After hashing out the plan with Sean, Ethan tightened his grip on the steel tube in his hand, then moved to the door and shot Sean a look.

Sean gave a quick nod and yanked the door open in one swift motion.

Before the two zombies outside could even react, Ethan swung the steel tube hard—once, twice—and sent both of them flying.

Sean's eyes went wide. Clearly, he hadn't expected Ethan to hit that hard.

As Ethan charged out, Sean didn't dare hesitate. He bolted after him.

The two zombies, knocked to the floor, scrambled back up almost immediately and lunged again.

Ethan didn't miss a beat. He swung the tube in a wide arc, slamming them back down with brutal force.

But the noise had already done its damage.

From down the corridor, a chorus of guttural groans rose up. More than twenty zombies turned and charged toward them, a stampede of rotting flesh and snapping jaws.

"Run!" Ethan shouted.

They bolted for the stairs, the horde howling behind them.

By the time they reached the rooftop door, Ethan suddenly stopped short.

"I'll hold them here. You take the supplies up and split them with the others."

Sean frowned. "We're right at the door—why not just come in with me?"

"The maintenance ladder on the roof's already bent to hell. It's barely holding the door shut. If those twenty-something freaks get through, we're all dead. But here, the stairwell's narrow—we'll only have to fight three at a time, max. It's the best place to hold them. I'll cover this spot. You guys eat fast and come back down to help."

Sean glanced back at the oncoming horde, then gave a tight nod. No more questions. He shoved the iron door open and disappeared onto the rooftop.

Moments later, the first wave of zombies hit the stairs.

Ethan grabbed the twisted ladder and swung it like a scythe.

The lead zombie went tumbling down the steps, taking a few others with it. But they didn't stay down. They never did. They just got back up and came again.

Ethan kept swinging, knocking them back, over and over.

But the pressure was building. For every one he knocked down, two more surged forward. The ones behind shoved the fallen ahead, trampling them in their frenzy to reach him.

Up on the roof, the others saw what was happening. No one wasted time.

They tore into the food like wolves. Sean grabbed the steel tube Ethan had ripped from a bed frame. Skinny Pete snatched up a folding chair. Big Mike and Chris went straight for the bent ladder, snapping it in half at the middle seam. Each of them hoisted a broken section like a club and rushed to help.

Truth be told, the only reason this group had survived this long was because they worked together. They didn't always get along, but when it came to fighting zombies, no one slacked off. That was why Ethan stuck with them.

With the others joining the fight, the pressure on Ethan eased immediately.

There were only five of them, and more than twenty zombies below, but they had the high ground. Each of them was armed, and the narrow stairwell worked in their favor. For now, the undead couldn't break through.

"Ethan, here." Chris pulled half a piece of bread from his pocket and held it out.

He'd grabbed it during the food split, but only taken a few bites. The rest, he'd saved.

Ethan smiled and shook his head. "You eat it. I'm not hungry."

He wasn't surprised by the gesture. That was just Chris—always thinking of him, ever since they were kids.

"But you haven't eaten since last night. You've been fighting nonstop. How can you not be hungry?"

"I'm really not. And come on, when have I ever been polite with you? Eat up. You'll need the energy to keep swinging."

"Alright." Chris didn't argue. He shoved the bread into his mouth.

Sean, still swinging beside them, glanced at the endless stream of zombies and frowned. "Ethan, we can't keep this up forever. They don't get tired—we do."

Ethan nodded, thinking fast. "Hold the line. I'm gonna fix up the steel tube."

"Got it."

Back on the rooftop, Ethan grabbed a chunk of concrete and slammed it down on one end of the steel tube, trying to flatten it into a crude point. It took a hell of a lot of effort, and even then, the result wasn't exactly sharp—more like a dented, angry-looking wedge.

The tube wasn't solid, but the walls were thick enough to make it sturdy. It'd hold.

He headed back to the stairwell, where the others were still holding the line.

"You guys keep them back," Ethan said. "I'll start taking them out."

He locked eyes with the lead zombie charging up the stairs. Then, without hesitation, he lunged forward and drove the steel tube straight into its skull.

The force of the blow was monstrous. The tube punched through bone and buried itself deep in the zombie's brain. The creature froze mid-step, then crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut.

"Holy shit!!" Chris blurted. "Ethan, that was insane!"

The others stared, stunned. Everyone here knew how tough a zombie's skull was. And Ethan had just rammed a blunt steel tube straight through one like it was wet cardboard. That kind of strength wasn't normal.

Ethan yanked the tube free with a wet squelch and gave a crooked grin. "Not bad. Works pretty well."

"I gotta try that," Chris said, eyes gleaming. He stepped up and jabbed his own tube at a zombie's head with all the force he could muster.

It hit dead-on—but instead of piercing through, it just left a nasty dent and a spray of blood. The zombie blinked at him, confused, like it wasn't sure what had just happened.

"Uh… sorry," Chris muttered, awkwardly pulling the tube back.

"…"

"Alright," Ethan said, stepping forward again. "You guys hold the line. I'll do the killing."

And he did.

With the others keeping the zombies from swarming, Ethan went to work. One after another, he drove the steel tube into their skulls, each strike cleaner and faster than the last. His movements grew sharper, more efficient—every thrust a kill shot.

But no matter how many he dropped, the horde didn't thin. The noise was drawing more in by the minute.

Zombies from the seventh floor, ones that had been holed up in dorm rooms, started pouring in. Others from the sixth floor, drawn by the sounds of fighting, joined the rush.

The rooftop had been safer—up there, the noise didn't carry as far. Even if a zombie heard something, it would just stare dumbly at the sky, clueless about how to reach them.

But in the stairwell, it was different. The echoes gave away their exact position. And zombies didn't need brains to follow a sound.

Ethan kept killing, but his arms were starting to betray him. Every thrust took more effort. His shoulders burned. His grip faltered. The steel tube felt heavier with each swing.

Even a damn cyborg wouldn't last long at this pace.

Luckily, the bodies were starting to pile up. So many corpses clogged the stairwell that the zombies behind them had trouble pushing through. They stumbled, tripped, got tangled in limbs and torsos.

Eventually, the flow slowed to a crawl. Then stopped.

The stairwell was jammed with corpses, wall to wall.

Ethan dropped to the floor with a grunt, his back against the wall, arms trembling so badly he could barely hold the tube anymore.

"Ethan, you okay?" Chris asked, crouching beside him.

"I'm fine," Ethan said, shaking his head. "Just… wiped. I'll be good after a rest."

No one threw up this time.

Maybe they were getting used to it. Or maybe, after finally getting some food in their stomachs, they were too stubborn to waste it. Still, every face was pale as chalk, eyes hollow, lips pressed tight.

The stairwell was a slaughterhouse. But for now, at least, it was quiet.

...

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