Salem paced in slow, deliberate circles around Hugo, his tail flicking impatiently. Every few steps, he’d stop, ears twitching, yellow eyes locking onto Hugo’s face before continuing his silent loop. The message was clear. Move. Hugo sighed. He sat slumped against the smooth gss wall of what had once been a sleek, modern office space. The pce wasn’t like the crumbling cubicle farms he had passed through before. This was different—an open-concept startup office, meant to impress clients and make employees feel like they were changing the world. Now, it was nothing but a grave. Rows of white desks stretched across the floor, most covered in a thin yer of dust. Some still had personal belongings—coffee mugs, old notebooks, a pair of sneakers shoved under one desk like their owner had pnned to retrieve them. Large gss dividers separated different workspaces, their surfaces smudged with fingerprints frozen in time. The air smelled of stale paper, faint mildew, and the lingering metallic scent of blood from somewhere deeper inside. He had wedged himself between a potted pnt—long dead and brittle—and a high-end leather couch near what had once been the break area. A foosball table sat untouched near the far wall, its handles dusty. An overturned chair y near the reception desk, papers scattered across the floor. The windows were covered in makeshift barricades—desks, whiteboards, and anything else that had been dragged in front of them. Someone had tried to hold out here. And they had failed. Hugo exhaled and rolled his shoulders. His body ached, his limbs stiff from the relentless chase through the city. His throat was dry, but he ignored it for now. Instead, he reached for his backpack and pulled out a strip of jerky. He tore off a piece with his teeth, chewing slowly, savoring the salty, tough texture. It was better than nothing. His fingers brushed against the small can of cat food tucked into the side pocket of his bag. Salem stopped pacing the moment Hugo pulled it out, his tail straightening. "Yeah, yeah," Hugo muttered, popping the lid. The smell wasn’t great, but Salem didn’t seem to care. Hugo scooped out a small portion and set it on the floor. The cat sniffed once before digging in, eating quickly but not frantically. There wasn’t much left. Maybe two more cans, three if he stretched it. He needed to find more. Hugo took another bite of jerky and grabbed his water bottle, taking slow sips. He had to ration it, but he needed to stay sharp. Salem finished his meal and licked his paws before looking up at Hugo again. His tail flicked once. Time to go. Hugo sighed, capping his bottle and shoving everything back into his bag. His eyes drifted toward the massive gss windows covered in makeshift barricades. The city outside was restless. Runners. They were still out there. Hugo moved carefully to one of the gss dividers, peering through a narrow gap in the barricade. The alley below was eerily quiet, but that didn’t mean much. The runners could be anywhere. Waiting. Watching. The thought sent a chill down his spine. They weren’t like the others. They weren’t slow, mindless things shuffling in the dark. They hunted. Hugo pulled back, adjusting the strap on his backpack. The city stretched ahead of him, and somewhere beyond all this death was the bridge. His only way out. But downtown was a maze. And it was filled with things that wanted him dead. He exhaled, rubbing his temples. He had to keep moving. Even if every instinct screamed at him to wait. Even if the weight of exhaustion pressed down on his shoulders. Even if Frank was gone. Hugo tightened his grip on the crowbar and turned to Salem. “Alright,” he murmured. “Let’s go.” The cat flicked his tail once and padded toward the door. Hugo exhaled, gripping the crowbar tightly. He had entered this building from the rooftop of the adjacent structure, barely escaping the runners that had been cwing at his heels. Now, he needed to get down to street level and keep moving before more of them found their way inside. The stairwell was his only option. He flicked his fshlight on for a second, just long enough to sweep the darkened corridor. The interior of the office space was eerily untouched—gss-walled conference rooms with chairs still neatly arranged, dried coffee stains on abandoned desks, papers scattered from a moment in time when everything had stopped. No bodies. No movement. Hugo moved toward the stairwell door, testing the handle. It creaked slightly, but it wasn’t locked. He gnced down at Salem, who had stopped pacing and was now staring intently at the gap beneath the door. Something was below. Hugo tensed, stepping back as he listened carefully. At first, he heard nothing. But then—faint, irregur shuffling. Not fast like a runner. Slow. Methodical. The dragging of dead weight against concrete. A walker. Maybe more. Hugo swallowed down his nerves and pulled the door open an inch. The stairwell was pitch bck. He clicked his fshlight on briefly, just enough to catch a glimpse. A set of stairs led downward, ending in a nding that turned out of sight. The walls were streaked with old stains, and the railing was bent in pces, as if something had smmed into it over and over again. Then he saw it. A figure slumped near the nding below, swaying slightly, its head jerking upward at the faint movement of the door. A second ter, another one emerged from the shadows. Two, at least. Hugo exhaled through his nose, shutting the door silently. Going down wasn’t an option—not without making noise. He’d have to find another way. He turned, sweeping his fshlight across the open office space. Most of the walls were gss, making it impossible to move without being visible from multiple angles. The floor was littered with office chairs, computers that had long since been looted, and filing cabinets left open in a rush. Then his eyes nded on something useful. A fire escape map. He stepped closer, studying the faded diagram on the wall. The building had six floors. He was on the third. The stairwell he had just checked led all the way down—but there was another exit point on the far side of the building. A second stairwell, or possibly a maintenance dder leading down to the alley. That was his way out. Hugo turned toward Salem, who had perched himself on a desk, waiting. “We go quiet,” he murmured. The cat blinked once, then leapt down, padding softly alongside him as they moved deeper into the office. He weaved through the maze of desks, careful not to knock anything over. His boots barely made a sound against the dusty floor. Every now and then, he stopped, listening for any signs of movement below. Still nothing. He kept going. The second stairwell was just ahead. Hugo reached for the door handle and paused. This one wasn’t silent. The faintest creak echoed as he turned the knob. His muscles tensed. If anything was waiting on the other side, they would have heard that. He exhaled slowly, then pushed the door open. The stairwell was dark, the smell of damp air wafting up from below. He flicked his fshlight on for a brief moment, scanning the steps. Clear. He stepped inside. Salem hesitated before following, his paws making no sound as they descended. The second floor was just below them. If they could make it to the ground level without drawing attention, they had a chance of slipping out unseen. Hugo took one step. Then another. A distant noise sent a spike of adrenaline through his veins. The sound of something moving below. Faster than before. Not a walker. A runner. Hugo froze, gripping the crowbar tightly. The sound was distant. Not too close. But it was coming from somewhere on the lower floors. They weren’t alone. He exchanged a gnce with Salem. The cat’s ears were ft, his tail flicking in agitation. They had to move now. Hugo stepped down carefully, keeping his breathing even. The second floor nding was just ahead. If they could reach it, there might be another way down—maybe an emergency dder or a broken window leading outside. He reached the bottom of the stairs and pressed against the door. Then he heard it. A guttural shriek. It came from below. Hugo acted on instinct. He yanked the door open and slipped inside, pulling Salem with him just as the sound of cws scraping against metal echoed up the stairwell. They had been heard. The door shut just as something smmed against it from the other side. Hugo braced against it, his breath sharp, his heart hammering. The runner screeched, smming against the barrier again. But it didn’t open. The old lock was still intact. He let out a slow exhale. They had bought themselves time. But not much. Salem let out a soft chuff, looking up at him. The runner was still pounding on the stairwell door. And worse, judging by the distant snarls echoing through the corridors, more had heard the noise. He scanned the space with his fshlight, careful to keep the beam low. Most of the windows had been shattered, but jumping from this height wasn’t an option. Then his light nded on something useful—a half-colpsed ceiling panel near the far end of the office. A section of ventition ductwork had crashed through, leaving an exposed metal framework leading to the lower floor. It wasn’t ideal, but it would do. Salem, as if sensing the pn, had already padded toward the edge of the drop. He crouched, his tail twitching. “Hold on,” Hugo muttered, shrugging off his backpack. He knelt and unzipped it just enough for Salem to hop inside. The cat protested with a quiet chuff but nestled in as Hugo secured the bag tightly. With one st gnce toward the stairwell, Hugo climbed onto the nearest desk and reached for the exposed framework. The metal groaned under his weight, but it held. Carefully, he swung his legs over, lowering himself onto the beam. His fingers tightened around the cold steel as he maneuvered down, inch by inch. His foot slipped once, sending a sharp jolt of fear through his chest, but he caught himself before he dropped. Heart hammering, he adjusted his grip and lowered himself onto the next level. The moment his boots hit the floor, he crouched low, scanning the room. The first floor was darker than the one above, with fewer windows letting in light. Most of the desks had been overturned, papers scattered across the floor, and the air smelled of mildew and dust. Hugo adjusted his grip on the crowbar, listening. Nothing. For now. He moved swiftly toward the exit, staying close to the wall. He avoided stepping on loose paper or debris, keeping his movements as silent as possible. The front doors were still intact, but the street outside was crawling with the dead. That wasn’t an option. He veered toward the back, his fshlight beam sweeping over an EXIT sign above a metal door. A fire escape. Relief flickered through him as he reached for the handle. Locked. Of course. Gritting his teeth, he wedged his crowbar into the gap and wrenched it sideways. The metal screeched, but the door finally gave way with a sharp snap. Hugo stepped out into the cold air, immediately scanning the alley beyond. Empty. For now. He shut the door behind him and took off, keeping to the shadows. The city loomed around him, dark and suffocating. In the distance, the flickering glow of distant fires cast eerie shadows against the ruined skyscrapers. Hugo pressed forward through the alleyways, weaving between abandoned dumpsters and shattered gss. His body ached, the exhaustion gnawing at him with every step. The weight of his pack dug into his shoulders. He had been running, fighting, surviving—but he hadn’t slept in what felt like forever. He needed to rest. Salem shifted inside the backpack, his small weight comforting against Hugo’s back. The cat had been quiet, watchful. He always seemed to know when Hugo was pushing himself too far. Hugo gnced up at the buildings around him, searching for anything defensible. Most were wrecked storefronts or crumbling apartments with shattered windows—too exposed, too dangerous. He needed somewhere isoted, somewhere he could stay hidden. After several more blocks, he spotted an old hardware store wedged between two rger buildings. The front windows were reinforced with metal grates, and the door was still intact. Hugo approached cautiously, gripping his crowbar as he tested the door. Locked. Good. That meant no one had forced their way in. He moved around to the side, finding a narrow alleyway leading to a delivery entrance. The roll-up garage door had been dented inward, but the smaller side door was still intact. He crouched, listening carefully. Silence. Just to be sure, he knocked once. Then twice. No response. Hugo pulled his crowbar free and wedged it into the doorframe. The metal protested, bending slightly before the lock gave with a sharp crack. He pushed the door open and slipped inside, quickly shutting it behind him. The interior was dark. Dust particles swirled in the dim light filtering through high, barred windows. Rows of shelves stood in the gloom, stacked with rusted tools, old cans of paint, and bags of cement. Most of the valuable supplies had already been looted, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that it was safe. Hugo moved cautiously through the aisles, sweeping his fshlight across the space. A counter near the back was still intact, with a small storage room beyond it. He tried the door—unlocked. Inside, he found an old cot, pushed against the wall beneath a pegboard lined with empty hooks. The mattress was thin, but it was better than sleeping on the cold concrete floor. Salem hopped out of the backpack the moment Hugo set it down, sniffing the air before leaping onto the cot and kneading the fabric. The cat turned in a slow circle before curling up, his tail wrapping neatly around himself. Hugo smirked. At least one of us is comfortable. He shut the storage room door, leaving it cracked just enough to hear anything outside. Then he pulled out a jerky pack from his bag, tearing a piece off for himself before setting a small portion on the floor for Salem. The cat sniffed it once before eating. Hugo chewed slowly, his mind drifting. He had barely had a chance to stop and think since the fire station. Now, sitting here in the dark, it all settled over him at once. Frank. He swallowed, his throat tightening. It wasn’t just the exhaustion. It was the weight of everything. He had been running for so long. Fighting for so long. But now, for the first time in what felt like forever, he had stopped. Hugo leaned back against the wall, exhaling. His eyelids felt heavy. His muscles screamed for rest. He knew he couldn’t stay here long—not with the city teeming with the dead—but one hour. Just one. His fingers brushed against the old Sony CD pyer in his pack. He hesitated, then pulled it out. He slipped the headphones on and hit py. The soft hum of static filled his ears, followed by the familiar chords of a song he hadn’t heard in years. His vision blurred slightly. He had made it through the day. That had to be enough. For now.