Bang! Bang! Bang!
The handle shattered, and the door creaked open slightly under the pressure of the zombies behind it.
"Here we go," Thomas muttered, stepping back to give himself some space. The claymores were in place, their tripwires ready to spring the trap.
As the door burst open, a wave of grotesque, snarling zombies poured in.
BOOM! BOOM!
The claymores detonated, ripping through the front line of the undead. Shrapnel and steel balls sprayed outward, turning the narrow stairwell into a deathtrap. The first wave was obliterated, but more zombies were pouring in.
Thomas grinned, pulling out one of the M84 stun grenades. He yanked the pin, counted to two, and tossed it into the stairwell.
BANG!
The flash and concussive force disoriented the zombies, giving Thomas a critical opening. He charged forward, his MP5 blazing as he mowed down the stunned undead.
Ratatatat!
The adrenaline coursing through his system made him feel unstoppable, but he knew better than to get overconfident. Every step down the stairwell felt like a battle for survival.
As Thomas reached the third floor, he found himself facing another horde blocking the main hallway. He quickly ducked behind a nearby overturned desk, reloading his MP5.
There was a horde coming towards his direction. He pulled out one of the M67 grenades, and lobbed it into the center of the horde.
BOOM!
The explosion ripped through the undead, scattering limbs and sending the remaining zombies into disarray.
He emerged from cover, firing controlled bursts at the remaining zombies. Their grotesque forms collapsed one by one under his relentless assault.
As a student working at the university, he knew the layout of the school and the shortest path possible to exit. But the shortest path was blocked by another horde of zombies that came from the second floor
As a student working at the university, Thomas knew the layout of the school well. He had memorized the quickest paths to exit in case of emergencies, but now the shortest route to the main entrance was completely blocked by a new horde of zombies spilling in from the second floor. The creatures groaned and shuffled, their sheer number making it impossible to charge through without a solid plan.
Thomas ducked back into a nearby classroom, slamming the door shut and locking it behind him. His breathing was heavy, the effects of the adrenaline shot still coursing through his veins. He leaned against the wall, and recalled the map in his memories to reevaluate his options.
"Alright," he muttered to himself. "If I can't take the main hallway, I can cut through the gymnasium and head out to the parking lot."
The gymnasium route was longer and riskier, but it was his only viable option. He glanced at his remaining inventory, taking stock of his resources. He had two M67 grenades, two M84 stun grenades, 15 rounds left in his MP5 magazine, and one more adrenaline shot. It wasn't ideal, but it would have to do.
Thomas peeked through the small glass window on the door. The zombies outside were still amassing, some shoving past each other as they clumsily searched for prey. He had to move quickly before more showed up.
He pulled one of the M84 stun grenades from his vest, took a deep breath, and cracked the door open just enough to toss it into the hallway.
"Here goes nothing," he whispered as he yanked the pin and lobbed the grenade into the middle of the horde.
BANG!
The flashbang detonated with a deafening explosion of light and sound, stunning the zombies and sending them into disarray. Thomas didn't wait to see the aftermath. He flung the door open and sprinted into the hallway, the disoriented undead flailing blindly as he darted past them.
Raising his MP5, he fired short, controlled bursts at the closest zombies still standing.
Ratatatat!
The system notifications popped up in his peripheral vision, but he ignored them, focusing on the task at hand. He weaved through the chaos, leaping over fallen bodies and skidding around corners.
Finally, he reached the staircase leading down to the gymnasium. The door at the bottom was slightly ajar, and faint groans echoed from below.
"Of course it's not empty," he muttered. He reloaded his MP5, pulling the bolt back with a satisfying click, and prepared to clear the way.
Thomas descended the stairs cautiously, his weapon raised. The moment he stepped onto the gymnasium floor, a handful of zombies turned toward him, their heads snapping unnaturally fast at the sound of his footsteps. Their snarls grew louder as they began to shuffle toward him.
The last few zombies lunged at him, forcing Thomas to step back. He grabbed one of his M67 grenades, pulled the pin, and threw it into the cluster.
The explosion echoed through the gymnasium, obliterating the remaining undead. Shrapnel bounced off the walls, and a cloud of dust filled the air. When it cleared, the gym was silent once more—until it wasn't. More zombies poured into the gymnasium and he could also hear more zombies approaching from where he came from.
Thomas realized he was running out of options. Retreating was not only dangerous but also risked bottling himself in again. But he had no choice, he had to go back, he can't face that much horde coming in compared to the hallway where the zombie numbers are short as he had already culled some.
So he retreated back to the stairwell and he kicked open the stairwell door, only to be met with another small group of zombies. Their grotesque faces twisted as they let out guttural moans and began charging toward him.
"Not today," Thomas muttered through gritted teeth as he raised the MP5 and let loose a controlled burst.
Ratatatat!
The closest zombie's head snapped back as the bullets tore through its skull, sending it crumpling to the ground. He pivoted slightly, taking down the second and third zombies.
But his luck ran out as three zombies managed to close the distance. One lunged at him with terrifying speed, knocking him off balance and sending him crashing to the ground. The MP5 skidded out of reach.
Thomas growled, his back hitting the cold, hard floor.
The first zombie pounced on top of him, its rotting jaws snapping mere inches from his face. Its decayed breath filled his nostrils, making him gag. Thinking quickly, Thomas shoved his forearm between the creature's teeth, the sturdy fabric of his SWAT uniform holding firm against its desperate bites.
"Get off me!" he roared, his free hand fumbling for the Beretta M9 strapped to his thigh holster. He gripped the pistol and pressed the muzzle under the zombie's chin.
Bang!
The gunshot echoed in the narrow stairwell, and the zombie's head exploded in a spray of blackened blood and brain matter. The lifeless body slumped onto him, its weight briefly pinning him down.
Before Thomas could push it off, the other two zombies pounced, their claws tearing at his armored chest and arms. Their teeth snapped against his forearm guards, but the suit held firm, buying him precious seconds.
"Get... off!" he hissed, twisting his body and using his legs to kick one of the zombies off balance. With his left hand, he shoved the second zombie's head away from his face, struggling to keep its snapping jaws at bay.
The situation was dire, but Thomas refused to panic. He managed to bring the Beretta M9 to bear, pressing the barrel against the temple of the zombie closest to his face.
Bang!
The second zombie collapsed onto him, its lifeless form adding to the growing pile of corpses. The last zombie snarled and lunged again, its teeth gnashing at his throat. Thomas twisted his body, narrowly avoiding its attack.
He gritted his teeth, using every ounce of strength to flip the zombie onto its back. Pinning it beneath him, he jammed the Beretta into its mouth.
Bang!
The final zombie's head exploded, the sound of the gunshot ringing in his ears. Thomas staggered to his feet, panting heavily. His body ached, and his heart pounded like a war drum, but he was alive.
He retrieved his MP5 from where it had fallen, quickly reloading the weapon while keeping an ear out for approaching groans. His eyes darted around the blood-slicked stairwell, noting the growing noise of more zombies converging on his location.
"Gotta keep moving," he muttered, forcing his tired legs to keep moving. He couldn't afford another close encounter like that.
He spotted a door marked "Recording Room"
He tried the handle. Locked.
"Damn it!" Thomas hissed under his breath. The guttural moans of zombies echoed from below, growing louder. They were closing in.
He had no time to think. He raised the butt of his MP5 and smashed it against the doorknob with all his strength.
CRACK!
The lock gave way, and the door swung open. Thomas slipped inside, immediately closing the door behind him. He scanned the room for something—anything—to secure it. Spotting a wooden chair near the corner, he grabbed it and jammed it under the doorknob, tilting it to hold the door in place.
"Hopefully, that holds," he muttered, backing away from the door.
Thomas slumped against the far wall, sliding down to the ground. His chest heaved as he caught his breath. His hands trembled, still gripping the MP5 tightly. The adrenaline rush was wearing off, leaving him acutely aware of the exhaustion weighing on his body.
[Zombies killed: 103]
"I only killed 103?" Thomas exclaimed softly, he thought he had killed a lot but he was wrong. He rose to his feet, scanning the room around. There is one door which was marked "equipment room". He has watched zombie series and movies, and sometimes there are zombies hiding in unusual places. He couldn't afford to have that moment here.
He walked over to the door and tried opening it.
Locked.
Thomas turned the mp5 and raised its buttstock. With a swift and powerful strike, he smashed the doorknob.
CRACK!
The lock gave way, and Thomas pushed the door open.
"Clear," he muttered under his breath, lowering his weapon slightly. The small equipment room was dimly lit, filled with shelves stacked with tangled wires, microphones, and old recording devices.
Just as he was about to leave the equipment room, a faint noise caught his attention. It wasn't the groans of zombies, but something softer. A quiet sniffle. And it's coming from the far corner of the room.
He stepped into the room cautiously, his MP5 raised and ready.
As Thomas stepped further into the equipment room, his eyes scanned the dim space. The faint sniffle became clearer, and he could now make out a soft shuffle in the far corner, where shadows obscured the shelves. His grip tightened on the MP5 as he prepared for the worst.
"Who's there?" he called out.
A moment later, he heard movement—a rustle of fabric followed by a trembling voice.
"P-please don't hurt us…"