The group made their way back up to the rooftop. Everyone looked wiped—Ethan included. Holding off the zombies had taken a serious toll.

Ethan pulled out his phone, hoping to check for any updates online, but the screen stayed black. Dead battery. With a sigh, he shoved it back into his pocket. Cheap phone, cheap battery—should've seen that coming.

"Chris, check the news, will you? See if there's anything from the authorities."

It was already past four in the afternoon. The world had been ending for over half a day now. Surely someone in charge would've said something by now.

Chris quickly unlocked his phone and started scrolling. His face lit up for a second—then fell just as fast.

"What's with the emotional rollercoaster?" Ethan asked, raising an eyebrow.

"They did post something," Chris said, forcing a smile. "But it's not exactly helpful."

"What'd they say?"

"They said zombies aren't that scary, and we should all be brave and fight back. Pick up weapons, defend ourselves. They'll start rescue operations once they've 'handled internal matters.' So, you know, don't worry."

Ethan let out a dry laugh. "Yeah, that sounds about right for the authorities."

"Guess we're on our own," Sean muttered. "Still, they're not wrong. If you've got a weapon, a regular person can probably take down a regular zombie. It's just a matter of whether you've got the guts to do it."

"True," Ethan said. "And there's no shortage of people with guts. I bet plenty of folks have already gone toe-to-toe with the undead by now."

"You're not wrong," Chris added. "There's a ton of videos online—people forming little groups, fighting back."

"Same on the campus network," Skinny Pete chimed in. "A bunch of dorm buildings have started organizing teams to fight off the zombies."

"What about our building?" Chris asked.

Ethan grinned. "Aren't we the team?"

"Fair point. I was kinda hoping someone else would take the lead, though. Guess not."

"Don't count it out yet," Ethan said. "Maybe some of the lower floors are already moving."

"Maybe."

"Alright," Ethan said, stretching his arms. "Let's rest for an hour. Then we head down and clear out the rest of the seventh floor. See who's still alive, and scavenge whatever food and water we can find."

"Got it," the others replied.

The group sprawled out on the rooftop, too drained to care about comfort. After facing down dozens of zombies in one go, their bodies were wrecked, their nerves frayed.

An hour later, Ethan sat up and rolled his shoulders. Still sore, but manageable. He could fight.

During the break, Sean had taken the time to sharpen the two steel tubes he and Big Mike had been using, giving them a bit more bite. Skinny Pete, meanwhile, had picked up the metal pipe Ethan had bent earlier and hammered it straighter with a rock—good enough for now.

"Let's move."

Ethan led the way to the stairwell.

The moment they opened the door, the stench hit them like a wall—thick, metallic, and rotting. The air was so heavy with blood it made their stomachs churn.

They peered down the stairs. Below, the steps were clogged with corpses, but two zombies were still clawing their way upward, relentless as ever. The pile of bodies blocked their path, leaving them stuck in a grotesque crawl.

"How the hell are we supposed to get down?" Sean asked, frowning.

Ethan pointed to the railing. "Stairs are jammed. We jump."

Sean stared at him. "You serious? That's, what, ten feet? We'll break our damn legs. And there are still two zombies down there. What, you want us to deliver ourselves like takeout?"

Ethan rolled his eyes. "Use your brain, man. I'll go first. Once I take care of those two, you follow."

Without waiting for a reply, Ethan vaulted the railing with one hand and dropped down. He landed in a crouch, absorbing the impact with practiced ease, then stood up smoothly in the seventh-floor hallway.

His enhanced body wasn't just stronger—it was faster, more agile, more resilient. Ten feet was nothing now.

The two zombies perked up at the sudden arrival of fresh meat and lunged. Ethan didn't flinch. He drove his steel tube straight through the skull of the first one, then pivoted and kicked the second square in the chest, sending it sprawling. Before it could recover, he yanked the tube free and rammed it into the second zombie's head.

The whole sequence was fluid, efficient—almost elegant. The others watched from above, wide-eyed.

"Damn," someone muttered. "That was badass."

"Save the applause. Get down here," Ethan called up.

They hesitated, exchanging nervous glances.

Ethan sighed, then dragged the two corpses over beneath the railing. "There. Soft landing."

"…"

"I'll go first," Chris said, stepping forward. He climbed over the railing, took a deep breath, and jumped.

He landed on the zombie bodies with a thud, knees bending to absorb the shock. No injuries.

Ten feet looked worse than it was. As long as you knew how to land, it was doable. The real challenge was getting past the fear.

"Not bad," Ethan said, grinning. "Didn't think you had it in you."

Chris puffed out his chest. "Can't let you show me up."

Sean and the others, seeing Chris make it down in one piece, followed suit. One by one, they jumped, landing on the unfortunate corpses that now served as makeshift cushions. The poor zombies—killed, then stomped into mush. One of them nearly had its guts squeezed out like toothpaste.

The hallway on the seventh floor was clear, but they knew the rooms weren't. Each floor had twenty dorm rooms—ten on each side of the hall, centered around the stairwell. Most were doubles or four-person suites. That meant at least fifty people had lived here.

They'd already killed over thirty zombies, including some from the sixth floor. That left at least twenty more unaccounted for—some of whom might still be alive.

"Let's go. Room by room," Ethan said.

The others nodded, and they started down the left side of the hall. The first room was open and empty—no zombies.

They searched it anyway. All they found was half a bottle of water and a pack of gum.

Not everyone hoarded snacks, so food was hit or miss. Luck of the draw.

Ethan took a swig from the water bottle, then passed it to Chris, who drank and handed it to Sean. No one cared about germs right now. They were parched, and water was more precious than food.

By the time the bottle made its way around, it was empty. Ethan grabbed a metal bed frame from the room, broke off a piece, and fashioned it into another steel tube. He handed it to Skinny Pete.

Chewing gum and walking slow, they moved on to the next room.

Also empty.

They kept going. Room after room, nothing. Probably the zombies closest to the stairwell had already been drawn out by the earlier noise and gotten themselves killed.

Then they reached the fifth room. The door was shut tight.

Ethan activated his True Sight and peered inside.

Three zombies. They were hunched over a mangled corpse, feasting.

He gave the others a quick signal, then stepped forward and kicked the door open.

The zombies froze mid-bite, startled by the sudden intrusion. Before they could react, the group rushed in, weapons swinging.

By the time the undead realized what was happening, it was too late.

Ethan skewered two of them through the skull. The third one got mobbed—Chris and Sean jabbed at its neck until they severed the spine. They didn't have the strength to crush skulls like Ethan, but stabbing the neck worked just fine. Easier, even.

They looted the room, found nothing useful, and moved on.

Finally, in the eighth room, they hit the jackpot—four survivors. All huddled together, pale and wide-eyed, but alive.

The moment they saw Ethan and the others, their faces lit up with hope. Rescue. Salvation.

Then Ethan opened his mouth.

"Grab something you can swing. You're coming with us to kill zombies."

...

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