Chapter 13

The sun had set hours ago, and the moon now ruled the sky, casting its pale glow over the city. The night reigned, a silent reminder that another day had come to an end—though for Nathan, days and nights were beginning to blur into one overwhelming sensation of survival.

Nathan slept deeply in his bed, his heavy breathing the only sound breaking the silence of the room. Scattered carelessly on the floor lay the reinforced clothing he had worn earlier. Though torn and worn out, it had served its purpose, protecting him from the zombies. On the small nightstand beside his bed, his bloodstained knife rested next to his nearly dead cellphone.

Without warning, Nathan jolted awake. His heart pounded as he instinctively turned his head toward the bedroom door, half-expecting something—or someone—to burst through at any moment. He remained still, watching, holding his breath. But the door didn't move. The silence remained unbroken.

A small wave of relief washed over him as he realized everything was still in place. He let himself fall back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, though his mind was far from restful. A tangled mess of thoughts swarmed in his head. Frustrated, he shut his eyes and ran his hands over his face, trying to clear his mind.

Eventually, he reached over and grabbed his phone, turning it on to check the time: 4:00 a.m. The battery was nearly drained. "It'll probably die today," he thought indifferently as he set it back down. At this point, the device was little more than a useless object. He turned onto his side, facing the wall, trying to fall back asleep. But sleep never came.

With a resigned sigh, he sat up, his gaze drifting toward the scattered belongings on the floor. His eyes landed on the reinforced clothing—torn, worn out, and filthy. Still, it had done its job, keeping him safe from bites. That, at least, was some small comfort. But now, he had a problem.

"I don't have enough duct tape to make another full suit..." he thought, weighing his options. The most practical solution was simply to wear what he had and add another layer on top. He slipped on the battered jacket first, then pulled a thicker hoodie over it.

With his bloodstained knife in hand, he turned toward the door. But something stopped him in his tracks—his reflection in the mirror.

Blood stained his hands and face; even a few dark droplets clung to his hair. The fresh hoodie looked clean, but his pants were completely covered in dried, reddish stains.

He stood there for a long moment, staring at his own image. There was something unsettling about it, something that gnawed at him. A thought crossed his mind.

Without saying a word, he stepped out of the room, moving with sudden determination.

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Slowly and cautiously, Nathan stepped out of his room, his eyes scanning every corner of the apartment for any irregularity or intruder. The silence that filled the space only heightened his tension, forcing him to move carefully.

He advanced slowly, inspecting everything in his path. The couches were still in place, exactly as he had left them before going to bed. Nothing seemed to have been touched while he slept. It was a relief—a small breath of peace in the midst of the chaos he was living through.

Reassured that everything was in order, he walked toward the kitchen. There, he grabbed one of the glasses of water he had set aside the night before. Lifting it with slightly trembling hands, he took a small sip, feeling the cool liquid soothe his dry throat. The relief was immediate, but the lingering stickiness of blood on his skin pushed him to use the rest of the water to wash his hands and face. He didn't want to eat breakfast while still feeling the remnants of last night's fight on his skin.

Once clean again, Nathan pulled out one of the food containers he had filled earlier. He sat down at the table, eating in silence. Despite his apparent calm, his mind was racing, jumping from one thought to another.

"I need to find a way to heat my food..." he thought as he stared at the small container. Eating it cold was tolerable, but the feeling of a warm meal was something he missed more than he had expected.

He considered several options: he could try lighting a fire on the rooftop, but that might attract other survivors, and he couldn't be sure of their intentions. He also thought about doing it inside the apartment, but the risk of starting a fire ruled that out almost immediately.

With a sigh, he added that concern to his ever-growing mental list of tasks. "Something to cook with… without drawing attention or burning the place down," he murmured, taking the last bites of his meal.

When he finished, he stood up and cleaned his hands once more. Now, it was time to deal with what he had left unfinished the day before. His weapons were still in the hallway, and the bodies of the zombies he had killed remained there, blocking the space. He didn't know how he would get rid of them yet, but he knew leaving them there wasn't an option.

Nathan took a deep breath, set the empty container on the kitchen table, and turned his gaze toward the apartment door.

It was time to face the mess he had left behind.

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Nathan stepped into the hallway and was met with the same scene he had left behind the day before. The stench was unbearable—a nauseating mix of dried blood, rotting flesh, and something metallic that clung to the air. Even as he covered his nose with his forearm, the smell remained, as if it had seeped into every particle around him.

The sight wasn't any better. The walls and floor were stained with blood, creating a nightmarish scene straight out of a horror movie. Though he was beginning to grow accustomed to sights like this, it was still unsettling to face such grotesque reality.

With slow, measured steps, Nathan moved through the corpses, searching for the weapons he had lost. When he reached the body of the zombie that had bitten him, he crouched down and, with a firm motion, pulled out the knife still embedded in its skull. The resistance as the blade came loose sent a shiver down his spine, but he forced himself to remain composed.

He moved toward the bat, still lodged in another zombie's head near the entrance to the stairs. With every step, his senses remained on high alert, listening for any unusual sounds. When he reached the last stretch, he paused. Closing his eyes, he focused, straining to hear the faintest noise—footsteps, growls, anything.

Silence was his only answer.

Relieved but still cautious, he stepped forward, grabbed the bat tightly, and yanked it free from the corpse's skull. Without hesitation, he shut the stairwell door behind him, securing it to avoid any unwanted surprises.

"First step done," he thought as he surveyed the scattered bodies in the hallway. Wasting no time, he began the grueling task of moving them.

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It took him about an hour and a half to pile all the corpses into a corner. He considered tossing them out the window or down the stairwell, but ultimately decided against it. The last thing he wanted was to attract other survivors or zombies with the noise. Every movement was deliberate, ensuring the hallway remained clear in case he ever needed to make a quick escape.

Once he was done, he took a moment to stretch, feeling the strain of exertion weighing on his body. He secured the knives at his belt and gripped the bat more tightly. The task wasn't over yet, and he knew it. Now, he had to go down to the ninth floor and make sure it was just as clean as the tenth.

Nathan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, his gaze burned with renewed determination.

He was no longer the same man who had trembled at the sight of his first zombie. He had learned to control his fear, to channel it into action.

He turned toward the stairwell door once more.

"It's time to clear this building and make it mine," he thought, his mind now fully set on the path ahead.