"Collapse"
I should've seen it coming. Desperation makes people reckless—makes them dangerous. And in this world, danger doesn't always come with rotting flesh and vacant eyes. Sometimes, it's the living you need to fear most.
Story Start
The knife's cold edge kissed my throat, sending a sharp prickle of fear down my spine.
"You got her killed."
The man's bloodshot eyes darted wildly, pupils blown wide—not just from exhaustion, but something deeper. Something broken. His grip was unsteady, but the blade was real. Lethal.
I didn't move. Didn't breathe.
Around us, the others froze, hands hovering near their weapons, uncertain whether stepping in would escalate the situation. The leader—still holding his bloodied spear—narrowed his eyes. Calculating.
I forced my voice to stay calm. "Who?"
His fingers twitched against the hilt of the knife. "Anna." His voice cracked on the name. "She tried to save you. You didn't even see her, did you?"
My stomach twisted. I swallowed hard.
I hadn't.
"There were too many," I said quietly. "I—I didn't know."
He let out a shuddering breath, his face contorted with grief. "She didn't have to die," he whispered, inching the knife closer to my throat. The cold steel grazed my skin.
A deep voice cut through the tension.
"For Christ's sake, we're being swarmed by the infected, and you think now's the time to turn on each other?" The de facto leader's grip tightened on his spear, frustration etched across his face.
"She made a choice," he continued, stepping forward. "We all do." He placed a firm hand on the grieving man's shoulder. "She chose to save him. That's not his fault."
"Shut up!" The man's voice was raw, jagged. He shoved the leader back and pressed the knife harder against my throat. "You don't get to talk. You don't get to decide who lives and who dies."
His hand trembled. His breathing turned ragged. He was unraveling.
If I didn't act now, this would end badly—for both of us.
I swallowed hard, steadying my voice. "I'm sorry," I murmured. "But if you kill me… will it bring her back?"
His eyes flashed. His grip faltered.
"Don't—don't pull that shit on me!" he spat, his voice cracking, spittle flying with every word. His eyes burned with fury—but beneath it, sorrow. A flicker of hesitation.
Just a flicker.
Then—
I struck.
My hands shot up—gripping, twisting. The blade grazed my skin, but I yanked free and shoved him hard. He staggered back, breath hitching in panic.
"You fucker!" he snarled, clutching his arm.
But before he could recover—
CRACK!
The leader swung down hard, the makeshift spear—a repurposed IV pole—smashed into his skull
The man crumpled.
Silence.
A heavy, suffocating silence.
I touched my throat, my fingers coming away slick with a thin line of blood. It wasn't deep. A warning cut.
The leader exhaled sharply, adjusting his grip on the spear. "Anyone else want to turn this into a damn soap opera?" He rested the weapon on his shoulder, scanning the group.
Silence.
"Then get back to work," he snapped before striding toward the barricade, driving his spear into the infected clawing at it.
People hesitated, glancing at the unconscious man on the ground, then at me. No one spoke. No one helped him. They just turned back to their tasks, as if this was normal.
Because it was.
I stepped toward the unconscious man, eyeing the knife at his side. Slipping it into my pocket, I muttered, "Might be useful later…"
I swallowed hard and stepped away from the body. My hands still trembled, my pulse still thundered—but there was no time to process any of it.
The dead were still out there. And they weren't waiting.
Hours passed, enough time for me to settle—if only slightly—into the group.
We worked through the night. Reinforcing. Securing. Preparing.
With each passing hour, the moans outside grew louder, more frantic. Something had stirred them—likely the chaos from the infected man earlier… and now the one who had threatened me.
"Pressure's building," Elena muttered, tightening a bandage around a survivor's arm. "They'll break through if we don't do something."
I looked at the barricade, my gut twisting. The metal carts were bent, the makeshift spears bloodied from constant use. We were holding, but barely.
"We should leave," I said. "Find somewhere safer before they overwhelm us." I gestured to the barricade, now worn and splintering. "If not, then at least secure a fallback point—for when we run out of food or when the infected break through."
The leader scoffed. "And go where? There is no safe—only less dangerous." His voice was firm, unwavering. "And how do you expect a bunch of medical professionals and patients—most of whom wouldn't last a day out there—to relocate?"
He wasn't wrong. He might sound like an asshole, but he was right. Every decision he had made, no matter how brutal, had always been for the group's survival.
Still—
"Staying here is a death sentence," I pressed. "This is a hospital—sure, we have some food left, but it won't last. The cafeteria is downstairs, swarming with infected. Even if the barricade holds, we'll starve."
It surprised me, standing my ground like this—challenging a man twice my size.
No one argued. But no one moved, either.
Before we could continue arguing, the next attack came.
A deafening boom shook the hospital as another horde crashed against the barricade, the noise likely drawing even more of the infected.
"Shit! It's going to fall!" the leader shouted, stepping back and tightening his grip on his spear.
A section of the barricade gave way with a sickening crunch, and the dead poured in—shrieking, clawing, lunging.
Chaos.
Screams.
Blood.
The hospital floor became a battlefield.
A man was dragged down, his cries cut short as teeth tore into his flesh. A woman stumbled, trying to poke out the infected with an IV pole. Another survivor swung wildly with a chair, the impact cracking a skull open like an egg.
I ran. Limping. Fighting. Surviving.
A pair of rotting hands lunged for me—I dodged, letting it crash into the wall. I brought up my knife and stabbed it through the head. The creature went limp, but another took its place. Always more.
"Elena!" I called out, scanning the chaos for her. Next to the leader, she was our greatest asset—an actual medic. Out here, knowing how to treat wounds wasn't just useful. It was survival.
"Kael, help me!" A shout echoed in response.
She was near the exit, trying to pry open the emergency doors. Jammed.
I fought my way toward her, shoving past flailing limbs, slipping on blood-slick floors. An infected lunged. I stabbed its eye, yanked the blade free, and watched it crumple.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck…" My body screamed in protest. Killing Marcus, running for my life, and now this—fighting through a horde? I was nearing my limit.
Up ahead, the leader carved through the infected, his spear sweeping in wide, brutal arcs—more quarterstaff than spear now. But even he was slowing, exhaustion dragging at his movements.
"Get those doors open!" he shouted.
Elena gritted her teeth, hoisting a hospital chair and slamming it against the emergency door. The metal groaned but held.
The horde pressed closer.
No more time.
I turned, grabbing a fire extinguisher off the wall. Lifted it. Swung.
BANG!
The door shuddered, then exploded open, rattling on its hinges.
A gust of cold night air surged inside, biting at the warmth within.
"GO!"
We ran.
The leader lingered for only a moment, lighting a flare and tossing it into the hospital.
"Fuck! That was supposed to be for rescue!" he groaned before sprinting toward the emergency door.
The fire spread fast, devouring everything in its path. It wasn't just destruction—it was survival. If we didn't burn them, they'd follow.
We burst through the emergency door onto the hospital's fire escape. Beside us, the roof of a smaller three-story building loomed—a full-floor drop. Not ideal. But staying put or heading back meant facing the infected, either swarming below or closing in behind us.
No choice. I had to jump.
Gritting my teeth, I braced my already injured leg and leaped.
"Ahh—shit!" Pain exploded through me midair. I wasn't going to make it.
I slammed into the building's edge, barely catching hold, my fingers straining to keep me from falling.
"Hold on!" Elena shouted still at the fire escape.
Suddenly, the leader burst through the emergency door, moving swiftly as he leaped from the fourth floor of the hospital to the third-floor rooftop below.
"You're still alive?" he said, surprised, as he grabbed my hand just as I was about to lose my grip. With a firm pull, he hauled me up to safety.
Seeing that the two of us had made it, Elena jumped.
Like me, she fell short.
But before she could plummet, the leader lunged, grabbing her just inches from the building's edge.
The leader glanced back at the burning hospital, his expression unreadable.
Now, only the three of us remained from what had once been a much larger group.
"We keep moving," he said, his tone firm. Then, he held something out to me.
"You left this behind while opening the emergency door."
It was the pocket knife—the one I'd taken from the man who had threatened me. The one I'd used to survive this entire scenario.
I took it without a word.
No argument. No hesitation.
Because he was right.
Because there was no other choice.
We walked.
Into the unknown. Into the jaws of whatever hell waited beyond.
And maybe—just maybe—toward something more than just survival.