Chapter 11

With slow, cautious steps, Nathan exited his apartment, gripping the makeshift spear tightly in his hands. His breathing was uneven, and he could feel the sweat pooling in his palms beneath the gloves. Although he expected chaos on the other side of the door, what greeted him was something entirely unexpected: stillness.

The absolute silence of the building didn't offer him the comfort or calm he might have hoped for. On the contrary, it seemed to amplify every little sound—the faint creak of his boots against the floor, the residual buzzing in his head from hours of tension. Each step kept his senses on high alert, as if the quiet was merely a prelude to an imminent attack.

As he moved cautiously down the hall, Nathan began organizing his thoughts, piecing together a plan in his mind. The building had ten floors, with four apartments on each. There was an elevator and a stairwell connecting every level, from the parking garage to the basement. If he wanted to survive here, he would need to ensure every floor was cleared.

His eyes scanned the hallway, eventually stopping at the door of his sole neighbor on the tenth floor. Nathan was grateful that, before everything went to hell, the other two apartments on this level had remained unoccupied. That meant, for now, his only immediate concerns were the stairwell and this particular neighbor.

He approached the door with light, deliberate steps, as if afraid even the faintest sound might alert something—or someone. The door appeared intact, showing no signs of forced entry or violence. He pushed gently against it with his hand, testing to see if it was unlocked, but as expected, it was firmly shut.

Nathan knocked on the door a couple of times—not too loudly, just enough to catch the attention of anyone who might be inside. He didn't speak; he didn't dare utter a single word. Instead, he focused all his attention on listening, straining his ears for the faintest noise. But there was nothing. The silence beyond the door was absolute, heavy, as if no one had been there for a long time.

His mind raced through the possibilities. His neighbor might not have been home when everything began; he could be hiding inside, too scared to respond; or, worst of all, he could be dead. That last thought jabbed at him like a thorn in his side. Nathan didn't want to think about it. His neighbor was an older, kind man, someone Nathan had exchanged pleasantries with on occasion. The idea that he might have become one of those things made Nathan's stomach churn.

Just in case, he tried the handle again, but the door remained locked. There was no way to enter without forcing it, and doing so now could be a risk.

"That's fine," he thought as he took a step back. "It just means there's no immediate danger coming from here."

Nathan let out a sigh and turned his gaze toward the stairwell at the end of the hallway. If he wanted to turn this building into a temporary refuge, he needed to make sure there were no threats. He would have to check every floor, clearing every corner and ensuring there were no zombies—or potentially hostile survivors. Only then could he even begin to consider this place safe.

Tightening his grip on the spear, his expression hardened with resolve.

"First, secure the building. Then I can think about the rest."

And with that thought, Nathan began moving toward the stairwell, determined to clear the place and make it a home—at least for now.

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Nathan descended slowly, each step taken with deliberate care to avoid making any unnecessary noise. Although darkness dominated the interior of the building, he chose not to turn on the flashlight he carried. He knew this place like the back of his hand and preferred to conserve the batteries for a real emergency. Even so, he couldn't shake the sharp pang of anxiety in his chest as the silence wrapped itself tightly around him.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally reached the door leading to the ninth floor. He paused for a moment, leaning against the wall and adjusting his grip on the makeshift spear. So far, he hadn't seen or heard any signs of life—neither zombies nor humans. He wasn't sure if that was a good sign or a bad one. Shaking his head to clear the lingering thoughts, he took a deep breath and carefully pushed the door open.

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The ninth floor was completely different from his own. The air reeked of dried blood, and crimson stains splattered the hallway floor. Two of the doors were ajar, and in the middle of the corridor, a zombie stood motionless, its back turned to him. The figure seemed disconnected from the world, as though frozen in a macabre pause.

Nathan stopped in his tracks. His eyes studied the figure in front of him, and though a small part of his mind tried to convince him it could be human, the rigid posture and lifeless stillness quickly dismissed that idea. "There's no way a normal person would just stand there like that," he thought.

Clenching his teeth, he tried to steady the tremor in his hands. His fingers gripped the spear tighter as his nerves began to creep in. He had to act before the zombie noticed him. If he could take it out quietly, he could avoid drawing attention. Every muscle in his body was taut as he slowly crept closer.

When he felt he was close enough, Nathan carefully measured the distance. The zombie remained oblivious, its stillness unchanged. Slowly and deliberately, he raised the spear, positioning it for a strike. "It's now or never," he thought. Taking a deep breath, he mustered all the strength he could and drove the spear violently into the creature's head.

The sound that followed was grotesque. The spear's tip pierced through flesh with a wet squelch, and the crunch of bone fracturing echoed through the hallway. Nathan quickly stepped back, his breath uneven, as he watched the zombie collapse forward like a puppet with its strings cut.

He froze, his heart pounding against his ribs, his gaze fixed on the fallen body. For a few moments, he didn't dare move. But when he noticed the corpse wasn't twitching or stirring, he let out a sigh of relief. Approaching cautiously, he thrust the spear into its head once more, ensuring that not even a shred of unholy life remained in the thing.

Pulling the spear out of the zombie's skull, Nathan tried not to focus on the gory details. "Killing zombies isn't as hard as it seems," he thought, attempting to convince himself he could handle this as long as he stayed calm. But that optimistic thought didn't last long.

He'd made a mistake.

The sound of the body hitting the floor had echoed loudly down the hallway, bouncing off the walls and into the open apartments. Nathan's jaw clenched as he cursed himself internally for not being more careful. Then his ears caught a sound that sent a chill through his core: footsteps.

First one. Then several. The echoes of approaching footsteps multiplied, growing louder, emanating from the darkened doorways of the open apartments. The brief moment of relief he'd felt just moments earlier evaporated instantly. His body tensed, and sweat began to trickle down his face.

"This isn't going to end well," he muttered, gripping the spear tightly as his eyes darted toward the dim corridor. The once-deafening silence was now replaced by the ominous rhythm of impending danger, creeping closer with every step.

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Several zombies began to spill out from the two open apartments. The creatures stumbled clumsily, shoving one another, desperate to be the first to make their way into the hallway.

As he watched this, Nathan felt the color drain from his face. His heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst, and a wave of sheer panic slammed into him like a tsunami. This wasn't supposed to be happening. The plan was unraveling right before his eyes. The weight of his mistake hit him like a hammer, and his survival instincts kicked in instantly.

Without a second thought, Nathan spun around and bolted toward the stairs. Every step he took carried a single thought: get away from the horde. There were far too many. Facing them wasn't an option. Maybe he could handle one, maybe even two, but a group like that? He stood no chance.

He slammed the stairwell door shut behind him and immediately heard the first thuds as the creatures reached it. The sound echoed loudly, the pressure they were exerting on the door becoming alarmingly clear.

"Damn it… I screwed up," he muttered through gritted teeth, his mind racing for a solution.

Acting on pure adrenaline, he used his makeshift spear as a wedge, jamming it between the door and the frame to try to block it. He knew it wouldn't hold for long, but maybe it would buy him the precious seconds he needed to escape.

The pounding continued, every impact against the door a brutal reminder of his error. And while he had no idea if there were more zombies lurking on the lower floors, he had absolutely no intention of sticking around to find out.

With his heart lodged in his throat, Nathan dashed up the stairs, taking them two at a time as if his life depended on it—because, in truth, it did.

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Nathan reached his floor quickly, his legs burning from the effort. He slammed the door behind him and rushed toward his apartment. Time was critical, and he knew it.

He darted inside, grabbed the makeshift spear he had crafted from the mop handle, and headed back into the hallway, determination etched across his face. Without hesitation, he repeated what he had done on the floor below: he wedged the spear into the stairwell door, using it to reinforce the barricade. He knew this wasn't a permanent solution, but anything that could buy him a few extra minutes of life was priceless.

Returning to his apartment once more, Nathan grabbed the nail-covered bat and positioned himself in front of the stairwell door. His breathing was still heavy, but his hands—slick with sweat—gripped the bat's handle with unwavering strength.

Seconds passed. Then minutes. And then, the sounds began.

First, there were footsteps—dragging, uneven, echoing up the stairwell. Then came the muffled growls, growing louder and more distinct as they climbed. Finally, the banging started.

The door shook violently with each impact, the sound of splintering wood and the strain on the improvised wedge filling the hallway. Nathan swallowed hard. He knew it wouldn't be long before they broke through. Each strike was stronger than the last, and the pole he had jammed into place was beginning to bend under the pressure.

He braced himself. His muscles tightened like a coiled spring, ready to release. He gripped the bat tighter, adjusting his stance to deliver the first blow to whatever managed to push through the door. There was no room for error.

As chaos swirled around him, one single thought echoed in his mind: "I can't die yet. Not like this."