“This is it, the roof access,” Elliot says.

  “Okay, do you want to go first or should I?” Jason asks.

  “That’s all you,” Elliot replies.

  Jason pushes open the door to the staircase leading to the roof. Each step creaks under his weight as he ascends. By the time he reaches the top, he grips the handle and turns it; it groans in protest from disuse, but it opens nonetheless.

  Blinded by the sunlight for a moment, Jason steps onto the roof. The sky above is clear and blue, almost too perfect for the chaos unfolding below. If only it were a little warmer.

  Then, the illusion shatters. The distant screams and now distant gunshots break the serene facade the sky holds. The sound of gunfire echoes faintly in the air.

  Jason’s nose twitches—smoke. He can’t see the source, but the absence of fire trucks racing toward it makes his stomach tighten. Whatever’s happening out there, it’s bad.

  “Look, that’s the school,” Elliot says, pointing across the roof. His building, the tallest in the neighborhood at five stories, gives them a perfect vantage point. His parents own the building but are rarely home, so Elliot had always enjoyed the quiet solitude of the top floor.

  Jason squints into the distance. “Holy shit, it’s like a war zone,” he mutters under his breath.

  The school, usually a place of routine and order, now looks like something out of a nightmare. Several police cars are parked outside, their lights flashing in an eerie strobe. The buses, once used to transport children home, are now being used to form a barricade of sorts, lined up end-to-end like a makeshift wall.

  Despite the chaos, there are people outside, moving in scattered groups. Some are working together in a frantic, disorganized manner, trying to set up some kind of defense. But it’s clear they’re outnumbered. A large group, the size of a small mob, is slowly making its way toward the school. They’re staggered, some limping, some stumbling, but all heading in the same direction—toward the school.

  Meanwhile, another group is running in the opposite direction, some toward the school, but others are simply fleeing, as if they can’t even be bothered to look back. Panic is written across their faces. The sense of dread in the air is almost palpable.

  But what stands out the most is the strange emptiness of the roads. Where there should be cars, there are none. The streets are unnervingly quiet, as if the city itself is holding its breath. The only movement is from the people scrambling to and from the school, caught in some kind of unexplainable chaos.

  (The faint whirring of a helicopter’s blades cuts through the tense atmosphere, growing louder as it approaches.)

  “Look, a news helicopter,” Elliot says, pointing toward the sky.

  The helicopter hovers overhead, its camera swinging from side to side, capturing the scene below. The distant sounds of sirens and chaos seem to intensify with its presence.

  “Let’s go back in,” Jason says urgently, his eyes scanning the scene below. “We don’t know what’s happening out there, and we don’t need to be caught in it.”

  Elliot nods, his face tight with concern. He turns to head back toward the door, pushing the thoughts of the outside world from his mind, at least for now. The helicopter's shadow sweeps across the roof as it circles, adding another layer of unease to an already volatile situation.

  “You guys made it back just in time,” Hannah says, pointing to the TV.

  The news broadcast flickers on, showing a view from the helicopter above the city. The voice of the reporter fills the room, crackling with urgency.

  “We are now flying over Riverstone High School, where chaos has erupted as one of the three large groups of rioters is heading straight for the school. What started as a desperate attempt to hold them back has quickly turned into a scene of panic.”

  The camera angle shifts, showing the school from above. Police cars are parked in a defensive line, while school buses are arranged in a barricade-like formation, clearly intended to stop the advancing crowd. The reporters’ voice picks up the intensity as the scene unfolds.

  “We’re hearing gunfire. Do you hear that? They've opened fire! Police are trying to push back the crowd, but it’s not working—people are scrambling to break through the lines.”

  The camera zooms in on the chaotic scene below. The once organized police line quickly crumbles as a group of rioters surges forward. People are shouting, some visibly injured, others desperately trying to flee.

  “Civilians are now being caught in the crossfire as the situation escalates. The police are being overwhelmed—one officer down, and the barricade has just been broken. The line of cops is completely overrun now. There’s no more control here. I can’t even see if the authorities are regrouping; the school’s front gate is being breached as we speak.”

  The helicopter camera pans away, zooming out to give a wider view of the area.

  “Elsewhere in the city, reports are flooding in of similar chaos. Hospitals are swamped, emergency services are stretched thin, and authorities are scrambling to maintain any semblance of order.”

  The helicopter hovers above the area as the sound of helicopters and distant sirens fills the air.

  The screen flickers briefly before the news anchor's voice fills the room again, though it sounds increasingly frantic. "We are receiving reports that the main police headquarters downtown has been overrun. The National Guard is currently attempting to stem the chaos, but the situation is worsening by the hour. Authorities continue to urge all citizens to stay inside and lock their doors. Avoid contact with anyone outside unless absolutely necessary."

  Jason's eyes remain fixed on the screen, but his heart is hammering in his chest. Outside, the air feels thick with uncertainty. They can hear distant sirens, but they’re getting fewer as time passes.

  The newscaster’s voice falters for a moment, as if trying to maintain composure. "We will keep you informed on all the latest updates as long as we—"

  A sudden, blood-curdling scream cuts through the transmission, followed by the sound of frantic shouting. The camera jolts and then falls to the ground with a sickening thud, its lens capturing the chaos as the newsroom erupts in panic. The camera shifts, showing glimpses of the host stumbling backward, trying to flee.

  "Get down! We—!" One of the producers screams, but the transmission is cut abruptly. The screen goes black for a split second before it flashes back to the familiar static.

  "What the hell was that?" Elliot murmurs under his breath, as Jason just stares at the screen, unable to find any words.

  "What do we do?" Jessy asks, her voice tight with anxiety.

  "Let’s stay here," Tina says firmly, her eyes scanning the room as if she can sense the danger lurking just outside the door.

  "Now you want to listen?" Elliot scoffs, shaking his head. "No, we need to get out of the city."

  "No, she’s right," Ricky interjects, his tone steady despite the chaos around them. "In the school, we were exposed. Here, we’re at the top of a building with only one entry point."

  "I agree. We should block the staircase," Jason adds, his mind already working through the logistics.

  "Are any of the tenants home?" Jessy asks, hoping for a solution that doesn’t involve barricading themselves inside.

  "I don’t think so. They all have work," Elliot replies, his eyes shifting toward the door as if expecting someone to burst through at any moment.

  "Then we should block the main staircase," Jason says, making a decision. "If they can’t get up here, we’re safer."

  They pause for a moment, everyone digesting the plan.

  "Okay, let’s do this," Jason says, his voice hardening with resolve. He moves toward the door, reaching for the handle, his mind racing with the image of what they might face on the other side. The plan is simple: block the staircase to the roof, secure the doors, and hold out as long as they can.

  He opens the door cautiously, peeking out into the dimly lit hallway. The place is eerily silent, but Jason knows that won’t last long.

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  "Grab anything heavy. We need to make sure no one gets up here," Jason commands as he steps out into the hall, signaling everyone to follow him.

  The others move quickly, gathering furniture, metal pipes, anything that can be used to block the staircase and prevent anyone from making it up to the second floor.

  "Ready," Tina says as she hefts a large chair, positioning it against the staircase entrance.

  "Let’s do this," Jason repeats, his tone firm as he helps secure the barricade.

  "Now what do we do?" Ricky asks, tossing a chair into the now-blocked stairwell. The pile of furniture is a makeshift barricade, with the largest item—a couch—wedged between the wall and the stairs. As much as they could manage to stack, the pile rises to the top of the narrow staircase. No one’s getting through that—at least, not without crushing themselves in the process.

  "Let’s all get some rest while we still can," Jason says, heading back up to the fourth floor to Elliot’s apartment. The others follow him in silence, each absorbed in their thoughts.

  "Should we rest?" Hannah asks, her voice tight with worry. "What if something comes up on the news?"

  "We can take turns watching it," Jessy suggests, trying to offer a semblance of calm.

  "Sounds good," the others agree in unison, the tension slightly easing.

  "I’ll watch the first one," Jason volunteers, already stepping toward the TV, his mind still on the barricade they’ve created.

  "Everyone, wake up, look!" Jason says urgently, his voice sharp as he stares at the screen.

  "What time is it?" someone asks, still groggy from their sleep.

  "12:30," Jason replies, his eyes fixed on the television. "But the news is back."

  The screen flickers before showing a reporter in front of a large, makeshift barricade.

  "Hello, this is Karen Hale with Atlanta News 7, coming to you live from City Hall," the reporter begins, her voice steady but laced with underlying tension. "We’ve lost the main site and had to evacuate. We're now here at City Hall."

  She pauses for a moment before continuing, "In our absence, several developments have occurred. The U.S. National Guard has set up a temporary barrier around the city to contain the protesters. While this is a strange and unprecedented situation, it’s important to note that a large portion of the city remains unharmed and still under control. It is estimated that only 25% of Atlanta is currently in chaos."

  The reporter adjusts the mic in front of her, her face serious. "The police and National Guard units that were still inside the city have contained five violent protester locations, but many areas are now surrounded. City Hall itself is surrounded by large groups of protesters, but we are safe here, for now."

  Her eyes flicker to a map shown on the screen, highlighting the area of the city that is most affected. "Anyone in the Downtown and Midtown areas of Atlanta, which account for about 25% of the city, is advised to remain indoors and only allow police personnel to enter their homes. We strongly urge you to avoid engaging with protesters. Those in the areas surrounded by barricades should stay inside and lock their doors."

  The camera cuts to footage of damaged buildings and smoke rising in the distance. The reporter’s voice cracks slightly as she speaks again. "As for the destruction so far, we’ve seen widespread damage. The police headquarters, several clinics, and local schools have been overrun. Several clinics are completely out of service, and the damage to the police headquarters has been estimated in the millions. As of now, power has been cut in many parts of the city."

  "We are still awaiting confirmation of casualties, but reports suggest that the situation is starting to stabilize in most areas, though violent outbreaks continue in key locations." She takes a breath, her expression hardening. "We expect the protesters to calm down soon, possibly before the real military units are deployed. But for now, we urge everyone to stay inside, stay safe, and remain alert. We will continue to monitor the situation closely."

  The broadcast cuts to black for a moment before a new alert flashes across the screen, warning citizens to avoid areas where police and National Guard forces are actively engaged.

  "Damn, it's the same shit, but it looks like they're getting it under control," Jason says, his voice flat with disbelief as he watches the news.

  "That's what they said in Atlantic City, and they had to bomb it into the dirt," Ricky replies, his voice hard, a note of anger in it. "I'm telling you, this isn’t gas, it’s a virus or something. They won’t be able to stop it. They're zombies, they’ll break through and infect the whole city."

  No one denies it. They all saw the videos, the footage of people tearing each other apart, the chaos spilling out into the streets. The silence in the room hangs heavy, each person processing the same thought. None of them dared to look outside. They knew the sounds they heard—the screams, the gunshots, the running—were a sign of something they couldn't ignore. The block had long since quieted down, but it didn’t ease the fear gnawing at them.

  They all knew if they looked out the windows, they'd see bodies—maybe even people just standing there, frozen in a trance-like stupor, waiting for something they couldn’t name.

  "I’ll take over the watch," Ricky says, standing up from his seat with a hard resolve in his eyes. He knew they needed someone watching, someone keeping track of what was happening. "You guys get some rest."

  Everyone nods silently, the weight of what they were facing pressing down on them. They didn’t know if they’d be able to sleep, but for now, they needed to rest—physically and mentally—for whatever came next

  BOOM! A massive explosion rips through the air, shaking the building with a force that rattles their bones. The power goes out instantly, leaving only the dim emergency lights to flicker to life, casting eerie shadows across the room.

  "Everyone to the roof!" Jason shouts, already moving toward the roof access . The others follow him quickly, not needing to ask why—they know the roof is their safest option, far from whatever chaos is brewing below.

  They scramble up the stairs to the rooftop, and as they emerge, they’re met with a thick cloud of smoke rising from the west, darkening the sky. The source is clear—an explosion has left Town Hall burning.

  "What time is it? I left my phone charging downstairs," Jason asks, his voice tense as he looks around, trying to take in the full scope of what’s happening.

  "It’s 3:20," Jessy calls out from behind him, her voice barely audible over the distant sounds of chaos and crackling flames.

  "Guys, isn’t that Town Hall?" Elliot points toward the rising smoke, his eyes wide in disbelief. "I thought they said they had the protesters under control."

  "It’s not protesters," Ricky growls, his tone sharp and focused. "This is zombies."

  "You don’t know that," Elliot argues, but he’s quickly interrupted when a scream echoes from below. The group turns to see a girl from their school, running down the block. She trips, and before she can get back up, she’s surrounded by people—no, things. The unmistakable sounds of flesh being ripped apart fill the air, sending a chill down their spines.

  "Looks like a zombie to me," Ricky says, his voice deadpan as he watches the horrific scene unfold below them.

  The others on the roof recoil in horror, some of the girls gagging, unable to hold back their disgust. Elliot stumbles back, pale and shaken, and they rush back down into the apartment in a panic. But Jason and Ricky remain on the roof, their eyes fixed on the street below.

  "Are we just gonna stay here?" Ricky asks, his gaze never leaving the street, his voice tinged with both concern and resolve.

  "Yeah," Jason answers, his tone calm, though his expression is hard. "It’s the safest place. We have a clear view of everything from up here. If it gets worse, we’ll see it coming."

  Ricky and Jason walk back into the apartment, where the others are already in the midst of conversation.

  “How much water is in the roof tank?” Hannah asks, her eyes scanning the room, worried about their supplies.

  “About half a tank,” Elliot responds. “It should last us a week, maybe two, if we don’t shower.”

  “We’ll run out of that long before,” Hannah mutters, frustration in her voice.

  Jason steps forward, his mind already calculating. “Why don’t we gather all the food from the fourth, third, and second floors, along with anything useful—clothes, tools, whatever we can use to make weapons?”

  The group nods in agreement, realizing that Jason’s idea might be their best bet.

  “Did anyone own a gun in this building?” he asks.

  “No,” Elliot answers, “but we did have a single security guard. He had a pistol; it should still be in his office.”

  “And where’s that?” Jason asks, already heading for the door.

  “First floor,” Elliot replies.

  “Shit,” Jason curses. “Well, we can’t take the stairs. We’ll have to make a rope ladder.”

  “Why?” Jessy asks, her face twisted in confusion. “Is it really that important? Can’t we just stay here?”

  “No,” Ricky interjects, his tone grim. “When this happened in Atlantic City, the only reason ten thousand people made it out alive at the beginning was because the military had not dealt with this type of thing. That was before the city was walled off. After that, only a few hundred were rescued—and only rich or smart people like doctors.” He pauses, his eyes narrowing. “They’re already starting to wall it off here.”

  “But that was Atlantic City,” Hannah protests. “This is Atlanta, with a population in the millions. They can’t just leave us all to die.”

  “That’s all the more reason to act now,” Jason counters. “More people to contain, bigger risks. They probably won’t wait as long as they did in Jersey to bomb here.”

  Before anyone can respond, Jessy suddenly pulls out her phone, eyes glued to the screen. “Guys, look at this.”

  The group gathers around, watching the news report unfold.

  "This is Emily Harper, reporting live from the skies over City Hall. The barricade that held the infected out of the city has now been breached, and we’re seeing widespread infection throughout Atlanta. As the situation worsens, the National Guard has been mobilized, but chaos continues to spread.”

  The camera shakes slightly as the helicopter flies over a war-torn scene. Below, the camera picks up flashes of gunfire as soldiers scramble to hold their ground.

  “On the ground, City Hall is under siege. A statement from the government confirms the gas used in the initial outbreak has now spread across the city, and the infected have overwhelmed many of the barricades set in place. As we fly over City Hall, we can see the last stand unfolding. Gunfire continues to echo in the streets, but the infected are pushing through. It is estimated that nearly half of the city has already fallen, with significant damage reported to key locations, including the police headquarters, schools, and local clinics. Infected swarms are reportedly pushing toward government buildings, and authorities are preparing for an evacuation."

  As the helicopter hovers over City Hall, the sound of gunfire grows louder. The camera zooms in, catching glimpses of soldiers retreating toward the roof, leaving the lower floors in flames.

  “City Hall has already been breached,” the reporter continues, her voice strained. “The last survivors are gathering on the roof for an emergency evacuation. Military helicopters are being deployed to pull out key personnel.”

  Jason looks at Ricky, his gaze firm. “We have a plan. I’ll take the second floor. You guys spread out and bring everything you can find here.”

  Ricky nods. “Got it. Stay safe.”