4th July 2026
The thrill of survival changes you. Sometimes, the reward of achievement fades behind the things you did to achieve it. Or perhaps the thrill isn't in the achievement at all, but in the acts themselves. Was I happy that I survived, or was it the actions that brought me here—things I'd never imagined doing in normal circumstances? But then, what about those who died because of me? Yes, they weren't alive. They were zombies. But were they truly dead?
"Ahh, fuck!" All my excitement and joy crumbled with these thoughts. But dwelling on a drowning loop only kills your time and energy, a lesson I learned in my profession. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, the sound mimicking the howl of wind. It calmed me, helping me refocus.
I scanned my surroundings. The cafeteria stretched out like a large, empty hall, designed to hold bustling crowds. Without the usual chatter and movement, it now felt hauntingly long and vast. The emptiness magnified its size, making it surreal.
A sharp pain in my stomach brought me back to my objective: food and water. A few tables away stood the food counter. As I moved toward it, my foot struck something. It was a broken mop, its stick detached from the head. Picking it up, I felt a brief sense of relief and joy. The semi-metallic stick felt solid in my hands, a makeshift spear for defense. I didn't know what lay ahead, but it was better to be prepared.
I advanced cautiously. Any unexpected noise could bring disaster. It was better to struggle a few extra minutes than to lose everything to recklessness. The tables in the cafeteria were scattered, some overturned. A large cylindrical table blocked my line of sight, making my heartbeat quicken with every step closer.
As I approached the cylindrical table, my path was partially blocked by a smaller table flipped sideways. I had to move around it. Just as I did, I noticed something—a thin line of blood seeping from the cylindrical table to the smaller one, forming a sticky pool beneath my foot. The blood wasn't fully dry; it made a faint, wet sound as I stepped back.
Despite my fear, I knew I had to investigate. Ignoring a potential threat now could mean a deadly surprise later. Better to face it head-on while I was prepared. My grip tightened around the spear as I approached the cylindrical table. My breath became unsteady, my palms damp with sweat. Slowly, I peered over the edge.
A man lay sprawled beneath the table in a blue suit, his neck pinned under a fallen chair leg. Bone and flesh jutted out from the wound. It seemed he'd died before any infected could get to him—or perhaps he'd died while trying to escape them. As I moved closer, a detail caught my eye: a small injury on his calf. Something about it compelled me to inspect it further.
I used the stick to push aside the fabric covering the wound. It was unmistakably a bite mark. My heart sank, and I instinctively stepped back, scanning my surroundings to ensure I was still alone.
"This can't be right," I muttered. If he was bitten, why hadn't he turned? Did he die before the infection could take hold? Or had his broken neck somehow stopped the process? I recalled the trait I'd noticed in Johan's eyes when he turned. That was the only way to confirm.
I approached cautiously, leaning in to examine the man's eyes. To my relief, they weren't like those of the infected. He was truly dead. With this suspicion cleared, my focus returned to the food counter.
Just beyond the table lay a water bottle, sealed and untouched, on the counter. Without hesitation, I lunged for it, as quietly as possible. The first sip was heavenly, quenching a thirst that had gnawed at me for what felt like an eternity. Before I realized it, the bottle was empty. It gave me the same sense of relief as the breadcrumbs I'd found the previous day.
I climbed over the counter to search for more. Beneath it, I discovered a dozen more bottles. I drank two and packed the rest into a bag. Nearby, I found a small box of protein bars. The memory of Johan's complaint about the cafeteria stocking protein bars instead of muffins or pastries flashed through my mind. "Who even eats these?" he'd said. Yet now, even the bitter taste felt like candy. I stuffed the bars into my bag.
Carrying the supplies, I returned to the broken glass section where I had entered and placed the bag there for later retrieval. I went back to check the counter one last time and noticed something odd through the cafeteria's entry gate. The long, empty corridor was littered with cans of drinks and a large box resting near the corner wall. It didn't seem significant at the time, but it would change everything.
Behind the counter, I found the kitchen doors. Inside, a refrigerator yielded a block of cheese, a bottle of milk, and a few loaves of bread. Grabbing anything edible, I stuffed them into the bag. Just as I turned to leave, a subtle movement near the staff room door caught my eye.
Gripping my spear tightly, I approached cautiously and nudged the door open. Suddenly, a group of infected burst out with guttural growls. Panic surged through me as I staggered backward, my heart pounding. The spear trembled in my sweaty hands as I thrust it at the first one, striking its shoulder. It didn't slow down. Realizing I couldn't fight them all, I turned and sprinted toward the exit.
The scaffolding loomed ahead—a fragile lifeline to escape. Heart pounding, I sprinted through the cafeteria, the infected hot on my heels. Panic set in as I neared the scaffolding, and without a second thought, I jumped onto it. The platform swayed violently under my weight, the sound of metal creaking filling the air. The infected followed recklessly, their momentum too great to stop. One by one, they tumbled off the edge, their snarls fading into the abyss below.
As I caught my breath, clutching the railing, my gaze wandered to the office room I had come from. It was too far now, impossible to reach without risking everything. My eyes fell on the other office room—the one where the infected had first attacked. It was much closer. With a resigned sigh, I realized that would be my haven for now.
That night, after securing myself in the new room, I allowed myself a moment of indulgence. The block of cheese and protein bars felt like a feast. For the first time in days, I felt a flicker of comfort. But it was fleeting. The broken window let in gusts of cold air, making it a bone-chilling night. I tried to sleep, but the relentless wind and the sense of unease kept me awake.
Staring into the darkness, I tightened my grip on the spear. This was my new home, at least for now, but I couldn't afford to let my guard down. Survival wasn't just a task—it was my entire reality. The fragile peace I had earned felt like it could shatter at any moment, and I needed to be ready for whatever came next.