His fingers were inches from the terrace door when a bloodied hand yanked his shirt from behind. The boy froze—heart racing, breath caught—as the groan of death filled the air behind him. One step. One second. That's all that had stood between him and survival.
Now, on the fifth floor, with nowhere left to run, he had to face the nightmare head-on… or be consumed by it.
The boy's heart raced as he tore through the building, desperate to reach the terrace. A call from a girl he once loved—Habiba—had shaken his world. She was alive, and she needed him. Ignoring his family's pleas, he made a reckless dash to find her.
But just as he reached the terrace door, one step away from safety, a cold, bloodied hand shot out from behind and grabbed his shirt.
Time froze. His breath stopped. The nightmare had only just begun.
As the hand reached for him, the razor-sharp claws of the zombie shredded a piece of his shirt. Asharab didn't waste a second—he slammed the terrace door shut and locked it from the inside. His heart pounded like a drum. His legs stiffened, frozen in terror, and it felt as though his lungs had forgotten how to breathe. He collapsed to the ground, gasping, paralyzed by fear.
The door behind him began to rattle violently. The undead were slamming against it with increasing rage. Panic surged through his veins. He screamed for help, his voice echoing into the air. Downstairs, his family heard him and, relieved that he was still alive, they responded with urgency. But Asharab's cries only fueled the zombies' fury. They snarled louder, struck harder.
Desperate, Asharab scanned his surroundings. On the terrace floor lay an old iron rod. An idea sparked in his mind. He grabbed the rod and hurled it over the railing. It clanged violently on the ground below—loud enough to echo across the colony. The noise worked. The horde that had gathered at his door turned and stormed toward the ground floor in search of the new source of sound.
But one zombie remained. It continued to claw and drag itself toward the door. Asharab crouched silently, holding his breath, watching its every twitch. Minutes felt like hours. Then, from below, a loud commotion rose.
Asharab leapt to his feet and ran to the edge of the terrace. What he saw brought guilt crashing down on him like a tidal wave.
Down below were two familiar faces—his father and his elder brother. They were banging on metal scraps and shouting into the streets, bravely creating a diversion. "Go ahead! Do what you have to! We're with you!" they yelled.
Asharab's heart surged with emotion. Strength replaced fear. That final zombie abandoned the terrace door and turned its attention to the noise below. It ran straight toward the two brave men. Asharab didn't hesitate—he sprinted downstairs, reaching the ground floor in seconds.
Without looking back, he pushed through the colony gate and stepped outside. He kept walking, determined, for ten straight minutes until he saw the entrance of the army district ahead. A narrow bridge followed, and beyond that, his school.
But what he found there chilled his soul. The army post was deserted. The silence screamed louder than any zombie. Rifles and ammunition lay scattered, abandoned. No soldiers. No signs of life.
Asharab didn't even stop to grab a weapon. He just kept walking, the silence wrapping around him like a shroud. As he reached the bridge, his blood ran cold. It was infested—dozens upon dozens of zombies, swarming, moaning, crawling.
Quickly, he ducked behind a tree and held his breath. His mind raced for a solution. Then, an idea struck. A bold one.
He found a pistol near the gate, loaded and ready. Sneaking a good distance away, he fired a single shot into the air—then sprinted back and hid near the gate. The loud bang echoed like thunder, and the horde responded instantly. The zombies turned and began marching toward the sound, unknowingly heading in the direction of his own home. But Asharab had no time to consider the consequences.
Once the path was clear, he closed the gate behind him and moved deeper toward his school. The air reeked of death. As he turned a corner, a glint of steel caught his eye—a bloodstained katana lying on the ground, surrounded by crimson puddles. He picked it up, hands trembling, and something inside him shifted. He was no longer just a frightened boy—he was ready to fight.
Asharab entered the school grounds quietly. A few zombies wandered near the gate, but not many. He crept forward, spotting one alone, and swiftly sliced its throat. The gurgle it made was louder than expected. Instantly alert, other zombies began turning.
He ducked into the shadows, heart pounding. Then a plan formed. He could lure them—trap them.
He called out, drawing the undead toward him. Then, running quickly, he led them into the narrow alleyway between the canteen and the classroom block. Two were crushed between the walls, unable to move, and he cut them down. But the space wouldn't hold for long. The rest began pushing through. He ran again—this time toward the stairs.
There, on the steps, he fought like a warrior. The katana swung through the air, clean and precise. Six more fell at his feet.
Panting, blood-splattered, he climbed to the top floor and faced the last few. Each strike was powered by purpose—his purpose. And when the last body fell, he pushed open the door to the administration office.
There she was. Her eyes wide, her body trembling in the corner. But when she saw him—bloodstained, panting, alive—she ran straight into his arms.
"Thank you for saving my life," she whispered, her voice breaking.
Asharab said nothing. He only held her, staring into her eyes, his heart heavy, his soul stirred by the girl who once ignored him—and now meant the world to him.
But now that he had saved her, a new challenge awaited—How would he get her back home safely through a city crawling with the dead?As he looked into her eyes, he realized something deeper:he wasn't just fighting for survival anymore…he was lost in her love.
Meanwhile, back at home, his family stood at the window—waiting, hoping, praying for his safe return.The road ahead was uncertain…but he knew he had to make it back.Not just for himself—but for everyone he loved.