After what felt like an eternity, he forced himself to his feet. His legs were shaky, his entire body protesting, but he knew he had to move. "I can't… I can't stay here," he whispered to himself, trying to summon some shred of courage. "I'm strong. I can… I can survive this."
With a deep breath, he gripped the scalpel tighter and opened the door again, more slowly this time. His heart thudded in his chest as he stepped out into the blood-soaked hallway. His foot landed with a sickening squelch in the puddle of blood, and he winced.
He gingerly approached one of the bodies—a man, or at least what was left of him. The limbs were torn apart, and the torso was a mess of torn flesh. Dane hesitated, fear gripping him as he extended the scalpel toward the body. He poked it, just to be sure, but there was no response. The corpse remained still. Lifeless.
But then, just as Dane was about to step over it, the body jerked. The eyes snapped open, bloodshot and vacant, and the mouth twisted into a grotesque snarl. The corpse reached for him, gurgling with a sickening hunger.
Dane's scream ripped through the silence. He stumbled backward, the terror overwhelming him. Without thinking, he lashed out, plunging the scalpel into the thing's chest over and over, his hands slippery with blood. "Die! Please die! Just die!" he shouted, his voice cracking as the panic took over.
The scalpel plunged deep again and again, the sickening sound of flesh being torn filling the hallway. Blood splattered across his face, staining his clothes, but still, the thing twitched and clawed at him.
Dane screamed in blind panic, slashing at its face, its neck, anywhere his blade could reach. Finally, the corpse fell limp again, its movements ceasing. Dane stood over it, gasping for air, his face covered in the creature's blood, his heart thundering in his chest.
His hands shook violently as he wiped the blood from his eyes, smearing it across his face. His breath came in ragged gasps, and his mind was spinning, barely able to process the horror of what he had just done. "Oh god… oh god…" he muttered to himself, his voice barely above a whisper.
Without waiting to see if the thing would move again, he turned and bolted down the hallway, his feet slipping in the blood as he fled. Panic gripped his every thought, every movement, as if the walls themselves were closing in on him. The horror of the moment chased him down the dark, blood-soaked corridor.
As Dane sprinted through the chaos, a searing pain shot through his head, splitting his vision into fragments of horror. His legs faltered beneath him, and he collapsed onto the ground, gasping for breath. The world around him spun wildly, filled with the sounds of destruction. But deep within, a primal instinct surged. He pushed himself back up, adrenaline surging through his veins, and bolted toward the exit of the research center.
The moment he stepped outside, a nightmare unfolded before his eyes. The street was a scene of utter mayhem. People screamed and ran in every direction, their faces twisted with fear and desperation. Some were attacking each other, driven mad by the ravenous hunger that seemed to grip the very air. Others were on the ground, bloodied and torn, while the grotesque figures of the undead feasted on them, tearing flesh and bone apart as if it were mere paper.
Cars collided with sickening thuds, metal crunching against metal, sending shards flying through the air like shrapnel. Explosions echoed throughout the city, sending plumes of smoke spiraling into the sky. Suddenly, a deafening roar filled the air, and a plane crashed into a nearby building, shaking the ground beneath him. Dane instinctively placed his hands over his ears as the shockwave hit, reverberating through his body like a thunderclap.
Dane staggered backward, struggling to comprehend the horror that unfolded around him. Blood flowed in torrents, pooling on the asphalt like a twisted river, reflecting the chaos in an almost surreal manner. His mind struggled to process the gruesome tableau: limbs strewn about, the cries of the dying blending with the growls of the undead, a cacophony of despair.
Just then, an old man suddenly lunged out from the chaos, grasping Dane's arm with surprising strength. The man's face was weathered, etched with lines of a life hard-lived, and his eyes burned with urgency. Clutching a shotgun tightly in his other hand, he pulled Dane back with a fierce determination. "What are you doing? You don't want to die!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the shock that gripped Dane. "Stay focused! If you don't, they'll eat you alive!"
Dane, still reeling from the pandemonium surrounding him, couldn't muster a reply. The horror was too overwhelming, his mind trapped in a fog of disbelief. Everything blurred together—a nightmarish collage of blood, screams, and death. The old man tightened his grip on Dane's arm, his voice rising in urgency. "Are you hearing me? We have to move!"
Before Dane could respond, a horde of zombies surged toward them, their grotesque forms shambling with insatiable hunger. The old man turned to face the oncoming tide, raising his shotgun with grim resolve. He fired, the deafening blast echoing in the chaos. A zombie stumbled backward, its head exploding in a spray of putrid matter, the remnants splattering across the ground like grotesque confetti.