The image of the apartment surrounded by zombies and the moment they broke through the door flashed in his mind. He knew those things would find him again sooner or later. At this moment, the only thing he could do was to find a new hideout as quickly as possible—a place that wouldn't easily be exposed.
Cooper sat on the floor and laid out his remaining supplies: a bottle of water, a can of food, half a pack of biscuits, his baseball bat, and the small knife he had just acquired. These items were barely enough to sustain him for long, but that wasn't his immediate concern.
This apartment building had a simple layout, but not every room was suitable for hiding. Rooms with many residents were out of the question, and only those with weak locks and no signs of occupancy were ideal choices.
He glanced down at his baseball bat and gritted his teeth. "I need a new hideout. Let's get to it."
"Higher floors are safer. Most of the zombies linger on the lower levels," Cooper muttered, recalling his previous experiences in the building.
After resting for a moment, he stood up, packed his supplies back into his bag, ensured his baseball bat was secured to the strap, and kept the knife within easy reach.
The hallway outside remained quiet, but he knew the danger hadn't truly passed. He cracked the door open slightly, his eyes quickly scanning the corridor. The dim hallway showed no immediate threats, only scattered shards of broken glass reflecting cold light in the faint illumination.
He turned off his flashlight and tried to blend his figure into the shadows.
His steps were featherlight, like a cat's, as he walked across the floor. His gaze was sharp, scanning his surroundings carefully, while his ears strained to catch even the faintest sounds. The oppressive air in the hallway made it hard to breathe; he felt as though even the sound of his breathing might summon death.
At the end of the corridor, he spotted a room that seemed to have never been occupied. There were no shoes at the door, no signs of life. It might just be a good choice.
As he approached the target room, a faint metallic clink suddenly sounded from behind him. He froze instantly, gripping his baseball bat tightly as he spun around to face the source of the noise. There was nothing in the darkness, only a swaying overhead lamp casting an eerie, oscillating shadow while creaking softly.
"Don't panic, it's probably just the wind," he reassured himself, though the hairs on his body remained standing. He didn't linger and quickly made his way to the target room.
Standing at the door, he twisted the doorknob gently and found it locked. Gritting his teeth, Cooper pulled out his knife from his bag and began working on the lock. He tried to make as little noise as possible, but the metallic scraping seemed unbearably loud in the deathly silent hallway.
"Hurry, hurry!" he urged himself mentally.
Suddenly, a low growl came from the end of the hallway, followed by the unmistakable sound of dragging footsteps. Cooper froze, cold sweat instantly breaking out on his forehead. He glanced down the corridor and saw a tall silhouette emerging slowly from the shadows, moving steadily in his direction.
His breathing stopped, and his fingers went numb, but he didn't dare stop working. Each movement of the knife into the lock felt like a race against death itself. He could hear his heart pounding wildly in his chest, matching the increasingly close sound of the zombie's footsteps.
Finally, a crisp click signaled that the lock had been picked. He quickly pushed the door open, slipped inside, and shut the door behind him. Grabbing a nearby chair, he wedged it under the doorknob to reinforce the barrier.
The footsteps outside paused for a moment, then were followed by a sharp, relentless pounding on the door. The zombie had clearly caught his scent and was now furiously hammering the barrier, accompanied by guttural growls.
Cooper leaned against the door, bracing the chair with his weight while clutching his baseball bat tightly. His heart raced so fast it felt like it might burst.
"Hold it," he whispered to himself.
After a few agonizing minutes, the noise outside began to subside. The zombie seemed to lose interest, its footsteps growing fainter as it dragged itself away.
Cooper exhaled deeply, finally allowing himself a moment of relief, but he knew the danger wasn't truly gone.
Turning around, he swept the room with his flashlight. It was clearly an unoccupied apartment—dust covered the floor, the concrete walls were bare, and the room was sparsely furnished with a few empty chairs and an abandoned desk. Scattered across the desk were papers and an old newspaper.
Cooper set his backpack down and began searching the room. A box in the corner caught his attention. Opening it, he found some items left behind by workers: a roll of duct tape, a rusty wrench, and a small emergency light.
"Not bad," he muttered, tucking the items into his backpack.
As he turned to leave, his gaze fell on the newspaper atop the desk. It was from before the outbreak, with a bold headline reading: "Mass Infection Warning—Citizens Advised to Self-Isolate." Next to it, someone had scrawled a few handwritten words: "They knew. They didn't tell us."
Satisfied that the room was secure, Cooper sat down in a corner, leaning against the wall and gripping his baseball bat as he caught his breath. The room was more concealed than his previous spot, offering a brief sense of security.
His eyes wandered to the darkness outside the window. In the distance, he could make out faint zombie figures wandering aimlessly on the streets below, as if searching for their next prey.
"Tomorrow, I'll search more rooms," he muttered under his breath. "There's got to be a way."
As night deepened, the room grew silent, broken only by the occasional sound of wind rustling outside. Cooper leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. Yet even in this stillness, he never let go of his baseball bat.