THE APARTMENT
"This is everything?" Samir asked, hefting the backpack that contained three bottles of water, two cans of beans, a box of crackers, and a first aid kit that was mostly empty.
"Everything we could carry," Reyan confirmed. He'd packed his own bag with similar supplies, adding the knife he'd taken from the kitchen and a hammer he'd found in a utility drawer. His daughter had her own small backpack—lighter, filled with a stuffed animal, a bottle of water, and some granola bars.
Vikram was the most methodical. He'd gone through every drawer in the apartment, taking inventory with the precision of someone who'd done this before. He emerged from the bedroom with a marker in his hand.
"What's that for?" Taj asked.
"Marking safe zones. Clear buildings. Warnings." Vikram tested the marker on his palm, leaving a black streak. "If we make it back, we'll know which places we've already cleared. If we don't make it back, maybe someone else will find the marks useful."
"Optimistic and pessimistic at the same time," Taj observed. "I like it. Very balanced."
"I prefer 'realistic,'" Vikram said, pocketing the marker.
Samir was checking his pipe—his weapon of choice, the one that had saved Reyan's life more than once. "So, we're really doing this. Walking out there. With a seven-year-old."
"She's almost eight," Reyan corrected.
"My apologies. With an almost-eight-year-old." Samir looked at Reyan. "You sure about this?"
"No," Reyan admitted. "But staying here isn't any safer. Eventually, supplies run out. Eventually, the door breaks. This way, at least we're moving toward something."
"Your sister," Taj said to Samir. "We're moving toward your sister. So, she better be worth it."
"She is," Samir said, and there was something raw in his voice that killed any follow-up joke Taj might have made.
They gathered at the door, weapons ready, fear and determination warring on every face.
"Formation," Reyan said. "I'm up front with my daughter. Vikram, you're with me. Samir, middle. Taj, you take the rear. Watch our backs."
"Why do I always get the rear?" Taj complained. "Is it because I'm the best-looking? You're all jealous of my posterior placement?"
"It's because you won't shut up," Samir said. "So, if something sneaks up on us, at least we'll hear you screaming."
"That's fair."
Reyan's hand rested on the door handle. On the other side, he could hear them—the groans, the shuffling feet, the wet sounds of mouths working mindlessly. Two of them, at least. Maybe more.
"On three," he said. "One... two..."
He didn't get to three.
Vikram kicked the door open, and the infected stumbled through. Reyan's hammer came down on the first one's skull with a crunch that made his stomach turn. Vikram's knife found the second one's eye socket, and it dropped without a sound.
They dragged the bodies inside—no point leaving them in the hallway where others might trip over them—and Vikram pulled out his marker. On the door, in large block letters, he wrote: SAFE.
Then, below it: NO SUPPLIES. MOVE ON.
"In case anyone else comes looking," he explained.
They moved into the hallway. Fifth floor. Stairs leading down. And between them and the basement parking garage, four floors of potential death.
They formed up. Reyan and his daughter at the front, her small hand gripping his larger one with desperate strength. Vikram beside them, knife ready. Samir in the middle, pipe raised. And Taj at the rear, his own knife held in a white-knuckled grip.
"Remember," Reyan whispered. "Quiet and fast. Don't stop unless you have to. The car is two floors down. We get there, we get in, we get out."
They started down the stairs.
Fourth floor landing: Clear.
Third floor landing: Two infected. Samir's pipe made quick work of them.
Second floor landing: One infected, but it was fast—moving with shocking speed—and it came at them like a sprinter. Vikram barely got his knife up in time, catching it in the throat. It kept coming, gurgling, until Reyan's hammer finished what Vikram started.
First floor landing: Clear.
Ground floor lobby: Not clear.
At least a dozen infected filled the space, shambling through the ruins of what used to be a pleasant entryway. The security desk was overturned. The decorative plants were knocked over. Blood painted the walls in abstract patterns that would haunt Reyan's dreams.
"Back," Reyan breathed. "Back, we go around—"
They burst through the emergency exit, into the side hallway that led to the basement access. Behind them, the infected poured through, a wave of gray skin and white eyes and endless hunger.
Taj stumbled as they sprinted, his spectacles flying off his face and skidding across the floor. He dropped to his knees without thinking, reaching for them.
Reyan scooped his daughter into his arms—she weighed nothing, terror made her lighter somehow—and ran faster than he'd ever run in his life.
They hit the basement stairs, taking them three at a time, nearly falling but catching each other, always moving down, down, toward the parking garage and the car and escape.
The basement door loomed ahead. Reyan kicked it open, and they tumbled through into the dim, concrete expanse of the underground parking garage.
His car—an old sedan, ten years past its prime but still running the last time he'd used it—sat in its designated spot. Section B, spot 47. He'd parked it there three days ago, in a world that no longer existed.
The parking garage was darker than Reyan remembered. Emergency lights had failed, leaving only the dim glow from his phone's flashlight to guide them. Their footsteps echoed off concrete, and every shadow looked like a threat.
"Stay close," Reyan whispered.
They moved through the rows of parked cars—most abandoned, some with doors hanging open, one with what looked like claw marks on the windshield. His car sat in its spot, untouched, almost mocking in its normalcy.
Reyan fumbled for his keys, nearly dropped them, caught them, jammed them toward the lock—
"Wait." He turned, counting heads. Vikram. Samir. His daughter. "Where's Taj?"
Everyone froze. Looked around.
"He was right behind me on the stairs," Samir said, voice tight with sudden panic. "He was—"
"TAJ!" Reyan shouted, his voice echoing through the garage. "TAJ!"
No answer. Just the distant groans of infected somewhere above.