"You guys ready?" Ethan asked, his face all business.

A few tense nods answered him.

Sean and his crew still looked pissed, but Ethan's sheer force of will had steamrolled their objections. In the end, they'd caved.

"I'll count to three. Big Mike, you and Skinny Pete move the ladder."

"Got it," Big Mike said, gripping the ladder tighter. His palms were slick with sweat. Skinny Pete looked just as nervous.

"One."

"Two."

"Three."

The moment Ethan said it, the ladder scraped aside.

BANG—

The iron door slammed open, and two blood-soaked zombies burst onto the rooftop.

It was the first time Ethan and Chris had seen them up close. Their eyes were a sick, glowing red, and the stench of rot and blood hit like a punch to the gut. Ethan's stomach lurched, but he held it down. They'd braced themselves for this.

The zombies locked onto them instantly and charged.

Big Mike and Skinny Pete moved fast, slamming the ladder into one of the zombies and pinning it against the wall. It thrashed and clawed, snarling like a rabid dog, but two men were stronger than one corpse. It couldn't break free.

Ethan, Chris, and Sean rushed the second one.

"Raaagh—!"

The zombie lunged straight at Ethan.

He sidestepped just in time, the thing's claws swiping through empty air. Then he swung the metal pipe with everything he had.

THUD—

The blow landed square on its skull. Ethan's arms went numb from the impact—but the zombie barely flinched. It turned and lunged again, like nothing had happened.

"Fuck me!" Ethan shouted, stumbling back. "I thought the head was the weak spot! What is this, Resident Evil on hard mode?!"

Before the thing could reach him, Chris came in from the side, hauling a chunk of concrete the size of a toaster. He smashed it down on the zombie's head.

CRACK—

The concrete shattered on impact. Dark, foul-smelling blood oozed from the zombie's scalp. That hit had done more than Ethan's pipe. The creature staggered, momentarily dazed.

Chris didn't wait—he bolted.

The zombie turned, locked on, and gave chase.

Sean came in from the flank, swinging his own chunk of concrete. It hit the zombie's shoulder with a dull thump, but the thing didn't even glance at him. It was locked onto Chris like a heat-seeking missile.

The rooftop wasn't big. Chris ran out of space fast, backing toward the edge. The zombie was right behind him, arms outstretched.

Then—he vanished.

One second he was there, the next—gone.

Sean skidded to a stop, eyes wide. "Wh—where the hell did he go?!"

Ethan didn't look the least bit surprised. Without missing a beat, he sprinted toward the edge.

The zombie, now without a target, turned its bloodshot eyes on him.

But Ethan had the metal pipe, and that gave him just enough confidence to hold his ground. He swung it in tight arcs, striking the zombie again and again, keeping it from getting too close.

Sean caught up, still wide-eyed. "Where's Chris?!"

"I'm right here," Chris said, stepping out from behind a rooftop vent like it was nothing.

Sean stared. "You—how the hell did you just vanish like that?"

Chris smirked. "What, never seen a magic trick?"

"…"

"You're telling me that was a magic trick?!" Sean gawked.

"What else? You think I can turn invisible?" Chris rolled his eyes.

"…"

"Less talking, more helping!" Ethan barked. "Get this thing off me—I can't hold it much longer!"

Sean swallowed his questions and grabbed a chunk of concrete, ready to jump in.

"No, don't come over," Ethan said quickly. "We're right at the edge. Just one of you give it a good kick—send it flying."

Chris and Sean exchanged a look. Chris nodded. "I got it."

He locked eyes on the zombie, took a few quick steps back, then sprinted forward. At the last second, he launched himself into a flying kick that slammed into the zombie's chest.

The thing went airborne, flailing as it sailed over the railing and plummeted off the rooftop.

"Nice one!" Ethan called out, impressed.

The three of them rushed to the edge and leaned over.

THUD—

The zombie hit the ground like a sack of bricks. Blood splattered across the pavement in a dark, sticky pool.

But just as they were about to breathe easy, the corpse twitched. Then, slowly, it stood up—wobbling, dazed, but very much not dead. Its head turned, sniffing the air, already hunting again.

"!!!"

"You've got to be kidding me," Sean muttered, eyes wide.

"Holy shit, these things are disgusting," he added, recoiling.

"Complain later," Ethan snapped. "Let's finish the other one first."

Across the rooftop, Big Mike and Skinny Pete were still holding the second zombie against the wall with the ladder. Their arms trembled with effort, sweat pouring down their faces.

Ethan and the others ran over.

"Let go," Ethan said. "We'll all push it off together."

"Got it."

With five people, it was no contest.

The moment they released the ladder, the zombie lunged—but the group shoved the ladder forward in unison, driving it straight to the edge.

One last heave—and over it went.

THUMP—

Another dull impact.

They rushed to the edge again.

This one lay in a pool of blood, unmoving. Its skull had cracked open like a melon.

"Huh. This one's actually dead," Sean said, puzzled.

"Cracked its head open," Chris replied. "That'll do it."

"Yeah, makes sense."

Ethan nodded slowly, thoughtful. "Guess Resident Evil wasn't lying. Gotta go for the head."

"Alright, let's block the door and take a breather."

They reset the ladder against the door and collapsed onto the rooftop, one by one.

The fight had been short, but the mental strain was crushing. They were just college kids—none of them had ever imagined they'd be fighting for their lives against the undead. Now that the adrenaline was fading, the fear came rushing in.

"Shit…" Chris hissed through his teeth, clutching his leg.

Ethan was on his feet in an instant. "What happened?"

Chris carefully rolled up his pant leg. Three long, bloody gashes ran down his shin.

Ethan's stomach dropped. "What the hell? When did that happen?"

Chris gave a weak laugh. "Probably when I kicked that zombie. Must've clawed me on the way down."

The air went still.

Sean, Skinny Pete, and Big Mike all took a step back—fast.

Ethan's face tightened. He stared at the wounds, jaw clenched.

Chris looked around and saw their reactions. His face drained of color. "Ethan… am I gonna turn?"

"No," Ethan said quickly. "Don't think like that. You'll be fine."

"How can I not?" Chris's voice cracked. "Everything online says if you get bitten or scratched, you're done. That's it. Game over."

"Yeah," Skinny Pete chimed in. "That's how it works. You're infected now."

"Shut up," Ethan snapped. "No one asked you."

"It's the truth!" Sean said. "What, we're not allowed to say it now? You think pretending it's not happening is gonna help?"

Ethan stood up slowly, lifting the metal pipe. His eyes were cold. "This is between me and Chris. Keep running your mouth, and I'll make sure you don't get to run it again."

Sean stepped forward, fists clenched. "What, you gonna take all three of us on now?"

"You're welcome to try," Ethan said, voice like steel.

...

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