. The first one jumped again, this time grabbing the railing. Hugo¡¯s eyes widened. He didn¡¯t hesitate. He yanked his crowbar free and swung. CRACK. The runner¡¯s fingers shattered under the impact. It let out a guttural screech as it lost its grip, plummeting backward. Hugo didn¡¯t wait to see if it survived. He turned and climbed through the nearest window, disappearing into the dark ruins beyond. Salem followed, slipping inside just as Hugo yanked the window shut. For a moment, only silence. Then, from outside¡ªmore shrieks. They weren¡¯t done hunting him yet. Hugo pressed his back against the wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His body was on fire¡ªhis legs, his arms, his chest, everything ached from the chase. The building was dark, dust swirling in the faint light filtering through the cracks in the boarded-up windows. He scanned the room. Looked like an old office space. Desks overturned, papers scattered. Signs of looting, but no fresh movement. He exhaled slowly. Safe. For now. Salem sniffed the air before hopping onto a fallen filing cabinet, watching the window. Hugo rubbed a hand over his face, still buzzing from adrenaline. That had been too close. The runners were worse than he ever imagined. He had known they were fast, but jumping rooftops? They weren¡¯t just dangerous. They were relentless. And the bridge was still miles away. He let out a long breath, staring out the cracked window. The city stretched on, towering and endless. This was going to be a long, long journey. Chapter 28: Running on Borrowed Time Morning settled over the ruined skyline, casting a dull light over the hollowed-out streets. Hugo sat against the cold concrete wall of the office building, his breathing slow and controlled. He had slept. That alone was rare. The exhaustion that had clung to him for days still lingered, but at least now he had a clearer head. Salem paced nearby, his yellow eyes locked on him, tail flicking sharply. Move. Hugo sighed and pushed himself to his feet. Four weeks. That¡¯s how long it had been since the world had ended. Since the streets had been filled with screaming instead of silence. Now, downtown was a different kind of nightmare¡ªone built from stillness and the overwhelming sense that something was always watching. The bridge to his brothers was still miles away. He had no choice but to go deeper into the city. And that meant more of the dead. He adjusted the straps on his backpack and moved. The city had changed. Not enough time had passed for nature to reclaim it, but decay had seeped into every corner. Trash piled high on sidewalks. Flyers and newspapers clung to the pavement, stuck in dried blood. Cars sat abandoned mid-turn, doors hanging open. In some places, desperate barricades had been built and then torn down. The world hadn¡¯t ended cleanly. It had fought tooth and nail before finally collapsing. Hugo kept his pace measured, sticking to the edges of buildings as he moved. He had spent the last few days carefully avoiding the densest areas, but downtown was different. It didn¡¯t allow avoidance. Every street was clogged with cars, making quick movement impossible. Every alley was a potential death trap. And then there were the dead. They were everywhere. Some wandered between the rusting vehicles, their bodies swaying unnaturally as if caught in a breeze no one could feel. Others stood motionless, their hollow eyes staring at nothing, as if waiting for a reason to move. And then there were the runners. Hugo had learned fast that they were different. They didn¡¯t shuffle. They waited. Stalking in the ruins, perched on wreckage, their bodies twitching with unnatural tension. They weren¡¯t just predators. They were patient. He moved carefully, passing a looted storefront that had once been a convenience store. The doors had been smashed in, the floor inside littered with trampled food wrappers and shattered glass. Nothing useful left. Salem darted ahead, hopping onto the hood of a car before slipping down a side alley. Hugo followed, stepping over a dried-out corpse wedged between two trash bins. Whoever they had been, they were long past saving. Then¡ª A scream. Hugo froze. It wasn¡¯t the mindless wail of the infected. It was human. A second later¡ªa crash. His first instinct was to keep moving. But then the scream came again¡ªcloser, desperate. Hugo clenched his jaw. Damn it. Hugo moved toward the noise, weaving through the wreckage of an overturned bus. He came into a small, open plaza, the remains of an outdoor market still lingering¡ªempty stalls, scattered produce now long rotted away. And in the center¡ª A woman. She was backed against a fallen kiosk, gripping a rusted metal pipe, swinging wildly at four walkers advancing on her. Her arms were shaking, her footing slipping. She wasn¡¯t going to last. Hugo acted without thinking. "HEY!" The zombies snapped their heads toward him, groaning hungrily. The woman¡¯s eyes widened. Hugo was already moving, pulling his crowbar free as the first walker lunged. CRACK. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. The crowbar smashed into its skull, splitting bone and sending it crumpling. The second one turned toward him, reaching¡ª Hugo swung low, shattering its knee. The thing collapsed, snarling as it clawed at the pavement. A second later, he slammed the crowbar down again, ending it. The third was closing in on the woman. She swung the pipe, but her arms were weak. The blow barely slowed the walker down. Hugo didn¡¯t hesitate. He yanked his pistol from his holster, aimed¡ª Bang. The bullet punched through the zombie¡¯s skull, dropping it instantly. The last one was already on him. Hugo turned, barely raising the crowbar in time to block its grasping hands. Its rotting fingers clawed at him, its jaw snapping inches from his throat. With a grunt, he shoved it back, breaking its grip¡ªthen swung. CRUNCH. The walker collapsed, twitching once before going still. Silence. Hugo exhaled slowly, scanning the area. No more threats. For now. The woman was panting, eyes wide with disbelief. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, her voice cracked. ¡°¡­You saved me.¡± Hugo¡¯s fingers tightened around the crowbar. ¡°Are you hurt?¡± he asked. She shook her head too quickly. ¡°I¡ªI don¡¯t think so.¡± Hugo exhaled. ¡°We need to move. More will be coming.¡± She hesitated, glancing at the bodies, her hands trembling. ¡°I¡ªI don¡¯t know where to go.¡± Hugo clenched his jaw. Another burden. Another risk. But he already knew what he was going to say. ¡°Come with me.¡± Her breath hitched. ¡°¡­Are you sure?¡± Hugo scanned the area again, weighing the risk. He had already gotten involved. Leaving her here wasn¡¯t an option anymore. ¡°Yeah,¡± he said, tightening his grip on the crowbar. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± The woman hesitated for only a second before darting back toward the fallen kiosk. Hugo tensed, scanning the street as she dug through the wreckage, yanking free a worn-out hiking backpack that had been shoved under a collapsed stall. ¡°What the hell are you doing?¡± Hugo hissed. She slung the bag over her shoulders. ¡°Food,¡± she panted. ¡°I¡ªI grabbed what I could before they cornered me.¡± Hugo didn¡¯t argue. Food was rare. But time was rarer. Then he heard it. The first groan. Then another. Then dozens. Hugo turned his head sharply¡ªand his stomach dropped. The street was flooding with walkers. From the alleys, from the side streets, from inside shattered stores where they had been trapped in the dark. The gunshot had drawn them like flies to rotting flesh. And now, they were pouring toward the market square. Hugo grabbed her wrist. ¡°Run.¡± She didn¡¯t argue. They bolted. The market had once been a maze of vendor stalls, set up in a wide-open square surrounded by brick buildings. But now, it was a death trap. The exits were clogged with the dead, their rotting faces twisted in hunger. Hugo pulled her toward the only gap left¡ªan alleyway to the right. It was narrow, wedged between two buildings, the walls so close together they barely had space to sprint side by side. Salem had already darted ahead, a black shadow weaving through the debris. The woman gasped beside him, her boots slamming against the pavement. ¡°Where¡ªwhere are we going?¡± ¡°Anywhere but here,¡± Hugo muttered, gripping his crowbar in one hand, his pistol in the other. He had bullets, but shooting would only make things worse. The alley twisted sharply, leading them into a side street filled with overturned cars. The rusted skeletons of abandoned vehicles littered the road, forming obstacles between them and escape. Behind them¡ª The horde followed. They pushed forward, dodging past wreckage, vaulting over fallen dumpsters. Salem slipped under a half-crushed sedan, barely slowing. Hugo and the woman scrambled over its hood. Behind them, the first walker crashed into the car, snarling. Another clawed over its back, dragging itself after them. They weren¡¯t fast, but they were many. ¡°Where now?¡± the woman gasped. Hugo scanned the street frantically. The road ahead was partially blocked¡ªan overturned bus had crashed into a fire hydrant, the front end buried in the second floor of a brick building. A pile of collapsed scaffolding made the passage nearly impossible. There was no going through. But maybe¡ª ¡°There!¡± Hugo pointed toward an old laundromat. The glass windows had long since been shattered, the sign hanging by a single rusted chain. It had a back exit. He knew that from his last run through this city. It wasn¡¯t perfect, but it was something. ¡°Inside!¡± They sprinted for the door. The woman stumbled as her foot caught on a loose chunk of concrete¡ªHugo grabbed her arm, yanking her upright before she could fall. They reached the laundromat just as the first wave of walkers hit the sidewalk. Hugo shoved her through the broken door, glass crunching beneath their boots as they skidded inside. The stench hit them instantly. Rot. Dampness. The sour stink of mildew clinging to the ruined machines. Rows of rusted washing machines stood like tombstones against the walls, their doors hanging open, filled with stagnant water and old, rotting clothing. No time to stop. Hugo grabbed her wrist again. ¡°Come on¡ªthere¡¯s a back door.¡± They sprinted past overturned laundry carts, dodging between shattered detergent bottles. The back exit was in sight. Then¡ª A walker lunged from the side. Hugo barely twisted in time, the thing¡¯s rotting fingers clawing at his backpack. ¡°MOVE!¡± he shouted, swinging the crowbar. CRACK. The walker¡¯s jaw shattered, but it didn¡¯t fall. The woman let out a cry, grabbing a metal laundry pole from the floor and ramming it into the creature¡¯s side. Hugo didn¡¯t wait. He brought the crowbar down again¡ªhard. The walker collapsed. More groans filled the room. The noise had drawn others inside. ¡°Go! Now!¡± The woman bolted, shoving the back door open. Hugo followed, Salem slipping past his legs as they tumbled into the alley beyond. They kept running. Through another maze of side streets. Hugo could feel his lungs burning, the weight of his pack digging into his shoulders. The woman was struggling, panting hard. But she kept moving. That was all that mattered. After what felt like an eternity, they finally slowed. Hugo dragged her into an old parking garage, shoving the heavy metal door closed behind them. They collapsed against the wall, breathing hard. For a long time, neither of them spoke. Only the sound of their ragged gasps filled the air. Finally¡ª The woman let out a weak, breathless laugh. ¡°That was¡ªthat was insane.¡± Hugo wiped the sweat from his forehead. ¡°Welcome to the end of the world.¡± She exhaled sharply, closing her eyes for a second before lifting her bag and pulling it onto her lap. She unzipped it, revealing her loot¡ªfood. Cans. Protein bars. A few bottles of water. Not much. But enough to be worth risking her life for. Hugo watched as she ran a shaking hand through her dirt-streaked hair, letting out another breathless laugh. ¡°You really saved my ass.¡± Hugo glanced at her. For a second, he didn¡¯t know what to say. Then, finally¡ª ¡°¡­Yeah.¡± The city wasn¡¯t any safer. But for now, they were alive. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant groans of the dead outside. Hugo leaned against the cold concrete wall, catching his breath, his body still tense despite their temporary safety. The woman sat across from him, her back pressed against the base of a rusted support beam. Her hands trembled slightly as she dug through her bag, fingers fumbling with the zipper. She looked exhausted. Now that they weren¡¯t running for their lives, Hugo took a better look at her. She was in her late twenties, maybe early thirties, with sharp, dark brown eyes and tanned skin smudged with dirt. Her shoulder-length black hair was pulled into a messy ponytail, loose strands sticking to her sweat-slicked forehead. She wore a dark long-sleeved thermal shirt, layered under a worn green utility jacket with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her jeans were torn at the knees, stained with dust and dried blood. A few bruises and scratches lined her arms¡ªsome fresh, some older. She wasn¡¯t a fighter. At least, not like Hugo had become. But she had survived this long, which meant she was smart¡ªor just lucky. Salem sat between them, licking his paw before rubbing it over his ear, seemingly indifferent to the chaos they had barely escaped. The woman let out a breath, finally breaking the silence. ¡°Guess I should say thanks,¡± she said, voice still a little breathless. She gave a weak, tired smile. ¡°You really saved my ass back there.¡± Hugo shrugged. ¡°Didn¡¯t have much of a choice. You were making too much noise.¡± She scoffed, shaking her head. ¡°Wow. And here I thought you were just being heroic.¡± Hugo smirked, but it didn¡¯t quite reach his eyes. ¡°Heroism gets you killed.¡± She nodded slowly, her expression sobering. ¡°Yeah¡­ yeah, I¡¯m starting to get that.¡± She stretched her legs out, wincing slightly before rubbing at her shin. ¡°Name¡¯s Riley.¡± Hugo hesitated. He had gotten used to being alone. To not bothering with introductions. But something about this moment¡ªabout her looking at him, waiting¡ªmade it feel like not answering would be wrong. ¡°Hugo,¡± he said finally. Riley nodded, as if committing it to memory. ¡°Well, Hugo, I owe you one.¡± He shook his head. ¡°You don¡¯t. Just don¡¯t slow me down.¡± Riley let out a quiet laugh. ¡°Yeah, yeah. I¡¯ll try my best.¡± She leaned back against the beam, rubbing a hand over her face. The weight of exhaustion was clear in her posture, the slump of her shoulders. Hugo watched her for a second before reaching into his pack. He pulled out one of the few remaining bottles of water and tossed it to her. She caught it clumsily, blinking in surprise before giving him a small, appreciative nod. ¡°Thanks.¡± Hugo didn¡¯t reply. He just exhaled, looking toward the darkened entrance of the parking garage. They couldn¡¯t stay here forever. The city was still waiting for them. And it wasn¡¯t going to get any easier. Chapter 29: Burden of Strangers The air between them was heavy with exhaustion, but neither spoke at first. Hugo and Riley sat near the back of the old moving van, the metal interior cool against their backs. Outside, the city was deceptively still, but the distant echoes of groaning walkers carried through the streets¡ªa reminder that safety was temporary. Salem remained close to Hugo¡¯s side, his tail flicking with barely concealed irritation. He watched Riley with unblinking yellow eyes, clearly unimpressed by her presence. Riley huffed out a small breath, stretching her sore arms. ¡°So¡­ you just go everywhere with a cat?¡± Hugo glanced down at Salem, scratching the cat behind the ear. ¡°Yeah.¡± Riley snorted. ¡°That¡¯s gotta be the weirdest thing I¡¯ve seen since all this started.¡± Hugo didn¡¯t respond. He had been through too much to think traveling with a cat was strange. If anything, Salem had been the only thing keeping him sane. Riley ran a hand through her tangled hair, sighing. ¡°Guess it¡¯s not the weirdest thing in the world anymore. I saw a guy last week covered in, like¡­ tinfoil. Looked like he thought the zombies were some government experiment, and wearing metal would stop them from reading his mind.¡± Hugo raised an eyebrow. ¡°Did it?¡± She grinned, but there was no humor in it. ¡°Nope. Got torn apart two blocks later.¡± Hugo shook his head, leaning against the van wall. The tension in his muscles was finally starting to dull, but his body still ached from the endless running and fighting. The chase through the city had taken everything out of them. Riley had grabbed a bag of food before they ran¡ªat least they wouldn¡¯t have to scavenge for a bit. ¡°I still don¡¯t get how you¡¯ve kept him alive,¡± Riley said after a pause, nodding toward Salem. ¡°Like¡­ he doesn¡¯t make noise? Doesn¡¯t run off?¡± Hugo gave a small smirk. ¡°He¡¯s smarter than most people.¡± Salem gave a slow blink, curling his tail around himself as if to prove the point. Riley chuckled, shaking her head. ¡°Yeah, well. Guess if I had a cat, I¡¯d want one like that.¡± The weight of exhaustion finally settled into Hugo¡¯s bones. He had been running on fumes for too long, pushing through sheer survival instinct. Now that they had found a place¡ªtemporary as it was¡ªhis body demanded rest. He exhaled and sat up straighter. ¡°We¡¯ll sleep here tonight. I¡¯ll take first watch.¡± Riley raised an eyebrow. ¡°You sure? You look like hell.¡± Hugo gave a half-hearted shrug. ¡°I¡¯ve had worse.¡± She didn¡¯t argue, just adjusted her position, leaning against the van door. ¡°Wake me up in a few hours, then. I don¡¯t mind taking a turn.¡± Hugo nodded, but he knew once she was asleep, he wouldn¡¯t wake her. He wasn¡¯t sure if he could trust her yet, but at least for now, she wasn¡¯t trying to kill him. Salem nestled against his side, his warmth familiar and grounding. Hugo let out one last slow breath, his eyelids growing heavier. Just a few hours. Then he¡¯d decide what came next. Hugo woke before the first light of dawn. His body stirred with a familiar sense of unease, the kind that came after too many nights spent on edge. The inside of the moving van was dim, the cold air seeping through the cracks in the rusted metal. He exhaled slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, adjusting to the silence. Salem was still curled up beside him, tucked into the warmth of his jacket. The cat let out a soft sigh in his sleep, his tail flicking slightly. Riley, however, was still out cold. Hugo sat up, resting his arms on his knees as he watched her. She had turned onto her side sometime in the night, her head resting against her duffel bag, her arms curled close to her chest. Her face, now free of the tension and sharp edges that came with being awake, looked younger than he had initially thought. Vulnerable. She had been lucky. If Hugo hadn¡¯t been there, she would have died in that market. And now she was his problem. He ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply through his nose. Riley was a liability. He barely knew her. She could slow him down, make mistakes, get him killed. He had spent too much time refining his survival, perfecting his instincts, making sure every action led to a better outcome. He couldn¡¯t afford dead weight. The smart thing to do was to leave. Let her fend for herself. His fingers absentmindedly tapped against his knee as he weighed his options. She had handled herself well in the market. She wasn¡¯t completely useless. She was quick on her feet, she hadn¡¯t hesitated to run, and she had been smart enough to grab supplies when they had the chance. Maybe she could be of use. Maybe, for once, he wouldn¡¯t have to go it alone. Hugo frowned, shifting his gaze back to her. Her breath was slow, even, her body still. But as he watched, she shivered slightly, her thin jacket doing little to shield her from the cold. His chest tightened, just slightly. Before he could think about it too much, he reached for his bag, pulling out one of the blankets he had stuffed into it back at the fire station. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then draped it over her. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. She stirred slightly, but didn¡¯t wake. That was that, then. He leaned back, glancing toward the doors of the van. The city outside was quiet¡ªtoo quiet. The sooner they moved, the better. Hugo reached over and gave Riley¡¯s shoulder a firm shake. She jolted awake with a sharp inhale, her eyes darting wildly for half a second before she remembered where she was. Her body tensed, her hand moving toward the knife at her hip. ¡°It¡¯s morning,¡± Hugo said simply. ¡°Time to go.¡± Riley blinked at him, still half in the haze of sleep. She sat up slowly, running a hand through her tangled hair, shivering slightly before realizing she had a blanket over her. She frowned, glancing at him. ¡°You give me this?¡± Hugo shrugged. ¡°You looked cold.¡± She studied him for a long second, then scoffed. ¡°Didn¡¯t peg you for the thoughtful type.¡± Hugo ignored that. He grabbed his bag, slinging it over his shoulders. ¡°We need to move. The gunshots from last night probably stirred up everything in the area.¡± Riley stretched, wincing at the stiffness in her muscles. ¡°Yeah, yeah. I¡¯m moving.¡± She glanced around the van, frowning. ¡°Guess I should say thanks for not ditching me in the middle of the night.¡± ¡°I thought about it,¡± Hugo admitted. Riley let out a dry chuckle. ¡°Comforting.¡± Hugo gave her a pointed look. ¡°You¡¯re still a liability. But if you pull your weight, maybe you¡¯ll be useful.¡± Riley scoffed, standing up and rolling her shoulders. ¡°Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.¡± Hugo ignored her sarcasm and peeked through the back doors of the van. The street was still. No immediate threats. But that didn¡¯t mean much. He looked back at her. ¡°I''m heading for the river.¡± She nodded. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s where I¡¯m going, too. There¡¯s a bridge not far from here. ¡± Hugo hesitated for half a second, then nodded. She studied him for a moment, as if trying to gauge how much she trusted him. Then she sighed, reaching down to grab her bag. ¡°Well, guess that means we¡¯re stuck together for now.¡± Hugo didn¡¯t bother responding. He just pushed open the doors, scanning the area one last time. No movement. Good. He stepped out first, keeping low. Riley followed, pulling the blanket tighter around her for a second before stuffing it into her bag. Salem hopped down beside them, tail flicking as he sniffed the air. Hugo tightened the straps of his bag, adjusting the weight. The bridge was still miles away, and the city was unpredictable. But at least, for now, he wasn¡¯t going alone. Without another word, they moved. The city stretched out before them, a vast maze of ruined streets and skeletal buildings. The further they moved toward the bridge, the more desolate the roads became. Nature had already started reclaiming parts of the concrete jungle¡ªvines creeping up cracked buildings, weeds splitting through the pavement. The streets, however, were still littered with signs of human desperation. Abandoned cars, toppled streetlights, scattered belongings left behind in the chaos. Hugo led the way, keeping his steps quiet, his eyes constantly scanning their surroundings. Riley followed a few steps behind, her breathing a little heavier than before. Salem moved between them, occasionally darting ahead to sniff at something before slinking back. They had been walking for a while, and the sun had climbed higher in the sky. The air was thick, the humidity clinging to their skin. After a while, Riley let out a sharp breath and wiped at her forehead. ¡°Hold up.¡± Hugo stopped and glanced back at her. She was sweating more than she should have been, her face paler than before. She took another deep breath, rolling her shoulders like she was trying to shake off the exhaustion. ¡°You alright?¡± Hugo asked. ¡°Yeah, just¡ª¡± Riley exhaled sharply. ¡°I need a minute. And water. I''m running low.¡± She gestured toward a half-crushed bar on the corner of the street. ¡°Think we can check that place? There¡¯s gotta be something to drink in there.¡± Hugo studied her for a second, then glanced at the building. The windows were mostly intact, the doors still shut. A good sign, but not a guarantee. He nodded. ¡°Alright. But stay close.¡± They moved toward the entrance cautiously. The bar had once been a lively place¡ªthere were faded neon signs in the windows, old flyers plastered along the brick wall advertising drink specials and live music. The glass door had a deep crack running through it, but it held as Hugo tested it with a push. He pressed his ear to the frame and listened. Silence. That didn¡¯t mean much. He gave Riley a quick glance. ¡°Stay behind me.¡± She nodded, and he carefully pushed the door open. The smell hit them first¡ªstale alcohol, damp wood, and the underlying rot of something long-dead. The bar was dim, the only light filtering through the windows, casting long shadows across the booths and tables. Dust hung in the air, disturbed by their movement. Hugo stepped inside, crowbar in hand, his eyes scanning the room. The bar counter stretched along the left side, a row of shattered stools knocked over in front of it. Behind the counter, shelves of liquor bottles lined the wall, some missing, others still intact. A few booths in the back were overturned, and broken glass littered the floor. No immediate movement. But something felt¡­off. Riley moved up beside him, keeping her voice low. ¡°Think we¡¯re good?¡± Hugo didn¡¯t answer immediately. He gestured for her to stay put, then moved deeper into the bar, careful to avoid the broken glass. He stepped behind the counter, checking for supplies. There were a few half-empty bottles of whiskey, but that wouldn¡¯t help them now. He crouched, opening the minifridge beneath the bar. Empty. Damn. Riley shifted impatiently. ¡°Any water?¡± ¡°Not here.¡± Hugo stood and turned toward the storage room in the back. The door was slightly ajar, just enough to see that the inside was pitch black. Something twisted in his gut. He raised his crowbar, nudging the door open further with his foot. The hinges creaked, the sound too loud in the silence. The backroom was small, lined with shelves that had once held crates of liquor. Some of them had been knocked over, glass bottles shattered on the floor. The smell of spoiled beer and something worse clung to the air. And in the far corner¡ª Movement. Hugo had just enough time to shift before something lunged at him. A walker, half-crushed beneath fallen shelving, dragged itself forward with bony fingers, its jaw snapping violently. Its legs were pinned, but that didn¡¯t stop it from trying to reach him. Its eyes were milky, its skin sagging, half its face missing. Hugo didn¡¯t flinch. He stepped forward and drove the crowbar straight into its skull. The wet crunch echoed in the small space. The walker went still, its body sagging as the fight left it. Riley exhaled behind him. ¡°Jesus.¡± Hugo pulled the crowbar free, flicking the gore off it with a sharp motion. ¡°It was stuck. Not a threat.¡± Riley shook her head, glancing at him with something like admiration. ¡°You didn¡¯t even hesitate.¡± Hugo didn¡¯t respond. Instead, he turned to scan the shelves. Most were picked clean, but he spotted a crate shoved into the corner. When he pried it open, he found several bottles of water stacked neatly inside. Finally. He grabbed two and tossed one to Riley. She barely caught it, her fingers fumbling before she twisted the cap off and took a deep gulp. Hugo took his own drink, the cool liquid easing the dryness in his throat. Riley wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. ¡°Okay, I take it back. This was a good idea.¡± Hugo snorted but said nothing. He checked the rest of the supplies, finding a few peanut bags and a sealed bag of jerky. Not much, but every bit counted. He shoved the food into his bag, taking one last look around. ¡°We¡¯re done here,¡± he said. Riley nodded and grabbed another water bottle for later before following him back into the main bar. As they made their way to the exit, Salem leapt onto the counter, his tail flicking sharply. His ears were pinned, his body tense. Hugo felt it a second later. A sound. Outside. A low groan. Then another. His stomach twisted. Hugo pulled the door open just enough to peek outside. His chest tightened. The street was no longer empty. At least a dozen walkers staggered nearby, their decayed bodies moving sluggishly, drawn toward something unseen. Some shambled between rusted cars, others lingered near the alleyways, their sunken eyes staring blankly. Not all of them had noticed the bar yet. But some had. And more would follow. Hugo turned back to Riley. ¡°We need to go.¡± She swallowed hard, nodding. ¡°Lead the way.¡± Hugo tightened his grip on the crowbar, steeling himself. They had survived the market. They would survive this. Without another word, they slipped out the door and into the dead city. Chapter 30: Underground The bar door slammed open as Hugo and Riley burst onto the empty street. The groans of the dead rose behind them, echoing between the ruined buildings. Chapter 31: The Swarm The rattling didn¡¯t stop. If anything, it got worse.
Chapter 32: The Standoff Hugo''s boots pounded against the dusty tile floor as he sprinted through the abandoned bank, his crowbar gripped tightly in his hand. Riley''s scream had been sharp¡ªcutting through the silence like a blade. He had no time to think, no time to hesitate. His free hand instinctively went to his hip, pulling out the pistol he had taken from the Enclave. He didn¡¯t know if he¡¯d need it yet, but something in his gut told him this wasn¡¯t just another stray zombie. Whatever was waiting ahead, he¡¯d be ready. He rounded the corner into a wide, open space filled with overturned desks and shattered monitors. The bank had been ransacked long ago, but that wasn¡¯t what caught his attention. It was Riley. She was on her knees, a thick arm wrapped around her throat in a tight chokehold, her captor¡¯s grip unrelenting as she struggled for breath. His bicep flexed, cutting off her air just enough to keep her weak but conscious. Five men stood in a loose semi-circle around her. They were rough-looking, filthy, with torn clothes and the hardened eyes of men who had long since stopped giving a damn. One of them¡ªa lanky guy with greasy hair and a patchy beard¡ªheld a revolver lazily at his side. The others clutched knives, a rusted baseball bat, and a length of chain. Hugo came to an abrupt stop, heart hammering, his pistol already raised and aimed at the man with the revolver. The moment he stepped into the room, his instincts took over¡ªfive men, one gun, all focused on Riley. His eyes locked onto the leader, his finger resting lightly on the trigger. The man with the revolver grinned, unfazed. "Well, look at that. I was starting to think she was bluffing. Didn¡¯t think she actually had someone watching her back." Riley let out a choked breath, her glare fierce despite the position she was in. "Took your time, asshole." Hugo¡¯s grip tightened on his gun. He forced himself to keep his voice steady. "Let her go." The leader¡ªHugo assumed it was the one with the gun, since he was the only one acting like he had a real advantage¡ªlaughed. "Let her go? Just like that? And here I thought you''d be smart." One of the other men, a stocky guy with a jagged scar running down his cheek, scoffed. "Not how this works, buddy. This is our turf. You and your girl walked in here thinking you could loot from us? That¡¯s not how this goes. We were just about to check that vault. And now we got an extra bonus¡ªa couple of thieves dumb enough to walk into our hands." Hugo didn¡¯t move. His eyes flicked to Riley, scanning her for injuries. She was breathing hard, but she wasn¡¯t bleeding¡ªyet. His mind worked quickly, assessing the odds. Five of them, one gun. That meant the real threat was that revolver. The rest? They could be handled. But not while Riley was held down. The leader smirked, tilting his head. "So, here¡¯s how this is gonna go. You¡¯re gonna put that gun down, empty out whatever you got in that bag, and maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªwe¡¯ll let her go without cutting off something important." Hugo remained still. "No." The leader''s smirk faltered slightly, as if he hadn¡¯t expected resistance. He lifted the revolver a little higher. "Maybe you didn¡¯t hear me. I got the gun. You got the girl. Bad trade for you." "You got five bullets?" Hugo asked flatly. "Because I got twenty-five." The leader hesitated. Hugo took a step forward, keeping his gun steady. "You got one revolver with maybe five shots. I¡¯ve got a full magazine and the nerve to use it. You fire first, I guarantee I fire next. And I don¡¯t waste bullets." He let his words sink in, his gaze cold and unwavering. "So, tell me¡ªhow many of you are willing to die over this? Because I only need to drop one of you to make the rest rethink their odds." The room was silent for a long moment. The men exchanged glances, some of them shifting uncomfortably. Hugo could see it¡ªthe uncertainty creeping in. The one with the chain sneered. "This guy''s full of shit. Just take his stuff." Hugo¡¯s eyes locked onto the leader. "You pull that trigger, I don¡¯t stop. I don¡¯t hesitate. And I promise you¡ªbefore I go down, I put a bullet in your skull. So go ahead. Waste your shot. See how it plays out." The tension was thick now. Even Riley, who had been holding herself tense, glanced up at Hugo with something like cautious curiosity. The leader¡¯s fingers twitched around the gun. He was weighing his options, realizing that Hugo wasn¡¯t bluffing. One of the others¡ªa younger guy with a twitchy hand gripping a knife¡ªspoke up. "Man, maybe we don¡¯t¡ª" "Shut up," the leader snapped, never taking his eyes off Hugo. But Hugo saw it¡ªthe hesitation, the tiny crack in his confidence. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. He pressed forward. "You want my supplies? Fine. Trade me. Her for the bag." Scar-cheek scoffed. "Why the hell would we do that? We take your shit, then kill you. Easy." Hugo didn¡¯t blink. "You try to take it, and I make sure at least two of you die before I go down. Maybe more. Maybe I get lucky and take all of you with me. You willing to bet on that?" Silence again. The leader let out a slow breath, lowering the gun just slightly. "Tch. You¡¯re a pain in the ass." Hugo took another step forward, slow and deliberate. "Let her go." The leader glanced at Riley, then at his men. The one holding her looked uncertain now, his grip loosening just slightly. "Fine," the leader said, spitting on the ground. "Drop the bag first." Hugo stayed still. "She walks free first. Then you get the bag." The leader''s jaw tightened, but then he nodded to the guy holding Riley. "Let her up." The man hesitated, then released Riley, stepping back. She staggered to her feet, rolling her shoulders and backing away toward Hugo. He kept his pistol aimed, not trusting any of them. "Bag. Now," the leader demanded. Hugo slowly slid the pack off his shoulder and tossed it a few feet in front of him. The leader nodded to one of his guys, who edged forward and snatched it up. "Alright," the leader said, smirking. "Now, nice and easy, let her go." The man holding Riley hesitated before finally loosening his grip. Riley stumbled forward, breathing heavily, her eyes darting to Hugo. She took slow, measured steps toward him, her posture tense. Hugo kept his gun trained on the leader, his muscles coiled, ready for the double-cross he knew was coming. Then, just as Riley was almost within reach, the leader shifted his stance, raising the revolver in a quick motion. But instead of aiming at Hugo¡ªhe aimed at Riley. The gunshot cracked through the air like a whip. Riley¡¯s expression twisted in shock, her eyes wide as she stumbled forward, her legs giving out beneath her. She collapsed onto the cold tile, gasping as blood seeped through her shirt. Hugo¡¯s vision turned red. "You son of a¡ª!" He fired without thinking, the deafening roar of his pistol drowning out the chaos as the room erupted into a fight. The leader ducked just in time, Hugo¡¯s bullet missing by inches and shattering a monitor behind him. The man with the chain lunged forward, swinging for Hugo¡¯s head, but Hugo twisted out of the way, raising his pistol and firing twice. The first shot tore through the man¡¯s shoulder, sending him staggering back with a scream. The second went wide as one of the others crashed into Hugo, slamming him against a desk. Pain jolted through his ribs, but he gritted his teeth, jamming the barrel of his gun into the attacker¡¯s gut. He pulled the trigger. The man crumpled with a choked gasp, blood pooling beneath him. Another came at him¡ªa wiry guy with a knife. Hugo barely managed to sidestep, catching a slash across his forearm. He growled in pain but swung his pistol like a club, bashing the man across the temple. The attacker dropped, stunned, but not out. The leader had regained his footing, raising his revolver again. Hugo saw it just in time and dove behind a desk as a bullet ripped through the air, sending splinters flying. Riley groaned behind him, still on the ground, clutching her stomach. He needed to end this. Hugo rolled out from cover, raising his pistol. Another shot rang out¡ªthe leader fired first. The bullet grazed Hugo¡¯s shoulder, white-hot pain ripping through him. But he didn¡¯t stop. He squeezed the trigger twice more. One shot hit the leader¡¯s thigh, sending him collapsing to one knee. The second buried itself in his chest. The man let out a strangled gasp, blinking in shock before slumping forward, dead. Scar-cheek, still clutching his wounded arm, looked between Hugo and the lifeless leader, his face twisting with rage. He grabbed the bat from one of his fallen allies and charged. Hugo barely had time to raise his pistol again before the bat connected with his ribs. The impact stole his breath, sending him crashing against a desk. His pistol clattered to the floor. The man swung again, aiming for Hugo¡¯s skull. Hugo barely managed to roll aside, the bat slamming into the wooden surface instead. With a grunt, Hugo grabbed his crowbar from his belt and swung upward, catching Scar-cheek in the jaw. Teeth and blood sprayed from the impact, and the man stumbled back. With a furious snarl, Hugo drove the crowbar into his attacker¡¯s knee. The sickening crunch of bone filled the room, and Scar-cheek howled in agony, collapsing onto his back. The last remaining man, the one with the knife, still dazed from Hugo¡¯s earlier blow, struggled to his feet. He looked at the bodies of his comrades, then at Hugo, who stood, breathing heavily, blood dripping from his wounds, crowbar in one hand, pistol in the other. The man made the right choice. He turned and bolted toward the exit. Hugo let him go. He had bigger priorities. He turned back to Riley, dropping to his knees beside her. "Hey! Stay with me." Her breathing was shallow, her skin pale, but her eyes flickered open, hazy with pain. She tried to force a smirk, but it barely formed. "That sucked." Hugo pressed his hands against the wound, trying to slow the bleeding. "You¡¯ll be fine. Just hold on." She swallowed hard, her fingers twitching against the cold tile. "Hugo... don¡¯t lie to me." He shook his head, jaw tightening. "I¡¯ll get you out of here." Hugo¡¯s breath hitched. He could feel the warmth of her blood soaking through his fingers, slipping between them like sand. It wouldn¡¯t stop. No matter how much pressure he applied, no matter how much he willed it to. Her eyes grew glassy, her chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven motions. She gave him the faintest smile. "Guess you¡¯re stuck with Salem now." "Don¡¯t¡ª" "It¡¯s okay," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "It¡¯s... okay." Then her body went still. Hugo didn¡¯t move. Couldn¡¯t. His hands remained pressed against the wound long after her breathing stopped, long after the warmth left her skin. His mind refused to accept it. Minutes passed. Or maybe hours. The silence of the bank pressed in around him. The bodies of the dead littered the floor, but none of them mattered. Not anymore. Eventually, he sat back, staring at her lifeless face. His fingers trembled as he reached up and closed her eyes. He should¡¯ve done better. He should¡¯ve been faster. He should¡¯ve... A cold, numb emptiness settled in his chest. Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet, bloodied and exhausted. His eyes swept the ruined bank one last time. This wasn¡¯t how it was supposed to be. He took in a deep breath, exhaled slowly. Then, with no hesitation, he raised his pistol to his own temple. A single gunshot rang through the empty building. And the world went dark. Chapter 33: The Second Chance Hugo gasped awake, his breath sharp and ragged. His fingers twitched around the grip of a gun that wasn¡¯t there anymore. The cold, metallic taste of death still lingered in his mind, but he wasn¡¯t in the bank. He wasn¡¯t bleeding out on the floor. He was back in the van. His chest rose and fell in uneven bursts, his heart pounding so hard it hurt. The weight of what had just happened pressed down on him like a vice. Again. His eyes darted to the passenger seat. Riley lay curled up, breathing steadily, her face relaxed in sleep. Alive. Again. Hugo clenched his jaw, running a hand through his damp hair. He had already lost count of how many times he had died, but this was only the second time he had watched her die. And he had failed to save her both times. His breathing steadied, but the knot in his chest didn¡¯t loosen. It burned, raw and deep. He forced himself to exhale slowly, staring at her. If he didn¡¯t change something, this would keep happening. Again and again. He wouldn¡¯t let it. Carefully, he pulled the blanket out and up over her shoulder, tucking it back into place. She stirred slightly but didn¡¯t wake. He let her sleep a little longer, just like before, but this time, his mind was already running through the plan. An hour later, he nudged Riley awake, less gentle than before. "Up." She groaned, rubbing her eyes. "What the hell¡ª" "We need to move." She blinked at him, confused by the edge in his voice. "Alright, alright. No need to be a dick." Hugo didn¡¯t respond, just grabbed his gear. Riley stretched, rolling her shoulders as she laced up her boots, letting out a quiet sigh. They moved quickly, retracing their steps just like before. The streets were the same, the dangers unchanged, but Hugo noticed every little detail differently this time. He was ahead of it now. He knew where to avoid, where the safest routes were, and where the threats would come from. It was a strange thing, living a moment for the third time, but he wasn¡¯t wasting it. They reached the bar. Hugo went straight to the storeroom, killed the zombie without hesitation, and grabbed the bottles of liquor like before. The moment played out almost exactly as it had last time¡ªexcept this time, he moved faster. More precise. Riley leaned against the bar, arms crossed, watching him. "You work fast when you¡¯re in a mood." "Not in a mood. Just moving." She rolled her eyes but didn¡¯t argue. As they left the bar, Hugo led them down the alley behind it, avoiding the main street where the horde would pass. After some time, He paused for a moment, glancing toward the bank down the street. Last time, they had gone in without a second thought. Not this time. He stopped walking, his grip tightening on his pistol. Riley frowned. "What?" Hugo didn¡¯t answer right away. His stomach twisted slightly at the sight of the building. He could still see it. The blood. The bodies. Riley, dying in his arms. He wasn¡¯t about to let that happen again. "We stop here first," Hugo said, his tone clipped. Riley furrowed her brow. "Why?" He exhaled sharply, already tired of her questions. "Just wait here. I¡¯ll handle it." Her expression darkened instantly. "Wait here? Seriously?" "Yes." Hugo¡¯s voice was firm. "Stay outside and keep watch." Riley scoffed, crossing her arms. "Wow. You¡¯ve been a real joy to be around today, you know that?" She shook her head, looking away. "Fine. Whatever. Do your thing." Her bitterness was obvious, but she didn¡¯t argue further. Hugo didn¡¯t have time to make her feel better about it. He looked down at Salem, who had followed them quietly, tail twitching. "Stay here with her," he murmured, reaching down to scratch behind the cat¡¯s ear. Salem blinked up at him but didn¡¯t move. Riley crossed her arms. "Oh, so the cat gets an explanation, but I don¡¯t?" Hugo ignored her, stepping into the bank, his movements precise, his body tense with purpose. The air inside was stale, thick with the scent of old dust and decay. He moved in silence, pistol raised, his grip steady. The layout hadn¡¯t changed. He knew exactly where they would be. A fire burned low inside him, a quiet, seething rage coiled tight. They had killed Riley. This time, they wouldn¡¯t even see him coming. Hugo moved through the shadows, creeping past overturned desks and broken furniture. Distant voices echoed from deeper inside. He followed them. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. The leader was sitting at a desk near the back, flipping through a stack of useless papers, the revolver resting lazily on the surface beside him. Three of the other men were sorting supplies near the vault, and the last one sat near the entrance, keeping watch¡ªpoorly. Hugo struck first. A single shot to the back of the leader¡¯s skull. The man¡¯s head snapped forward onto the desk, blood pooling instantly. The sound of the gunshot exploded through the room, sending the others into chaos. He didn¡¯t wait. The guard near the entrance spun, eyes wide, reaching for his weapon. Hugo put two bullets in his chest before he could even lift it. The man collapsed, gurgling. "Shit!" one of them shouted. "We¡¯re under¡ª" Hugo fired again, hitting the one with the chain in the throat. The man staggered back, choking on his own blood before crumpling to the ground. The last two finally got their bearings. One grabbed the leader gun and dove behind cover, firing wildly, bullets whizzing past Hugo as he kept moving. The other charged with a bat, yelling as he swung for Hugo¡¯s head. Hugo ducked under the blow and drove his pistol into the man¡¯s ribs, pulling the trigger point-blank. The attacker collapsed with a wheeze, blood spilling onto the floor. The last man¡ªScar-cheek¡ªwas breathing hard, crouched behind an overturned desk. "We can talk about this!" Hugo, stepped forward without hesitation. "No, we can¡¯t." He vaulted over the desk in one swift motion. The man barely had time to raise his weapon before Hugo was on him, shoving the gun aside and slamming his own into the man¡¯s skull. Scar-cheek crumpled to the floor, dazed. Without mercy, Hugo grabbed the man by the collar and drove his pistol into his mouth. The man¡¯s eyes went wide, his breath coming in frantic, terrified gasps. "Please¡ª" Hugo pulled the trigger. The room was silent again. Blood dripped onto the dusty floor, pooling around the bodies. Hugo exhaled slowly, his heart still hammering, but his hands steady. He had won. Then he heard the footsteps. He turned just in time to see Riley standing in the doorway, frozen in place. Her wide eyes darted from the carnage to him, her breath shallow. "Hugo... what the hell did you just do?" Her voice was small, shaken. There was something else in her eyes now¡ªsomething new. Fear. Hugo exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "It was us or them." Riley was still frozen in the doorway, her breath uneven. "No, it wasn¡¯t. We didn¡¯t have to come in here¡ªyou didn¡¯t have to come in here!" Hugo clenched his jaw, stuffing a fresh magazine into his pistol. "They killed you last time. I wasn¡¯t going to let that happen again." She blinked, confused. "Last time? What the hell are you talking about?" He didn¡¯t answer. He couldn¡¯t. Instead, he turned and started looting the bodies, pulling the leader¡¯s revolver from the blood-slick desk and pocketing extra ammunition. Riley watched him, arms crossed tightly over her chest, eyes filled with something he didn¡¯t like seeing¡ªhesitation. Doubt. "You¡¯re different," she muttered, shaking her head. "Colder. More ruthless." Hugo didn¡¯t look up. "I do what I have to." She let out a sharp breath, frustrated but unwilling to keep arguing. After a moment, Hugo walked over to her, holding out the revolver. "Can you shoot?" Riley stared at the gun, then at him. "What?" "Can you shoot a gun?" he repeated, his voice firm. She hesitated, then took the weapon slowly. "I know how. Doesn''t mean I want to." Hugo gave a single nod. "Wanting to doesn¡¯t matter anymore. Only surviving does." Riley swallowed hard, gripping the revolver tighter. She didn¡¯t argue. Riley hesitated, looking at him like she was seeing him for the first time. But she didn¡¯t argue. She just nodded, stepping aside as he walked past her, leaving the bodies behind. As he moved past, he spoke lowly, his voice flat. "If you don¡¯t trust me, you¡¯ve got a gun now. You could always shoot me." Riley stiffened, gripping the revolver in her hand, but said nothing. She only watched him, her expression unreadable. They walked in silence after leaving the bank, moving through the ruined streets with careful, practiced steps. The air was thick with decay, the distant wails of the undead echoing through the empty city. They kept to the alleys, avoiding a horde that was shambling through a collapsed highway, and sidestepped a pair of runners feasting on a corpse in the gutter. It was tense, calculated survival, but Hugo¡¯s mind was elsewhere. He felt it before he realized it¡ªhis feet had slowed, his gaze flicking over the ruins ahead. Something about this street tugged at him, something familiar beneath the broken signs and charred buildings. Then it hit him. His old job. The restaurant was just a block ahead, its faded awning barely visible through the wreckage. The glass windows were long shattered, soot and grime covering what was left of the wooden sign. "Damn," Hugo muttered under his breath. Riley shot him a look. "What?" He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "I used to work here." Riley blinked, glancing between him and the ruined restaurant. "Seriously? You were a¡ªwhat, a waiter?" Hugo scoffed. "No. Cook." She gave a small snort. "Hugo the cook? I can¡¯t see it." "Yeah, well," he shrugged. "It wasn¡¯t glamorous, but it paid. I started out washing dishes, worked my way up. Wasn¡¯t bad." Riley tilted her head, a bit of the tension between them finally cracking. "So, what, you were one of those angry chefs, yelling at everyone in the kitchen?" He huffed a quiet laugh. "Nah. That was my boss. I just kept my head down and worked. Didn¡¯t see a point in screaming about burnt chicken." She smirked. "Bet you make a mean meal, though." "Better than canned beans and expired crackers." "So you can cook?" She gave him a teasing glance. "That¡¯s a hell of a skill to keep secret." "Didn¡¯t come up." She let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. "You¡¯re full of surprises." Hugo looked back at the ruined restaurant, a strange nostalgia creeping in. He hadn¡¯t thought about this place since the world had gone to hell. It felt like another life, like something belonging to someone else entirely. But for the first time in a while, he didn¡¯t feel the weight of the past few hours crushing him. Just for a moment, he wasn¡¯t the man who had executed five people in a bank. He was just Hugo¡ªthe cook, the guy who used to burn his hands on hot pans and curse at the broken freezer. Then the moment passed. The world reminded him where he was. "Come on," he said, adjusting his pack. "We should keep moving." Riley followed, but there was something different in the way she looked at him now. Like maybe, just maybe, she wasn¡¯t as afraid of him anymore. They continued walking, the silence stretching between them, broken only by the distant groans of the undead. Salem padded alongside them, occasionally darting between shadows, always keeping close to Hugo¡¯s side. The heat of the afternoon was wearing on them, and Riley¡¯s steps grew heavier. Her breath had become uneven, her forehead glistening with sweat. Hugo glanced at her. "You look like hell." "Gee, thanks," she muttered, swiping at her damp face with the back of her hand. "Feels like it too." He scanned the ruined street for a decent place to rest. They couldn¡¯t afford to stop just anywhere¡ªtoo many open roads, too many risks. But if she kept pushing while exhausted, she¡¯d be a liability if they ran into trouble. Before he could decide, the air shifted. A deep, guttural scream shattered the uneasy quiet, the sound so loud it sent vibrations through the pavement beneath their feet. Hugo froze, his grip tightening on his pistol. The ground trembled slightly, the low rumble of something heavy moving in the distance. Riley¡¯s head snapped toward him, her face pale. "What the hell was that?" Salem, who had been padding alongside them, suddenly stopped, his ears flattened against his head. A low, uneasy growl rumbled in his throat as his fur bristled, his tail puffing up to twice its size. The cat¡¯s eyes darted toward the direction of the sound, his entire body rigid with instinctual fear. Hugo didn¡¯t answer. He was already turning, scanning their surroundings, every nerve in his body on edge. Salem rarely reacted like this. Whatever it was, it was big. And it was coming. Chapter 34: The Behemoth The street trembled again. A heavy, dragging noise echoed through the ruins, followed by the wet, guttural rasp of something unnatural. Hugo¡¯s grip tightened on his pistol, his body coiled with tension. Then, from around the corner of a crumbling storefront, it stepped into view. The thing was massive. Easily over eight feet tall, its bloated, misshapen body was covered in patches of thick, grotesque flesh, as if layers of muscle and scar tissue had fused together. Bone jutted from its arms and shoulders like jagged armor, and its fingers ended in thick, cracked claws. Its skin was mottled with patches of decay, its face barely resembling anything human anymore¡ªone eye swollen shut with tumors, the other a sunken, milky orb. A massive maw, filled with uneven, jagged teeth, dripped with dark saliva as it let out a deep, guttural growl. It wasn¡¯t just a zombie. It was something worse. The Behemoth let out a roar, a sound so powerful it sent vibrations through the street. "Holy shit," Riley whispered, taking an instinctive step back. "Move!" Hugo snapped, already raising his gun. Salem let out a sharp yowl, his fur bristling in alarm, before bolting under a rusted-out car, his eyes wide with fear. He crouched low, tail puffed up, watching the chaos unfold from the shadows. The first shot rang out, the bullet slamming into the creature¡¯s chest. It barely flinched. Hugo fired again, aiming higher, but the Behemoth didn¡¯t slow down. Instead, it let out a snarl and lunged, covering far more distance than something that size should have been able to. Hugo barely had time to shove Riley out of the way before it crashed down where they had been standing, the impact shattering the pavement. Riley rolled to her feet, her hands already gripping the revolver Hugo had given her. She fired, her shot striking its shoulder, making it recoil slightly. Another shot followed, this one catching its temple, snapping its head to the side. It shook it off. Hugo¡¯s eyes widened. She can actually shoot. "Keep moving!" he shouted, sprinting toward cover as the Behemoth recovered and turned toward them again. It roared and charged. The ground shook violently as the monster barreled forward, its massive frame tearing through the street. Hugo barely had time to duck into an alley before the creature plowed through the side of a building, bricks and debris exploding outward. The force of the impact sent a shockwave through the air, and a streetlight collapsed from the vibrations. Riley had managed to dive clear, landing hard on her side but scrambling back up. She fired again, the shot grazing its leg. Hugo took the opening, stepping out from cover and unloading several rounds into the Behemoth¡¯s exposed side. It snarled in frustration, swinging its massive arm. Hugo barely dodged in time as the blow slammed into a rusted-out car, sending it skidding across the pavement like a toy. Then the walkers came. Drawn by the noise, a handful of regular undead shambled into the street, their moans joining the chaos. Hugo cursed and turned his pistol on them, putting them down quickly while Riley continued her assault on the Behemoth. "This thing doesn¡¯t go down!" she shouted, reloading. "Then we hit it harder!" Hugo growled, yanking a Molotov from his pack. He lit the rag, cocked his arm back, and hurled it at the monster. The bottle shattered against its shoulder, flames licking at its grotesque flesh. The Behemoth let out an enraged howl, flailing wildly as the fire spread across its upper body. It slammed a massive fist into the ground, cracking the pavement beneath it. Hugo didn¡¯t stop. He aimed for its head again, firing three more rounds, one striking just above its remaining eye. It bellowed, stumbling slightly as the fire ate at its rotting flesh. But it wasn¡¯t done. With terrifying speed, the Behemoth lunged at Riley, its clawed hand swiping toward her. She tried to roll away, but the massive fingers caught her mid-motion. She barely had time to scream before the Behemoth threw her. Hugo¡¯s stomach dropped as he watched her body sail through the air¡ªstraight toward a streetlamp. Her back hit the metal pole with a sickening crack, her body folding unnaturally before she crumpled to the ground. Hugo¡¯s blood ran cold. "Riley!" Without hesitation, he swung his rifle off his back, bracing it against his shoulder. His fingers moved on instinct, loading another round into Frank¡¯s old hunting rifle. His vision tunneled as he lined up the shot, the Behemoth turning toward him, its massive body still smoldering from the fire. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. He pulled the trigger. The first round slammed into its skull, snapping its head backward with the force. It let out a guttural roar, staggering but still standing. Hugo worked the bolt-action fast, his hands steady, his breath controlled. Another shot¡ªthis time straight through its remaining eye. The Behemoth stumbled, swaying on its feet. "Go down, you bastard!" Hugo growled, firing again. The bullet tore through its forehead. The creature let out one final, monstrous groan before its legs buckled. The massive body crashed into the pavement with a deafening thud, dust and debris kicking into the air. Hugo didn¡¯t wait. He was already running to Riley. She was still conscious, but barely. Her breath came in short, ragged gasps, her face pale and twisted in shock. Her fingers twitched uselessly against the pavement, her body unnaturally still below the waist. Salem darted out from beneath the car, his small frame moving cautiously but urgently toward Riley. He let out a low, distressed meow, circling her before pressing his body against her arm. His tail twitched anxiously, ears flattened against his head as he looked up at Hugo with wide, questioning eyes. Hugo barely registered him. His focus was locked on Riley, but some part of him took comfort in the cat¡¯s presence, as if it grounded him in the moment¡ªreminding him that she was still here. Still alive. For now. "Hugo¡­" Her voice was weak, trembling. "I¡­ I can¡¯t feel my legs." His chest tightened. He dropped to his knees beside her, his hands hovering over her form, afraid to move her. Blood pooled beneath her from where the jagged edges of the lamp post had torn into her back. "Stay with me, Riley. Just hold on," he said, forcing his voice to stay steady. Her eyes darted around frantically, her breathing quickening as realization set in. "I can¡¯t¡­ I can¡¯t move¡­" Before Hugo could respond, a chorus of moans filled the air. More zombies were coming, drawn by the gunfire and the death throes of the Behemoth. Their grotesque forms shuffled toward them, their hunger-driven screeches cutting through the night. Hugo gritted his teeth. He only had a few moments to decide. They could try to escape, but Riley wasn¡¯t going to make it far. Not like this. He swallowed hard, his grip tightening around the rifle. He had a choice to make. Again. Hugo exhaled sharply, his jaw clenched tight. Then, to Riley¡¯s shock, he slowly raised his pistol and pressed the barrel to his own temple. Her breath hitched. "Hugo? What the hell are you doing?!" Her voice was laced with panic, her weakened hands twitching as if she could reach out and stop him. His eyes didn¡¯t waver as he looked at her. "Trying to save you again." "Hugo, don¡¯t!" He pulled the trigger. Hugo gasped awake, heart hammering, the phantom pain of the gunshot still ringing in his mind. The first thing he saw was the roof of the van. The second was Riley, curled up in the passenger seat, breathing steadily. Again. His stomach twisted. Fourth time now. He sat up slowly, running a hand over his face, trying to push down the frustration boiling inside him. No matter what he did, she kept dying. But this time, he wasn¡¯t going to run the same path blindly. He looked at Riley again, at the slow rise and fall of her chest, oblivious to what had just happened. He needed to be smarter. He needed to get ahead of this. This time, he¡¯d change the plan. Just like before, he let her sleep for another hour, draped the blanket over her again, and slipped out of the van to clear his head. When she finally woke up, rubbing her eyes groggily, he was already set and ready to move. The day played out exactly as before. The same route, the same tension. He looted the bar, killed the men in the bank, gave Riley the gun just like before. Their conversation about the restaurant and his past played out nearly word for word. But when they reached the point where they had heard the Behemoth before, Hugo stopped. This time, he turned east. "We¡¯re not going that way," he said, cutting through a side street. Riley frowned but followed, looking just as exhausted as before. Sweat clung to her forehead, and her breathing had turned heavier after everything they had done. She wiped her arm across her face, muttering under her breath. Hugo glanced at her, his mind already running through what was ahead. A different path, a different outcome. It had to be. As the sun began to dip lower, casting long shadows between the ruined buildings, Hugo knew they needed to stop for the night. He scanned the street ahead, spotting a small office building that looked intact enough to provide shelter. "There," he said, nodding toward it. Riley let out a slow breath, barely arguing this time. "Fine. Just as long as we don¡¯t get eaten in our sleep." Salem padded ahead, sniffing at the doorway as Hugo pried it open. The inside was dusty but empty¡ªdesks overturned, papers scattered, but no fresh signs of movement. It would do. Hugo secured the door and helped Riley settle onto an old office couch. She stretched her sore legs with a groan, then gave him a sideways glance. "You gonna keep glaring at me all night or actually get some rest?" "I¡¯ll take first watch," Hugo muttered, setting his pack down near the entrance. Riley scoffed, shaking her head. "You always do." A silence fell between them, the weight of the day pressing down. Finally, she spoke again, her voice softer. "You never did tell me what you used to cook." Hugo huffed a quiet breath, leaning back against the wall. "Mostly steaks, pastas, things people overpaid for. It was a high-end place, fancy dishes, expensive wine. More about presentation than actual cooking half the time." "Sounds fancy to me. Beats canned beans and whatever the hell we usually eat." "It was a job," Hugo admitted. "Kept me busy." She tilted her head slightly, watching him. "Did you like it?" Hugo hesitated. "...Yeah." Riley smirked. "Weird, I thought you¡¯d say no." He shrugged. "There were worse ways to spend time." Another silence, but this one wasn¡¯t as heavy. Riley let out a long yawn, shifting into a more comfortable position. "Wake me up when it¡¯s my turn." She sighed, staring at the ceiling. "I¡¯d kill to eat in a restaurant again. Just one decent meal¡ªsomething that wasn¡¯t scavenged from a dead guy¡¯s stash." Hugo smirked faintly, shaking his head. "You and me both." Salem curled up at the foot of the couch, his green eyes barely open, ears twitching at every distant sound. Hugo sat by the door, rifle in hand, staring out at the quiet street. A different path. A different outcome. It had to be. Hours passed in uneasy quiet. Hugo kept his watch, but his mind was elsewhere, replaying everything over and over. He wasn¡¯t going to let it happen again. Eventually, he moved to wake Riley for her turn. As he stepped closer, something made him pause. Her skin glistened under the dim light, drenched in sweat. Her breath came in slow, uneven hitches. Hugo¡¯s stomach twisted. He reached out, shaking her gently. "Riley." She stirred, her eyelids fluttering open, but something was wrong. Her eyes were hazy, unfocused. She blinked, confusion setting in as she looked up at him. "Hugo¡­ I don¡¯t¡­ I feel weird." His gaze lowered, and his breath caught in his throat. Dark veins, thin but unmistakable, crept up from beneath her collar, spreading along her skin like ink bleeding through paper. Hugo went still. She was infected. Chapter 35: No Way Out Riley¡¯s breathing turned ragged, her body trembling as she stared at her own hands, at the dark veins creeping across her skin. A sickening realization settled into her features¡ªone that made her chest rise and fall in sharp, panicked gasps. "No¡­ no, no, no," she whispered, her voice barely there, as if saying it aloud would make it less real. "I can¡¯t¡ªI don¡¯t¡ªHugo, I don¡¯t want to turn into one of them¡ª" Hugo crouched beside her, gripping her shoulder, steady but gentle. "Riley, breathe." She tried, but her whole body was shaking. Her hands fisted in her sweat-damp shirt as if she could claw the infection out of herself. "I don¡¯t¡ªI don¡¯t want to be one of those things," she choked out. "I can¡¯t¡ªI won¡¯t." Hugo clenched his jaw. He had seen people infected before. He had killed them before. But this was Riley. This was different. "You won¡¯t," he murmured, keeping his voice steady, even as something heavy pressed down on his chest. "I¡¯m here. I¡¯m not leaving." She swallowed hard, but the panic in her eyes didn¡¯t fade. "You don¡¯t get it," she gasped. "I¡ªI didn¡¯t even know¡ªI thought¡ª" Hugo¡¯s grip tightened slightly. "Tell me what happened." She sucked in a shaky breath, forcing herself to focus. "Yesterday¡ªbefore you saved me¡ªI got bitten. Not by a zombie, I swear, it was just this¡­ small thing. Some kind of animal. I didn¡¯t think anything of it. It wasn¡¯t a walker, it wasn¡¯t¡ª" Her voice cracked. "I didn¡¯t know. I didn¡¯t know." Hugo felt the weight of her words settle deep into his gut. Before the last reset. There was nothing he could do. No way to go back far enough to stop it. The infection had already been inside her when they had met. This whole time¡­ she was already doomed. He exhaled slowly, his fingers curling into a fist on his knee. Hopeless. Riley¡¯s eyes darted to him, wild and desperate. "Hugo, please," she whispered. "I don¡¯t want to go out like that. Don¡¯t let me turn into one of them." His throat felt tight. "I won¡¯t." Tears welled in her eyes, but she fought them back, her expression twisting in frustration, anger, fear. "God, this is so messed up," she muttered. "I thought we had more time. I thought¡ªI thought I¡¯d die fighting, not¡­ like this. Not rotting away." Hugo sat back against the wall, looking at her¡ªreally looking at her. Her body was burning up, her skin slick with fever, but underneath all of that, she was still Riley. And she was terrified. "I¡¯m not leaving," he repeated. "I¡¯ll stay with you. Until the end." A shaky breath escaped her lips, something between a laugh and a sob. "You always this stubborn?" "Yeah." She sniffed, wiping at her face, but the tears were still there. "Not fair. I just met you, and now I gotta die." Hugo swallowed past the lump in his throat. "I know." She closed her eyes for a moment, then let out another unsteady breath. "Do I¡ªdo I have time? Before¡­ you know." Hugo hesitated. "A little." She nodded, opening her eyes again, searching his face. "Talk to me. Just¡ªjust talk to me, okay? I don¡¯t want to think about it. Not yet." He nodded. "Alright. What do you want to talk about?" She gave a weak, lopsided smile. "Tell me about your restaurant." His lips twitched, but it wasn¡¯t quite a smile. "It was a good place. Busy, loud. The kind of job where you don¡¯t think, you just work. I liked that." She hummed. "Bet you made the best food." "You¡¯ll never know now." She let out a breathy laugh. "Damn shame. Could¡¯ve used a good meal before the apocalypse got me." Silence settled between them for a long moment, only the sound of her uneven breathing filling the space. Then she whispered, "I¡¯m scared." Hugo¡¯s chest ached, but he didn¡¯t let it show. "I know." She looked at him, eyes searching. "You¡¯re not?" He was. He was furious. At the world. At himself. But he wasn¡¯t scared for himself. He was scared for her. "I¡¯ve seen worse," he said quietly. "But yeah. I am." She gave him a weak nod. "Not much we can do, huh?" "Not this time." She exhaled slowly. "Guess we just wait, then." If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Hugo nodded. And he did. He waited. He sat with her, talking until her words slurred, until exhaustion pulled her under. She would never wake up as Riley again. Hugo watched her, his chest tightening with every shallow breath she took. He had lost people before. But this¡ªthis was different. This was Riley. His hands trembled as he reached for her, pulling her into his arms, cradling her against him. She stirred slightly, her fevered body shivering against his own. "Hugo¡­?" "I¡¯m here," he whispered, his voice thick. "I won¡¯t let you suffer." Her fingers weakly gripped his jacket, her body too exhausted to resist. "Thank you," she breathed, barely above a whisper. Hugo swallowed hard, his vision blurring as he raised his gun, pressing the barrel gently against the side of her head. His grip was steady, his resolve unwavering. "I¡¯m sorry," he murmured, his voice breaking. He pressed a soft kiss against her hair, his last act of mercy. Then, he pulled the trigger. The gunshot echoed through the empty building, cutting through the stillness like a final, cruel punctuation. Hugo didn¡¯t move. He held Riley¡¯s lifeless body in his arms, her weight pressing into him, but he felt nothing. No tears came. No anger. Just an emptiness so deep it swallowed everything inside him. Salem crept closer, his small frame pressing against Hugo¡¯s side. The cat let out a soft, pitiful meow before curling into his lap, as if sensing that nothing he did could fix what had just happened. Hugo sat there for a long time, staring at nothing, his hand still tangled in Riley¡¯s cooling hair. The world outside didn¡¯t matter. The walkers, the ruined city, none of it mattered. His mind drifted, unbidden, to Frank. To the old man he had tried to save, to the countless times he had failed. How many more times would he fail before it finally stopped mattering? He didn¡¯t know. But he did know one thing. This wasn¡¯t the outcome he wanted. His fingers tightened around his gun, his breath slow and even. Salem let out another soft noise, nudging at his chest, but Hugo didn¡¯t react. He raised the barrel to his own temple and pulled the trigger. Hugo gasped awake, the familiar ceiling of the van staring back at him. The weight of failure pressed down on his chest like a stone. His hands twitched, remembering the cold steel of the gun against his skin, but it was gone. Riley was still there. Peacefully sleeping beside him, unaware of the fate she had just escaped. He exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand down his face. Four times now. Four times he had failed to save her. His eyes flickered to Salem, curled up beside him, blinking sleepily. Hugo reached out and scooped the cat up, pulling him close. "Stay here," he murmured, placing Salem next to Riley. The cat let out a soft noise but didn¡¯t move, settling against her warmth. Hugo quietly opened the van door and slipped outside. The city stretched before him, silent and broken. He scanned the streets, his mind already working. Downtown had always been full of coffee shops. Finding one wouldn¡¯t be hard. After some time running through the empty streets, dodging small groups of walkers, he spotted one¡ªan old Italian caf¨¦ with its windows shattered but its signage still barely intact. He slipped inside, moving quickly. The shelves were mostly picked clean, but after some digging, he found an old tin of coffee grounds, untouched in the back of a cabinet. Then, his eyes landed on something else¡ªa classic Italian stovetop coffee maker, still on display. A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. Perfect. The moment was short-lived. A low groan sounded behind him. Walkers. Hugo spun, raising his gun. The fight wasn¡¯t long, but it was enough to waste precious time. By the time he dispatched them and got out, the sun was creeping further across the sky. Hugo exhaled, rolling his shoulders. He wasn¡¯t done yet. If he was going to make this work, he needed more than just food and supplies¡ªhe needed a way to cook. A camping stove. It took longer than he wanted. He moved through the city carefully, searching old stores, abandoned homes, anywhere that might have been stocked before everything fell apart. After what felt like an hour of searching, he finally found one in the back of an old sporting goods shop. It was covered in dust but still intact, along with a few small gas canisters. "Good enough," he muttered He moved fast, retracing his way back to the van, already regretting how long he had taken. As soon as he got close, his stomach dropped. The van door was open. Riley was gone. Hugo¡¯s jaw clenched, but he didn¡¯t waste time searching blindly. He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to stay focused. It wasn¡¯t that he didn¡¯t care where she was¡ªhe did. But in the end, it didn¡¯t matter. He was going to restart the day anyway. Instead, he made a decision. He turned away from the van and set his course straight for his old restaurant. It took time, but he made good pace, avoiding large groups of walkers and keeping to the shadows. By the time he reached the ruined facade of his old workplace, the sun had dipped lower in the sky. The restaurant was still standing, the windows cracked but not fully shattered, the doors hanging on loose hinges. Inside, the air was stale, carrying the faint scent of old grease and decay. Three zombies lingered near the bar, their sluggish movements slow and aimless. Hugo took them out quickly, wasting no more than a few bullets. Once the place was clear, he took a slow look around. It was relatively intact¡ªenough that he could work with it. His fingers traced the edge of an old countertop as he moved through the kitchen, his mind already working. If this was going to be a place worth returning to in the next loop, he needed to know what was still here. He scoured every shelf, every cabinet, every storage space, noting exactly what was left behind¡ªspices, good silverware, an expensive bottle of wine still tucked away in the manager¡¯s office. He memorized everything, knowing that the next time he came back, he¡¯d grab them faster. The restaurant wasn¡¯t perfect. But it would do. He brought his gun to his temple and pulled the trigger. Hugo gasped awake, the familiar ceiling of the van staring back at him. His eyes flickered to Salem, curled up beside him, blinking sleepily. Hugo reached out and scooped the cat up, pulling him close. "Stay here," he murmured, placing Salem next to Riley. The cat let out a soft noise but didn¡¯t move, settling against her warmth. Hugo reached over and gently shook Riley¡¯s shoulder. She stirred, blinking groggily. "What?" "I¡¯ll be gone for a bit," he said quietly. "Wait for me." She frowned sleepily but didn¡¯t argue. "Fine. Just don¡¯t take too long." Without another word, Hugo slipped out of the van. He moved fast, more efficient than ever, retracing his steps to the caf¨¦, looting the coffee and the old Italian coffee maker in record time. He dispatched a few walkers on his way to the sporting goods store, grabbing the camping stove and gas canisters without hesitation. By the time he returned to the van, dawn was barely breaking. He set up near the van, quietly brewing the coffee, the rich aroma filling the cold morning air. A few moments later, Riley stirred, her nose twitching. She blinked awake, confused. "Wait¡­ is that¡ª" "Coffee," Hugo said simply, pouring her a cup. She sat up, rubbing her eyes, before giving him an incredulous look. "Where the hell did you get coffee?" Hugo smirked slightly, handing her the cup. "Told you to wait for me." She took it, still looking at him like he had just performed a miracle, before taking a careful sip. Her shoulders relaxed instantly. "Holy shit. I forgot what real coffee tastes like." Salem curled into her lap, content, as she savored another sip.