He slowly stood up from the ground, forcing himself to calm down. Once again, he looked outside to confirm that the zombie had moved away. Then, he cautiously stepped out of the stairwell, moving forward with heightened vigilance.
Cooper's heart was still pounding violently, each beat a stark reminder of his fragile existence. He quickly returned to his previous position, peering down the hallway. The zombie's figure remained lingering in the shadows, occasionally pausing as if searching for something. Its empty, lifeless gaze sent chills down his spine.
Turning back, Cooper swiftly moved toward the apartment, his steps growing lighter with each movement, avoiding even the slightest noise. His body trembled faintly, and his grip on the baseball bat tightened. It was his only weapon and his lifeline in this unforgiving fight for survival.
I need to get back, he repeated silently to himself.
Almost instinctively, Cooper reached the door. Gently, he pushed it open, careful not to make a sound. Holding his breath, he cautiously scanned the interior. The room appeared unchanged—the dark space and lonely furniture seemed untouched—but Cooper knew the outside world had transformed entirely.
He quietly closed the door and stood at the entrance for a few seconds, listening for any other sounds. After confirming it was silent, he stepped inside. The calm of the apartment did little to ease his tension. He quickly locked the door, turned around, and positioned himself in the middle of the living room, beginning to assess the layout of the room.
His eyes scanned every corner of the apartment—the kitchen, the bathroom, the bedroom—each space now shrouded in unfamiliar fear. He understood that his former life was gone forever. Now, all that awaited him was a constant game of cat and mouse with death, lurking outside each time he dared to leave his haven.
Cooper moved swiftly to the kitchen, opening cabinets and rummaging through them for canned goods and bottled water. The supplies were sparse, but enough to last for a few days. In his mind, he began calculating his next steps. He needed to come up with a better plan. He couldn't rely on occasional foraging trips anymore; he needed to prepare for long-term survival.
He placed the few cans of food on the table and quickly began drafting a rudimentary survival strategy. But before he could delve deeper into his thoughts, a faint thud echoed from outside the door.
Cooper froze, his body tensing as a wave of cold fear washed over him. The can in his hand nearly slipped to the floor. He held his breath, ears straining to pinpoint the origin of the sound. The noise grew louder, more distinct, and Cooper's heart pounded against his ribs as if it might burst from his chest.
A zombie? Or… something else?
He didn't dare make a rash judgment. A surge of uncontrollable fear welled up inside him. That single thud was like Death's soft knock on the door, a grim reminder that he was far from safe.
Quietly, he crept toward the door and crouched, peeking through the peephole. The dimly lit hallway revealed nothing but blurry shadows. Cooper held his breath, frozen with tension. The faint light coming through the peephole was barely enough to make out anything, but he could vaguely see a figure—a tall silhouette, its movements unsteady, wandering the hallway aimlessly.
Cooper's heart raced faster. Was that figure a zombie? Or something else entirely?
As time passed, the figure's movements grew slower. It showed no signs of leaving. Cooper's mind whirled as he struggled to make a decision. He knew that if he didn't act soon, he would remain trapped in the apartment like prey cornered by its predator.
Lowering his gaze, he tightened his grip on the baseball bat. His heart thundered in his chest, the sound reverberating in his ears. He braced himself—
But just then, a sharper, more piercing noise came from the hallway outside.
The sound was no longer the banging on the door but something far more jarring... a scraping noise. It sounded like something dragging heavy, deliberate footsteps, slowly and steadily approaching. Cooper's chest tightened, and his heart skipped a beat—the sound was getting closer, almost right outside the door.
Cooper's mind went blank, overwhelmed by a flood of anxiety and fear. This world, once familiar, now felt entirely alien. The places that should have been safe had become the deadliest traps.
He suddenly twisted the doorknob and swiftly turned the deadbolt. The next moment, he collapsed against the door, his legs barely able to support him as he slid to the floor. His entire body trembled, and he could almost hear the hollow creaking of his own bones under the pressure.
Outside, the sound grew clearer. The zombie was still wandering, inching closer to the door as if waiting for the moment it could breach the fragile barrier and invade this small, enclosed space. Cooper closed his eyes and took a deep, shaky breath, willing himself to calm down.
He pressed his hand tightly over his mouth, afraid that even the faintest sound might be heard by whatever was outside. The scraping noise had stopped right in front of the door. Then came a heavy, labored breathing sound from the direction of the peephole. It didn't sound human—more like a rough, gurgling, mucus-laden rasp interspersed with sporadic low growls.
It was at the door.
Cooper's fingertips felt icy as his mind struggled to process what was happening. But a shred of rationality screamed in his head: Don't move. Don't make a sound. Zombies are highly sensitive to noise—he had learned this from fragmented news reports. Holding his breath, he tried to make himself as silent as air, unmoving and invisible.
Yet, in the midst of his forced silence, a sudden dull crash echoed through the hallway—it sounded like another door being smashed open. The heavy breathing outside his door vanished instantly, replaced by hurried dragging sounds, like a predator locking onto fresh prey.
Peering through the peephole, Cooper saw the shadowy figure in the dim hallway moving rapidly toward the source of the noise. He heard a piercing scream ring out, followed by the sound of a chair toppling over and something shattering. Someone... there was another survivor!
In that instant, Cooper's emotions churned violently. Relief washed over him, knowing the zombie's attention had been diverted. But with it came a wave of deep fear and guilt—he could do nothing to help and was forced to watch the tragedy unfold.
The noises continued for several tense seconds before falling abruptly silent. All that remained was the heavy, shuffling sound of the zombie's steps retreating once again.
Sweat trickled down Cooper's forehead as he remained pressed against the door, sitting there for what felt like an eternity. Only when the outside fell completely silent did he finally muster the courage to stand.
He walked cautiously to the window, carefully lifting a corner of the curtain to peer outside. The street below was eerily quiet, the darkness thick and suffocating like ink poured over the world. There was no light, no sign of life—only abandoned vehicles and the occasional flicker of a shadow moving in the distance.
"I have to find a way out of here," he muttered to himself through clenched teeth. Although the apartment still offered a semblance of safety, he knew it was temporary at best. Supplies would eventually run out. The zombies in the building would only multiply. And the world outside... it might be even more dangerous, but it was his only hope.
Turning back to the scattered items in the room, Cooper knew that if he wanted to leave the building, he needed to prepare thoroughly. But before he could go, there was one more thing he had to do.
His gaze shifted toward the door, the echo of that earlier scream still ringing in his mind.
"If that person is still alive…" Cooper felt a surge of conflicting emotions—hope, doubt, and the relentless pull of obligation. He didn't know if it was the right choice, but his legs had already started moving toward the door. Tightening his grip on the baseball bat, he took a deep breath.
"I need to check," he whispered to himself.