The silence had returned—but it wasn't peace. It was the kind of quiet that screamed something was wrong. And then, the first scream tore through the air, followed by the crack of gunfire. What the boy saw through the window would haunt him forever: the dead didn't just rise—they ran, they hunted, and they turned neighbors into monsters in seconds. He had no idea that opening the door for a friend might open the door to their end.
The boy's heart was pounding so hard it drowned out the chaos outside. He had opened the door—against his family's pleading voices—and now they all stood frozen, watching the staircase.
Five minutes had felt like forever. Every second stretched thin with the echoes of growls and footsteps drawing nearer. His best friend—his brother in everything but blood—was just steps away when it happened.
The thud of heavy limbs. A snarl from above. And then—A figure launched from the third-floor railing, crashing down on his friend just as he reached the second floor.
"No!" the boy screamed, rushing forward, his family pulling him back.
In that one instant, the line between the living and the dead blurred—and what came next would test the strength of trust, the weight of regret, and the cost of survival.
Just in time, his friend grabbed his hand and yanked him inside. But a faint scratch from the zombie's claw sliced across his neck—small, but dangerous. No one noticed. Not even the boy himself. They slammed the door shut behind them.
No one checked him. He hugged his best friend tightly, breathless, and whispered a shaky "thank you" to his family. But what they didn't know was—the real challenge hadn't even started.
They gave the boy water and food, trying to calm him down. His house was just next door, right across from theirs on the same floor. His heart burned with worry. He pleaded to go check on his family, to see if they were alive or gone. But everyone—his parents, even his best friend—said no. It was too dangerous.
But how could a boy sit still, knowing his family might be suffering just a few steps away?
He moved toward the door, ready to risk everything. But again, his friend stopped him—calm this time, but firm. "Not now. When it's safe, we'll go together. "He hesitated… and finally agreed.
That night, everyone tried to rest.
At exactly 7 a.m. the next morning, something strange happened.
The boy's phone rang. He pulled it out with shaking hands. A voice on the other end froze him in place. The voice which brought him into tears It was a girl. Not just any girl.
The one he had loved quietly.
Her name was Habiba—the one who had only ever seen him as a friend.
Her voice was faint, trembling:
"I'm Habiba... I hope you remember me."
He nodded silently, too choked up to speak.
"Asharab… are you listening?"
His voice cracked as he replied,
"I'm coming. Just hold on. You always ignored me… but I'm not like you. I care. I'm coming."
He turned to his mother and told her everything. He couldn't stay. Not now.
Tears streamed down his family's faces. His best friend begged him not to go. But nothing could stop him.
He opened the door—quietly—and stepped out.
As he reached the stairs, his blood ran cold.Just one step down, a zombie stood still, blocking his path.
And then—he panicked.
His foot slipped. The sound echoed down the stairwell.
The zombie turned fast—too fast. He had no chance to fix his mistake. All he could do now was run.
He bolted upward. More zombies were coming. He sprinted toward the fifth floor terrace. One wrong step, and it would be over. His legs burned, his lungs screamed—but he didn't stop.
The terrace door was open. Just one more step.
But a zombie's hand caught him from behind.
His scream echoed through the empty terrace as the cold, bloodstained hand clamped onto his shoulder. There was no time to think—only one breath, one heartbeat, one desperate second.
And just like that…everything went black.
But the nightmare was only beginning.