Cooper's palms were slick with sweat, and the wooden handle of the baseball bat felt uncomfortably slippery in his grip. Every step he took was deliberate and cautious, avoiding any surface that might produce a sound. He knew the building wasn't home to just one zombie; any unnecessary noise could expose him.
He approached the door and pressed his ear against it, listening. The hallway was so silent it felt as though time itself had stopped. Taking a deep breath, he carefully turned the doorknob, opening the door just a crack—enough to peer outside. The dim lighting in the hallway revealed that the earlier chaos seemed to have subsided, but a lingering tension still permeated the air.
Cooper's gaze swept toward where the sound had come from earlier. It was the apartment across the hall. The door was slightly ajar, its surface marred with deep claw marks, as if something sharp and vicious had tried to rip it apart. He steadied his breathing and stepped over the threshold, cautiously making his way toward the other apartment.
The hallway's stench was overwhelming, a nauseating mix of rotting flesh and a metallic tang of blood. Cooper held his breath and gripped the baseball bat tighter, the knuckles of his hand turning white. When he reached the doorway, he stopped and peered through the small gap.
The inside of the apartment was pitch black, obscuring any clear view. But from somewhere deep within, a faint sound emerged—a low, uneven breathing, labored and intermittent.
Cooper hesitated for a moment. Was it a zombie or a survivor? His mind raced with conflicting thoughts: if it was a survivor, leaving them alone might mean condemning them to despair; but if it was a zombie, entering would be nothing short of suicide.
"Is anyone there?" he called out in a low voice, just loud enough to test the waters while keeping the sound contained.
The breathing inside suddenly stopped. Cooper's entire body tensed, his grip on the baseball bat tightening until his knuckles ached. For several seconds, there was nothing but silence. Then, a trembling voice broke through:
"Help me… I'm… still alive."
Cooper's heart jolted. It was a survivor! But the voice was so weak it sounded as though the person was barely holding on. He hesitated briefly before stepping closer to the door.
"Are you injured? Is there a zombie inside with you?" he asked, his voice slightly louder but still cautious.
"No… hurry… please… I can't hold on much longer," the voice pleaded, laced with pain and desperation.
Cooper's rational mind screamed at him that this could be a trap, a risk he couldn't afford to take. Yet the weak, desperate tone of the voice tugged at him, compelling him forward. Almost instinctively, his foot crossed the threshold. He pushed the door open, and a wave of thick, coppery blood stench hit him, making him gag and cover his nose.
The apartment's living room was a wreck. Furniture lay overturned, and the floor was covered in dried blood. Cooper's eyes darted around the space, scanning for any signs of movement. Nothing stirred.
"I'm here… the bedroom…" the voice called out again, so faint it was barely audible.
Raising the baseball bat, Cooper began to make his way toward the bedroom. His steps were so light they didn't even disturb the creaking floorboards. When he reached the partially open bedroom door, he nudged it gently with the bat, keeping his weapon ready.
Inside, he found a frail man slumped against the side of a bed. The man's face was ghostly pale, his chest streaked with dried blood. Below his left knee, there was nothing—his leg had been severed. Improvised bandages made of torn fabric were tied around the stump, but blood still seeped through the gaps.
Cooper tightened his grip on the bat, his body tense, but he didn't lower his guard as he stepped cautiously into the room. "What happened to you?" he asked, his voice steady but edged with suspicion.
The man looked up weakly, his voice barely audible. "I… they got me… I had to… cut it off… to stop it…" His head slumped back against the bed, his breathing shallow and labored.
"How did you survive?" Cooper stared at him, trying to suppress the wariness bubbling in his chest.
"I was bitten, but... I cut off my leg..." the man muttered, his voice weak and broken. He pointed shakily to a bottle of water near the bed. "Please... water..."
Cooper's eyes swept over the floor, noticing drag marks leading under the bed. His heart rate spiked, but he reached down to pick up the bottle and handed it to the man.
The man took the bottle and drank a few trembling sips before his hand suddenly slackened, letting the bottle fall to the ground. His eyes widened abruptly, his body convulsed once, and then he fell still.
Cooper instinctively stepped back, gripping the baseball bat tightly and raising it high, his eyes fixed on the now-motionless body.
"Hey?" he called out cautiously.
The man's head slowly lifted, bloodshot eyes staring blankly ahead. A low, guttural growl emerged from his throat—
At that moment, Cooper heard the unmistakable dragging sound again, this time coming from the hallway.
His heart threatened to leap out of his chest. Tightening his grip on the bat, he kept his eyes locked on the man—or rather, the thing that was no longer human. The man's body twitched violently as he stood up, his movements rigid but brimming with unnatural strength. Those blood-filled eyes bore into Cooper as another deep growl escaped his mouth.
Meanwhile, the dragging noise in the hallway grew louder and closer, the uneven footsteps hammering Cooper's nerves like a relentless drumbeat. He quickly scanned the room for an escape route, but trapped in the bedroom, his only option was to face the creature head-on.
"Damn it!" Cooper cursed under his breath, swinging the bat with all his might at the man's head.
Thud!
The bat struck the side of the man's face with such force that Cooper's arms went numb. The creature staggered to the ground but quickly began to rise again, its movements now even more violent and erratic. From its throat came a piercing scream, almost as if it were summoning others.
Cooper's heart sank. He knew time was running out. With every ounce of strength he had, he swung the bat repeatedly, each blow landing with sickening cracks. Blood and bone splattered the walls until the man's head was crushed, and the room finally fell silent, save for Cooper's labored breathing.
The air was thick with the overwhelming stench of blood, choking and suffocating. Cooper leaned against the wall, trying to catch his breath, his ears picking up the sound of hurried footsteps and guttural snarls growing louder in the hallway.
He peeked into the living room and saw not one, but several zombies inching closer to the apartment. The nearest one was already at the doorframe, its gray, rotting hand clutching the edge as it slowly forced its way inside.
"I have to get out of here!" Cooper muttered, his eyes darting around the room. In the corner, he spotted a broken window. Rushing over, he saw that it opened onto an old, rusted drainage pipe that extended all the way to the lower floors.
"Are you kidding me?" he hissed under his breath. But he had no choice.
Quickly, Cooper strapped the baseball bat to his backpack and grabbed the pipe, carefully climbing out of the window. The icy wind bit into his skin as his palms slipped against the metal, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to slide downward.
The growls and snarls from the apartment faded behind him, but a new, more ominous sound replaced them—a faint metallic creaking, the telltale sign of fatigue in the old pipe.
Finally, his feet found a small protruding platform, and he stepped onto it, his limbs shaking from exhaustion. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he surveyed his surroundings and realized he was somewhere near the middle of the building—about the 20th floor. The platform led to a utility room, its window ajar. Dust and the faint stench of rot wafted out.
Cooper climbed through the open window, shutting it tightly behind him. Only then did he let himself exhale in relief.
Leaning against the wall, he panted heavily, his heartbeat gradually slowing down. His eyes roamed over the empty utility room: a dusty floor, exposed concrete walls, and a doorless opening. Everything about it screamed impermanence, a fleeting refuge in a world that no longer offered safety.
"Home is gone," he thought grimly.