Ethan and Chris burst onto the third-floor hallway—and froze.
The corridor was crawling with zombies. At a glance, there had to be over thirty of them. Just the left side alone held nearly twenty.
"Chris," Ethan said grimly, tightening his grip on the steel pipe in his hands, "we're going through. I'll take the front. You cover the rear."
Chris gave a sharp nod. "Got it."
Without another word, Ethan charged forward.
A chorus of guttural groans rose up as the nearest zombies lunged. Ethan's pipe shot out like a spear, punching clean through the skull of the first one. But his brow furrowed—something felt off. The resistance was heavier than before, like the bone was denser.
No time to dwell on it. He kicked the corpse off the pipe, sending it crashing into a cluster of zombies behind it. They toppled like bowling pins, buying the two of them a few precious seconds to push ahead.
