"SHRIEK—!"
The instant the glass shattered, howls erupted from two directions.
From the street below—the falling shards had crushed a dozen Infected, creating enough commotion to alert every creature in the area.
And from inside the building. Rapid footsteps. The conference room's doors—front and back—began shuddering under violent impacts.
Tracy's heart seized. Then she remembered the broken railing across from the gap. An idea struck. She rushed to the remaining railings near the breach and kicked them loose, then retreated, rifle raised, waiting.
The survivors hiding in the corridor couldn't see what Tracy was doing. They only heard the crash of glass, then the Infected screams. Terror gripped them—they thought they'd been discovered.
A soldier quickly hissed, "Stay calm! They haven't found us! We're still safe!"
But some didn't believe him. The howls were getting louder. Several people bolted for the stairwell, desperate to escape.
Soldiers tried to stop them, but once one person ran, others followed. They couldn't restrain everyone.
By the time Tracy made it back, she received the frustrating news.
She snorted. "Let them go. Don't bother stopping anyone who wants to leave."
The soldiers stepped aside. Predictably, once no one was blocking them, many of the panicked survivors calmed down. People always want what they're told they can't have.
Some still left, but most stayed, realizing that fleeing into the unknown was worse than staying with the soldiers.
Bryan glanced at the departing figures—maybe a dozen. Honestly, he'd hoped more would leave. Fewer people meant less chance of exposure.
CRASH!
On the other side, the conference room door finally gave way. It flew off its hinges and slammed to the floor as Infected poured through.
"SHRIEK—!"
Tracy and the soldiers on the walkway raised their weapons.
The Infected spotted the gap in the wall and charged mindlessly toward it, completely unaware of the trap. They had no concept of fear or death. When the first one stepped onto the walkway, momentum and missing railings sent it straight off the edge.
More Infected pressed in, and more tumbled off. The few that managed to stay upright were quickly shot down by the soldiers.
But there were too many. Bodies piled up on the walkway. A single gap couldn't drain them fast enough.
CREAK...
The walkway groaned under the weight, swaying dangerously. Tracy's face went pale.
This passage was their only route across. She couldn't let it collapse. Without hesitation, she redirected her fire at the remaining railings, shooting out the connection points to create more gaps.
Sparks flew as bullets tore through rusted metal. Railings flew off into the void.
The moment the last one broke loose, a gust of wind hit. The entire walkway swung wildly. The soldiers grabbed whatever they could, faces white with terror.
But the Infected had nothing to hold. They poured off the edges like water, crashing into their brethren below. The ones on the street howled in confusion, unable to identify their attackers.
Minutes later, the flood of Infected finally stopped. No more emerged from the conference room.
Everyone exhaled. But someone still needed to verify the other side was clear.
Tracy volunteered again. This time, with half the railings gone, she got down on all fours and crawled across, determined not to let any gust of wind send her over the edge.
It was undignified, but she made it safely. She even cleared the remaining Infected corpses off the walkway.
Once she confirmed the area was secure, she leaned out the conference room's shattered window and waved. "It's clear! Get them moving!"
When the survivors saw the walkway—the back half now completely devoid of railings—reactions varied. The braver ones went pale but steeled themselves. Others with severe acrophobia couldn't even look at it, let alone step onto it.
Fortunately, Bryan's group had no such issues. Seeing no one else willing to go first, they stepped forward under the soldiers' watchful eyes.
Wilfred led the way. Bryan, Sarah, Allen, and Anna followed in the middle. Lucy brought up the rear. They paused on the section with railings, waited for a lull in the wind, then moved together—quick, focused on the person ahead, never looking down. In less than twenty seconds, they were scrambling into the conference room.
Seeing others succeed emboldened the rest. To prevent overloading the walkway, only seven or eight people crossed at a time. Some mimicked Bryan's group with quick, synchronized movements. Others, too terrified, copied Tracy's crawling approach.
It was slow, but most made it safely.
Most.
One group started across. The man in front checked the wind, called out a warning, and began walking quickly toward the other side.
Behind him, several men and women wore careless expressions. After watching so many successful crossings, their fear had faded. Someone was even joking around—they'd stopped taking it seriously.
Halfway across, a freak gust hit. The walkway lurched violently.
The lead man had stayed alert. The instant he felt the wind, he shouted "Get down!" and dropped flat, hands gripping the metal grating.
But the others weren't as prepared. His shout startled them, and they froze.
The wind hit before any of them could react. They staggered, arms flailing, faces twisted with terror.
Inside the building, survivors watched with throats tight, some covering their eyes or turning away.
After several agonizing seconds of swaying, a middle-aged man lost his footing. His body tilted, a scream tore from his throat, and he plunged over the edge.
Seeing this, the others on the walkway went weak in the knees. A middle-aged woman lost her balance too and toppled sideways—
But survival instinct kicked in. She lunged and grabbed the first thing she could reach: the hair of a young white woman beside her. She clung to it like a lifeline.
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