Jason gives a sharp nod before heading toward the staircase. The building feels eerie—too quiet for comfort, even though the faint sounds of chaos outside filter through the walls like a distant storm. The muffled screams and sporadic gunfire seem both too far to matter and too close to ignore.

  The stairs creak under his weight as he descends to the second floor. Each step echoes slightly in the hollow stairwell, and the sound of his own breathing seems louder than it should. The others' footsteps fade as they move further down, leaving him alone on the final staircase to the second floor. Jason pauses at the landing, gripping the railing tightly as he scans the dimly lit hallway ahead.

  His heart pounds, a dull thud in his chest, but he forces his breathing steady. A quick glance down confirms the blockade to the first floor is still intact, the makeshift barricade holding strong. That’s one small relief.

  He approaches the door to the second-floor apartment, its frame still ajar from when they hauled out the couch earlier. The memory of how easy it was to walk these halls earlier that day now feels alien, almost taunting. Back then, they didn’t know the infected had swept through. Now, the silence is heavier, oppressive.

  Jason hesitates just inside the doorway, his eyes sweeping over the darkened room. The apartment is still, but his gut twists as if warning him otherwise. The gnawing uncertainty eats at him—what if something managed to climb up to the second floor? He shakes the thought off. He knows it’s empty. It has to be empty.

  He steps further inside, each movement deliberate and cautious. Dust motes drift lazily in the faint shafts of light peeking through the blinds. The living room is cluttered but undisturbed—discarded magazines, an overturned chair, and the faint smell of mildew. His eyes catch a metal bat propped up against the wall near the doorway. A relic of some homeowner's false sense of security, now a lifeline for him.

  Jason grabs it, feeling the cool weight of the metal in his hands. His grip tightens instinctively, his knuckles going white. A sudden creak from the floorboards behind him makes him whip around, bat raised, but it’s just his own footfall settling.

  He lets out a sharp exhale, muttering under his breath, "Get it together."

  The tension in his shoulders doesn't ease as he moves deeper into the apartment. He scans the kitchen first, rummaging through the cabinets with swift but quiet movements. A few cans of soup, a box of crackers, and a half-empty bottle of water—better than nothing. He stuffs them into his bag, every rustle of plastic or scrape of metal against wood making him wince.

  From the hallway outside, a faint thud echoes—likely a door shifting in its frame somewhere else in the building. Or at least that's what Jason tells himself. He freezes, his ears straining for any follow-up noise. Nothing. Just the distant hum of chaos outside and the oppressive silence inside.

  With his bag half-full and his nerves stretched thin, Jason gives the apartment one last glance. Nothing moved, no new sounds. Just the same eerie stillness. He backs toward the doorway, bat at the ready, and steps out into the hall.

  His shoulders sag slightly, but the tension never fully leaves him. The second floor is clear—for now.

  “All right, so we’ve got about seven days’ worth of food,” Elliot said, his voice steady but tinged with exhaustion.

  “Did everyone manage to find a weapon?” Jason asked, his eyes scanning the group.

  “Yes,” came the replies, each punctuated by a brief display of their new tools.

  Elliot held up a crowbar, gripping it tightly. “It’s not much, but it’ll work.”

  Ricky smirked as he raised a wrench. “Found this. Solid and simple.”

  Hannah unfolded a small hatchet, her face calm but serious. “This will do for now.”

  Jessy revealed a sharpened kitchen knife, holding it with both hands. “It’s all I could find.”

  Jason tapped the metal bat he’d taken earlier against his palm. “Good. Looks like we’re armed enough to defend ourselves.”

  “I also found a paper map,” Ricky said, unfolding it and holding it up. “So, what’s the plan now?”

  Jason studied the map briefly before replying. “It’s already four. We should wait until tomorrow before heading out. Let the city settle a little. If it still seems too hot by then, we’ll wait longer.”

  He looked at each of them. “In the meantime, get your bags ready to go. Change into more protective clothes if you found any—we’ll need to be able to run fast. And let’s start making rope out of the clothes we don’t need. It could save us later.”

  The group nodded, the weight of their situation settling in as they got to work.

  Jason’s phone buzzed suddenly, shattering the tense silence. He glanced down at the screen, his face hardening as he read the message aloud to the group:

  “This is an emergency broadcast. The City of Atlanta has been declared under martial law. Any survivors are instructed to proceed immediately to one of the following safe zones: the National Guard Armory, Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport, the CDC headquarters, or Grady Memorial Hospital. These locations are under federal protection. Avoid all other areas. This message will repeat.”

  The room went silent as everyone absorbed the gravity of the announcement.

  “Well, that’s not exactly comforting,” Ricky muttered.

  “They're funneling people to those places,” Hannah said, her brow furrowed. “If the military is focusing there, then...”

  “Then the rest of the city is being written off,” Jason finished grimly.

  Sometime later, the group was jolted out of their uneasy quiet by the sudden increase in gunfire echoing through the darkened streets. The crackling shots, sharp and relentless, seemed closer than before. Jason immediately stiffened, signaling for everyone to stay quiet as he strained his ears.

  “What the hell is going on out there?” Ricky muttered, gripping his bat tightly.

  The distant pops of gunfire intensified, joined by the heavy booms of something far more menacing.

  "Let’s get to the roof," James suggested, his voice low but firm. Without waiting for a response, he moved toward the stairwell, the others falling in line behind him.

  The group emerged onto the rooftop, greeted by the cool dusk air. The sky was a bruised shade of purple, transitioning rapidly into night. It would be dark soon. From the west, new plumes of smoke curled into the sky, their origins obscured by the maze of buildings. Faint flashes lit up the horizon, followed by deep, thunderous booms that reverberated in their chests.

  “That doesn’t sound like normal gunfire,” Ricky said, his voice uneasy.

  “You’re right,” Elliot replied, squinting into the distance. “That’s cannon fire. Probably from armored vehicles.”

  The group’s attention was drawn to the sudden roar of engines below. They peered over the edge of the roof and saw a convoy of vehicles speeding through the streets, their headlights piercing the encroaching darkness. The convoy didn’t look like civilians—it moved too quickly and efficiently, with military trucks leading the charge.

  “They’re retreating,” Jason muttered under his breath.

  As the last of the convoy disappeared into the distance, the gunfire behind it began to sputter and fade. Then came the final desperate shots, sporadic and isolated, from whoever had been left behind. Silence followed, a haunting stillness that made the air feel heavy.

  “Was that... the military?” Hannah asked, her voice breaking the silence.

  “Why are they running?” Tina questioned, her tone sharp with disbelief.

  “They can’t hold the line,” Jason said grimly, his eyes fixed on the distant smoke.

  “But shouldn’t they have, like... plans and stuff? Contingencies?” Jessy asked, looking to the others for reassurance.

  “They should,” Ricky agreed, his brow furrowing. “It doesn’t make sense. Now that I think about it, shouldn’t planes have been flying all day? “

  “They might be bombing outer parts of the city,” Hannah suggested hesitantly.

  “Maybe,” Ricky said, his expression darkening. “But... I think they might blow up the whole city. Like they did in Jersey.”

  Hundreds of thousands of survivors. Jessy’s eyes widened as she voiced the thought hanging in the air. “But there are hundreds of thousands of people still alive here!”

  “I said I think,” Ricky snapped, though his tone softened when he saw her face.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Jason interjected, his voice cutting through the rising anxiety. “The military won’t help us. That much is clear. They just abandoned the hospital. We need to leave on our own.”

  "This is a government emergency announcement. The city of Atlanta is now under full quarantine. No entry or exit is permitted under any circumstances. If you are currently in a safe location, stay where you are and await further instructions. Military personnel will be deployed to assist you as soon as possible. If your location is compromised, proceed immediately to the National Guard Armory. All other designated safe zones have fallen. Repeat, all other locations have fallen. Stay where you are if you can. You have not been forgotten."

  "That's bullshit," Ricky muttered, pacing angrily.

  "Maybe, but it doesn't change anything," Jason said, his tone firm. "We still need rest if we’re going to move tomorrow."

  Ricky stopped and exhaled sharply, frustration still etched on his face.

  "Let’s get some sleep," Jason added, glancing at the others. "We’ll need all the strength we can get."

  A faint, rhythmic thrum broke the silence, gradually growing louder.

  “What the hell is that?” Hannah asked, her voice tinged with both curiosity and fear.

  Jason tilted his head, listening intently. “I think that’s a helicopter.”

  “No, that’s two,” Elliot interjected, squinting toward the sound.

  Jason's eyes widened. “Let’s get to the roof. Maybe they’re actually rescuing people!”

  The group scrambled up the stairs, urgency driving their movements. Bursting onto the roof, they were met with an incredible sight—the darkest sky any of them had ever seen. With the power outage, the stars seemed impossibly bright, their light casting faint glimmers over the distant city.

  “There!” Hannah exclaimed, pointing to two barely visible shapes gliding across the starlit horizon.

  “I think those are Black Hawks,” Elliot said, his tone equal parts awe and relief.

  “Yeah!” Ricky added. “Get something—anything—to grab their attention. They’ll fly right over us at this angle!”

  The thrum of the rotors intensified, becoming a deafening roar as the helicopters drew nearer. Suddenly, a sharp whooshcut through the noise, followed by an ear-splitting boom.

  A fireball erupted in the air, illuminating the rooftop in a flash of blinding orange.

  “Holy shit! Everyone get down!” Jason shouted, his voice barely audible over the chaos.

  The struck helicopter spun wildly, its tail snapping like a broken toy. It careened downward, its metal frame groaning and shrieking as it spiraled out of control.

  The sound of the impact was deafening, a sickening mix of shattering glass and tearing metal as it slammed into the side of the building. The entire structure trembled, bits of debris raining down around them.

  Smoke and dust billowed upward, choking the air. The chaos was overwhelming—shouts, the crackle of fire, and the distant echo of secondary explosions filled the night.

  “Is everyone okay?” Jason coughed ears ringing, scanning the group as he tried to steady his breathing.

  Jason looked up, his vision blurred and ears ringing, to see everyone sprawled across the rooftop, coughing. Ricky was slowly pushing himself off the ground, disoriented. Jason staggered over and helped him to his feet, then moved quickly to assist the others.

  Stumbling to the edge of the roof, Jason peered down through the swirling smoke. His voice was hoarse as he yelled, “It hit the third floor!”

  “What?” came the muffled response from behind him.

  “WE NEED TO GO! GET YOUR STUFF!” Jason shouted, his words barely cutting through the ringing in their ears and the rising panic. Smoke billowed from the gaping hole in the side of the building, dark and ominous.

  “Do you think anyone survived that?” Ricky asked, his voice shaky as the group’s hearing started to return.

  “Maybe,” Jason replied grimly. “You guys get the bags and ropes. I’ll check it out.”

  Without waiting for an argument, Jason turned and sprinted for the stairs. The rest of the group hesitated for a moment before heading into Elliot’s apartment to gather their supplies.

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  Jason took the stairs three at a time, his heartbeat pounding louder than his footsteps. By the time he reached the third floor, the air was thick with acrid smoke, stinging his eyes and throat. He stopped in front of the door, his hand wrapping around the handle. It wouldn’t budge.

  With a grunt, Jason threw his shoulder into it, the impact sending the door crashing open. He stumbled forward and hit the ground hard, coughing as he scrambled back to his feet.

  The hallway was rapidly filling with smoke, swirling like a living thing as it sought every corner of the room. The wreckage of the helicopter was embedded deep into what used to be a living room, its cockpit completely obliterated from the impact. Flames licked hungrily at the edges of the wreck, casting long, flickering shadows across the walls.

  Jason didn’t hesitate. He sprinted toward the twisted remains of the chopper, sparks raining down on him from exposed wires. The interior was a hellscape of smoke and fire, the acrid stench of burning fuel making it hard to breathe.

  Inside, Jason’s eyes darted frantically. Six bodies of soldiers lay crumpled among the wreckage, motionless. His stomach twisted, but he pushed the feeling down. His eyes landed on a pile of bags and rifles, thrown haphazardly in the chaos.

  “Gotta move,” Jason muttered to himself, urgency pushing him forward. He grabbed two of the bags, his hands trembling as he hoisted one onto his back. The weight pressed heavily on his shoulders, but he didn’t stop.

  As he turned to leave, the heat from the growing fire became unbearable. Flames crackled and roared, the sound deafening as the smoke thickened around him. Just as he was about to sprint out, something caught his eye—a movement.

  Jason froze, heart skipping a beat. One of the soldiers shifted, their hand twitching weakly amid the debris.

  -"Move it, Hannah!" Ricky barked, his voice sharp as he slung both his and Jason's bags over his shoulder. "Let’s go!" He watched as Hannah, Jessy, and Tina bolted for the stairs, their faces pale with fear.

  As Elliot passed, Ricky thrust James's bag into his arms. "Take this. Get the ropes across to the next building and make sure the girls get over."

  Elliot hesitated, his hands trembling as he grasped the bag. "I... I got it," he stammered, nodding before disappearing up the stairs.

  Ricky turned back to the doorway, his chest tightening as the smoke thickened, curling around the edges like an ominous warning. The pit in his stomach deepened with every second that passed. “Goddammit, Jason,” he muttered under his breath before he made a decision.

  He charged out the door and down the stairs, the heat hitting him like a wall. The smoke stung his eyes and lungs, making it hard to see or breathe. He reached the third floor just as Jason burst through the doorway, coughing and staggering under the weight of a soldier slung over his shoulder.

  “Grab him!” Jason gasped, his voice hoarse.

  Ricky didn’t hesitate. He rushed forward and grabbed the soldier’s other arm. Together, they hauled the man up the stairs, the air growing hotter and more suffocating with every step. As they reached the final stretch, Ricky glanced back and saw flames licking at the doorframe, the fire roaring hungrily as it devoured the hallway.

  The two of them burst onto the roof, dropping the soldier as gently as they could onto the concrete. Ricky doubled over, coughing violently, his lungs burning from the smoke.

  "So, how do you plan on getting him across?" Ricky asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm despite the panic in his eyes.

  Jason wiped sweat and soot from his face. "We’ll lower him down with the rope," he said, already moving to tie a secure knot around the soldier. "Then we head down ourselves."

  The group worked quickly, Elliot tying the rope off on a sturdy pipe. Jason and Ricky secured the soldier, making sure the harness would hold.

  “Okay, lower him slowly!” Jason commanded.

  The soldier dangled precariously as they eased him down, the rope creaking under the strain. Below, the fire had spread to the lower floors, the heat radiating upward in waves. Smoke billowed from broken windows, swirling into the night sky.

  "He's almost down!" Elliot called out, his knuckles white as he gripped the rope.

  Suddenly, a loud crack echoed through the building. The roof shuddered beneath their feet, sending a jolt of fear through the group.

  “The building’s going!” Ricky shouted.

  Jason cursed under his breath. "Keep going! We’re not leaving anyone behind!"

  The soldier reached the ground just as another loud groan rippled through the structure. A chunk of the roof collapsed nearby, sending debris tumbling to the street below.

  “Now us!” Jason yelled.

  One by one, they descended the rope, the girls first, followed by Elliot, then Ricky. Jason stayed behind, holding the rope steady until everyone was down. As he prepared to descend, the roof buckled again, the edge crumbling beneath his feet.

  “Go, Jason!” Ricky yelled from below, his face lit by the glow of the fire.

  Jason slid down the rope just as the roof gave way entirely. He hit the ground hard, rolling to absorb the impact.

  “You good?” Ricky asked, rushing to help him up.

  “Yeah,” Jason grunted as Ricky helped him to his feet.

  The group turned to look at what remained of Elliot’s apartment building. It had collapsed in on itself, a smoldering ruin sending plumes of smoke into the dark sky. The sight was both horrifying and surreal, but for the first time in what felt like hours, they were safe.

  “At least for now,” Jason muttered. He glanced at the others, their faces streaked with soot, their expressions a mix of exhaustion and relief.

  “Check the door,” Jason said, nodding toward the exit on the building.

  Jessy stepped forward, trying the handle. “It’s locked,” she said with a sigh. “We’ll have to figure out how to open it.”

  “Let’s worry about that later,” Jason replied, his eyes drifting to the unconscious soldier. “See if we can wake him up first. He might have answers... or a plan.”

  Jason shakes the soldier’s shoulder more firmly.

  “Hey, wake up,” Jason urged, his voice sharp.

  The soldier stirred, groaning as his head tilted to the side. “What... what happened?” he muttered, eyes fluttering open with a dazed expression.

  “Your helo was shot down by a missile,” Jason said, helping steady him. “It crashed into our building.”

  The soldier blinked, his breathing uneven. “The rest of my men... what happened to them?”

  Jason hesitated, his tone softening. “I’m sorry. They didn’t make it. They... they died on impact.”

  The soldier leaned back against the wall, his face pale in the dim light. “Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, clenching his jaw.

  Jason pressed forward. “Why were you guys even here? Were you sent to pick up survivors? Are there evacuation plans?”

  The soldier’s expression tightened as he shook his head. “I can’t tell you that.”

  Jason frowned, frustration simmering. “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Both,” the soldier said flatly.

  Jason exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fine. How about your name, at least? Or is that classified too?”

  The soldier glanced up at him, his eyes filled with fatigue. “Captain Logan,” he said finally.

  Jason backed away from Captain Logan, his mind racing with everything that had just happened. He rejoined the group, who were huddled together near the edge of the rooftop, their faces illuminated faintly by the distant glow of fires on the horizon.

  “So, what’s the plan?” Jason asked, keeping his voice low.

  Ricky glanced around, then spoke decisively. “Let’s wait until sunrise. We’ll have better visibility, and we can figure out where we’re going.”

  “Good call,” Jason said, nodding. “But we need a route before then. Pull out the map.”

  Ricky dug into his bag and unfolded a crumpled city map, spreading it out on the ground. Hannah leaned over it, tracing a finger along the faded lines. “What about this path?” she said, pointing to a route that cut through the heart of the city. “It’s the fastest way to get out of here. If we follow it, we’ll hit the interstate and make it to safety quicker.”

  Jason squinted at the map, frowning. “Maybe, but we’d be going straight through the worst parts of the city. It’s risky.”

  Tina knelt down beside them, shaking her head. “No, no, look at this. If we take this path here,” she said, tracing an alternate route that curved around the city’s outskirts, “we’ll go through the suburbs instead. It’s longer, but it should be safer. Fewer infected, fewer surprises.”

  Jason was about to respond when a voice cut through the quiet, startling them all.

  “You can’t take the first path,” Logan said, his tone grim as he approached from the shadows.

  The group jumped, their heads snapping toward him. “Damn it, man, don’t sneak up on us like that!” Ricky hissed, his hand clutching his chest.

  Logan ignored the outburst, his expression serious. “There’s a horde of fifty thousand strong moving through that area. If you take that route, you won’t make it out alive.”

  Hannah’s eyes widened in shock. “Fifty thousand?”

  “At least,” Logan said. “They’ve been funneling through the main streets, tearing apart anything in their way. You’re better off going with the second route, even if it takes longer.”

  The group exchanged uneasy glances. Jason broke the silence. “How do you even know that?”

  Logan’s expression darkened as he stepped closer, his voice steady but grim. “That’s the same group that took out the hospital. By the time you’d get to that area, it’ll have been twelve hours since they moved through. But current estimates believe it’s going to become one of the city’s main hoarding zones once the chaos settles and the survivors go into hiding.”

  Hannah’s breath hitched. “Main hoarding zone? What does that even mean?”

  Logan sighed, his gaze flicking between them. “Infected like that don’t just keep wandering forever. They’re drawn to places with people, and when things go quiet—when survivors stop moving—they group up. Big hordes like that settle down in centralized locations, waiting for something to disturb them.”

  Jason folded his arms, frowning. “So, you’re saying we’ll be walking straight into a death trap if we take that route.”

  “Exactly,” Logan said. “If you’re lucky, they’ll just pass through. If you’re not... well, let’s not test that theory.”

  Tina studied the map again, her hands trembling slightly. “The suburbs route... it’s safer, right?”

  Logan nodded. “It’s less likely to have high concentrations of infected. Longer, yes, but survivable. If you stay quiet, keep your pace steady, and don’t draw attention, you’ll have a fighting chance.”

  Jason exchanged a glance with Ricky and the others, then looked back at Logan. “Alright. We’ll take the suburbs route. But you’d better be right about this.”

  Logan’s lips curled into the faintest hint of a grim smile. “Trust me. You don’t want to see what happens if I’m not.”

  The sun broke over the horizon, casting a pale orange glow across the desolate cityscape. Its light caught the attention of the group, interrupting their quiet huddle against the cool, rough surface of the roof access wall. Across from them, Logan sat slumped against the opposite side of the roof, his head resting awkwardly on his chest. At some point during the tense night, he'd succumbed to exhaustion, likely from his injuries.

  As the sunlight stretched across the skyline, it illuminated a haunting tableau. Burnt-out cars and shattered vehicles littered the streets, their twisted forms standing as stark reminders of the chaos that had unfolded. Bodies lay scattered—cops, military personnel, and civilians alike. Some were piled grotesquely together, others sprawled where they had fallen, riddled with bullet holes.

  But what gripped the group more than the carnage were the figures still standing. They were unnervingly still, motionless in the eerie quiet of dawn. Not as many as there had likely been during the night’s battle, but enough to chill the blood. Their silent presence was a grim reminder of what waited below.

  The smell began to rise with the warming air, a sickly, nauseating blend of burnt flesh and decay. It clawed its way into the group’s senses, making it impossible to ignore.

  “So that's why the gunfire was so loud yesterday,” Hannah murmured, her voice a mix of awe and horror.

  “Yeah,” Ricky replied uneasily. “Are we really sure we need to go down there?”

  “It’s the only way out,” Jason said firmly, though his own eyes betrayed his unease as they swept over the scene below.

  A low, gravelly voice broke their deliberation. “It’s too late for you to get out.”

  They turned to see Logan, still sitting on the rooftop, his gaze now fixed on the horizon. His voice was steady, but his words carried the weight of grim certainty.

  The sun crept higher, casting long shadows over the chaotic tableau of burnt cars and lifeless bodies. The air carried the stench of death, heavy and inescapable. Jason broke the silence.

  "What do you mean, it's too late?" he asked, turning to Logan.

  Logan, still seated against the wall, glanced at the group with tired eyes. "The city is completely sealed off by now," he said.

  "What do you mean?" Ricky’s voice wavered.

  "Like in Jersey?" Hannah pressed, her tone urgent.

  Logan nodded slowly. "Yes."

  A collective silence fell over the group. Jessy muttered under her breath, "Shit."

  Elliot, the youngest of them, clung to a shred of hope. "Maybe if we go, they'll let us through."

  All eyes turned to Logan, whose grim expression didn't falter. "Maybe they will, maybe they won’t. I don’t know. They might be overrun by now, too."

  Jessy’s voice cracked as she asked, "Overrun? You think that’s possible?"

  Logan leaned his head back against the wall, his voice low. "Normally, I’d say no. But someone has missiles...so anything’s possible."

  The teens absorbed the weight of his words. Fear was etched on their faces, but it was Jason who finally broke the paralysis. "Doesn’t matter. If we stay here, we’ll die."

  Ricky nodded, determination hardening his features. "Yeah, you’re right. We have to go."

  One by one, they agreed, their eyes shifting to Logan.

  "Will you come with us?" Jason asked.

  Logan hesitated, then shook his head. "No. I have something I need to do here." He glanced at each of them, his voice softening. "Good luck."

  Jason took a deep breath and turned to Elliot. "Give me the crowbar."

  Elliot fumbled for a moment, then handed it over. Jason gripped it tightly, the metal cool in his hand, and began prying at the door. The sound of creaking hinges and groaning metal echoed across the roof.

  Jason finally forced the door open with a metallic groan, the sound echoing ominously in the still morning air. He turned to the group, his grip tightening on the crowbar. "Alright, let's go."

  Just as they began to move, Logan’s voice cut through the moment, calm but firm. "They're attracted to sound. The less noise you make, the better your chances."

  The group froze, absorbing the warning.

  "Thanks," Jason replied with a curt nod, his voice steady despite the tension.

  One by one, they filed through the doorway. Jason led the way, his every step careful and deliberate. Ricky followed close behind, glancing over his shoulder. Jessy and Hannah clutched each other’s arms, while Tina kept a sharp eye on Elliot, the youngest and most nervous of the group, as he brought up the rear.

  The door creaked softly as it closed behind them, shutting out Logan and the relative safety of the rooftop. Ahead lay the unknown, each step into the darkened stairwell echoing faintly.

  The group switched on their flashlights, the beams slicing through the dim interior. The building’s hallways looked eerily pristine, untouched by the chaos outside. Furniture sat undisturbed, and coats still hung on hooks near the doors of the empty apartments. It was as if the inhabitants had simply vanished, never making it back to the sanctuary of their homes.

  They moved cautiously, descending the narrow stairwell floor by floor. The silence pressed on them, every scuff of their shoes against the stairs sounding unnaturally loud.

  When they reached the first floor, Jason raised a hand, signaling for them to turn off their lights. Darkness swallowed them again, save for the faint glow seeping through the cracks of the front door.

  The group huddled near the entrance, exchanging tense glances. Jason exhaled quietly and whispered, "Alright, let’s do this."

  Gripping the handle, he began to push the door open slowly.

  ERRT.

  The groan of the door's hinges shattered the stillness. Everyone froze, their breath caught in their throats. Jason clenched his jaw, his knuckles white on the handle as he eased the door open further, praying that no one or nothing had heard.

  Blinding sunlight poured in as the door creaked open, momentarily dazzling the group. They blinked against the brightness, stepping forward cautiously.

  It happened in an instant. A shadow streaked toward them—fast, feral, and deadly. The creature’s guttural snarl cut through the air as it lunged, its twisted form inches from Hannah’s face.

  She stumbled back, a scream catching in her throat, but before it could sink its teeth into her—

  CRACK!

  The sharp report of a rifle echoed across the street, and the thing crumpled to the ground mid-leap, a gory hole where its head had been.

  Jason’s head snapped up to the roof. Logan stood there, silhouetted against the rising sun, rifle in hand. He chambered another round and bellowed, “RUN! NOW!”

  The urgency in his voice spurred them into action. Jason grabbed Hannah’s arm, yanking her forward as the group bolted. Their footfalls pounded against the asphalt, adrenaline surging as they left.

  Gunshots cracked behind them, sharp and relentless, echoing through the empty streets. Each shot sent a jolt through the group, their legs pumping harder as they sprinted away. The sounds of Logan’s rifle grew distant but remained a grim reminder of what chased them.

  They didn’t stop not until their lungs burned and their muscles screamed for relief. Only then did their pace falter, slowing to a trot as they entered a deserted road.

  “Ok, so where do we go from here?” Ricky asked, his voice low but anxious as he scanned the empty road ahead.

  “We need to head down Elm Street,” Jason said, glancing at the map and pointing forward.

  “Down there?” Tina asked, her voice rising slightly as she gestured to the dimly lit stretch of road. Wreckage and shadows stretched ominously, concealing who-knew-what dangers.

  Jason nodded firmly. “Let’s move quietly.”

  The group crept forward, every footstep feeling too loud in the oppressive silence. The air felt heavier here, thick with the scent of smoke and decay. Their flashlights flickered along the cracked pavement, illuminating fragments of broken glass and scattered belongings.

  They rounded a corner, nerves already frayed—and froze.

  A small group of infected stood just ahead, scattered in the middle of the street. They moved erratically, their heads twitching at unnatural angles. One of them paused, sniffing the air.