Date: 7/23/23
Time: 7:11 PM
We'll pan through the streets, capturing the descent into utter chaos. Screams echo between buildings, merging with the guttural growls of the undead.
A man is yanked out of his car window, his desperate screams silenced as a swarm of zombies tears into him. Nearby, another man clutches the arm of a woman trapped in a herd of ravenous creatures. He pulls with all his might, shouting for her to hold on. But the zombies overpower him, ripping the woman in half. Her agonized screams pierce the air as her severed torso spills its contents onto the blood-soaked pavement.
In another part of the street, a lone man sprints for his life, his breath ragged as he glances over his shoulder. Behind him, a hulking zombie—easily 450 pounds of sheer, decayed mass—thunders after him. Its every step shakes the ground, its guttural growl a horrifying chorus to the man's panicked cries.
Just as the massive zombie closes in, a deafening roar breaks through the chaos. A truck barrels down the street, its headlights piercing the gloom. In an instant, it collides with the colossal zombie, the impact sending the undead behemoth hurtling through the air.
The giant crashes into a cluster of other zombies, scattering them like bowling pins. The truck skids to a halt, its tires screeching, leaving behind a streak of blood and entrails.
Brayden and Gabi sprinted through the chaos, weaving between zombies lunging at them from all sides. Brayden wielded the fire extinguisher like a weapon, smashing it into the heads of any undead that got too close. Suddenly, he skidded to a halt, his breath hitching. Gabi slammed into his back.
"Why the hell are we stopping?!" she shouted, panic lacing her voice.
Brayden didn't answer immediately. His wide eyes were fixed ahead. Gabi followed his gaze and froze.
The police car where Jay had been left was surrounded by a swarm of zombies. Their palms and heads slammed against the car windows, which were streaked with blood and smeared with grime. Inside the car, Jay was barely visible, his terrified face lit by the flickering streetlights.
"Jay's still in there," Brayden said, his voice hollow.
"Yeah, and he's safer than us! Let the military deal with this—we need to go!" Gabi protested, her voice trembling.
But Brayden ignored her. Tightening his grip on the fire extinguisher, he sprinted toward the car.
"Goddammit!" Gabi cursed, reluctantly chasing after him.
Reaching the swarm, Brayden aimed the extinguisher and sprayed it directly at the zombies. A cloud of white fog erupted, engulfing the undead. The thick mist stung their eyes, sending them stumbling blindly, clawing at the air. With the zombies momentarily disoriented, Brayden darted toward the police car, Gabi close behind.
Brayden smashed the fire extinguisher against the car's backseat window repeatedly. Inside, Jay saw him and kicked at the glass, his cuffed hands limiting his movement.
The shattering sounds echoed through the fog. Gabi glanced nervously at a nearby zombie, its milky eyes scanning for the source of the noise.
"Brayden, stop making so much noise!" she hissed.
But Brayden didn't listen, striking the glass harder and harder.
The zombie turned its head toward them, growling low in its throat. Gabi stepped back, her heart racing.
"It sees us," she whispered.
The zombie broke into a sprint.
"Brayden!" Gabi screamed, backing into him as the creature lunged.
A gunshot rang out, the bullet tearing through the zombie's skull. It crumpled against the car, lifeless, as blood splattered onto Gabi's face. She winced, wiping her eyes in disgust.
Brayden gave one final, furious swing, and the window shattered. He helped Jay climb out, carefully avoiding the jagged edges of the glass. Jay winced as a small cut appeared on his cheek, but he quickly rubbed it off.
Brayden turned to see their savior—a familiar figure holding a Remington 700 rifle. His jaw dropped.
"Ryan? What the hell are you doing here?!" Brayden asked, a mix of relief and disbelief.
Ryan lowered his rifle and smirked. "Just call it crazy luck. Now, let's move."
Gabi wiped the blood off her face. "I've been ready to get out of here all damn day," she muttered.
"Hold up!" Jay said, raising his cuffed wrists. "I'm not going anywhere like this. Someone get these off me!"
Brayden scanned the area and spotted the zombified officer in the distance, tearing into a screaming woman's neck.
"We need the keys," he said grimly.
Ryan shook his head. "Nah, I've got a quicker solution."
He grabbed Jay roughly by the shoulder, spinning him around.
"Yo, what're you about to do nigga, you crazy—" Jay began, but Ryan cut him off.
"Hold still," Ryan ordered, leveling his rifle.
Jay flinched, squeezing his eyes shut as Ryan fired. The cuffs broke apart with a loud clang. Jay rubbed his wrists, his shock melting into a sheepish grin.
"Oh. Okay," he muttered.
"Let's go!" Ryan barked, gesturing for them to follow.
The group sprinted out of the fog, leaving the chaos behind—for now.
We'll pan upward, scaling the side of an apartment building until it reaches the roof where Jason, Elijah, and Penelope are stranded. Elijah stood near the edge, his hands gripping the rusted metal railing as he stared at the carnage below. The streets were swarming with the undead, and the sounds of screaming and chaos echoed through the air.
"Where the hell is the military?" Elijah muttered angrily, his voice thick with frustration. "Helicopters should've been all over this place by now."
Behind him, Jason sat slumped against a crate, his head in his hands. The weight of Mason's death pressed heavily on him. He replayed the moment over and over—the look in Mason's eyes, the stare of his disappointment. A sharp sting in his thumb pulled him from his thoughts. He glanced down to see a splinter lodged in his skin, a souvenir from the wooden gate he'd abandoned. With a hiss, he yanked it out and flicked it off the roof, watching it tumble into the abyss below.
Penelope, who had been curled into a ball near the corner of the roof, slowly stood. Her voice was soft, trembling. "I hope… my parents are okay."
Elijah turned to her, his expression softening for a moment. "Yeah. I hope my friends are okay too," he said, his tone resolute despite the despair in his eyes. "We just need this damn military to show up already."
Penelope nodded, her gaze distant. Suddenly, a thin trickle of blood ran from her right nostril.
"Hey, your nose is bleeding," Elijah said, concern flashing across his face.
Penelope blinked and touched her nose, surprised. "Oh, it is?" she murmured, raising her sleeve to wipe it.
Before she could, Elijah stepped forward, pulling a clean rag from his pocket. He gently wiped the blood away. Penelope blushed, murmuring a quiet, "Thank you."
Jason peeked out from behind the crate, his eyes narrowing as he watched the interaction. His gaze drifted down to Penelope's legs—and froze. A jagged bite mark marred the back of her left calf, the flesh around it swollen and discolored. His stomach dropped.
"Elijah," Jason called out, his voice tight.
But Elijah didn't hear him. He was focused on Penelope, whose eyes were now bloodshot, her sclera almost entirely red.
"Penelope, are you feeling okay?" Elijah asked cautiously, his instincts on edge.
"I'm fine," she replied, though her voice trembled. "Just… a little cold."
Elijah took a wary step back. Penelope noticed and frowned, stepping toward him.
"Why are you backing away?" she asked, her tone sharper now.
"I just need some space," Elijah said, his voice steady but uneasy.
"No… WHY ARE YOU—" Her words cut off abruptly as her head jerked violently to the right, then snapped back to the left, the sickening sound of cracking bones filling the air.
"Penelope!" Elijah shouted, his voice laced with panic.
She collapsed to the ground, convulsing violently. Her fingers curled unnaturally, her body writhing as blood and saliva dripped from her mouth. Bones shifted and snapped beneath her skin, the grotesque sound making Elijah take several steps back.
With a sudden, inhuman fluidity, Penelope rose to her feet, her limbs moving as though pulled by unseen strings. Her bloodshot eyes locked onto Elijah, and a guttural, ear-splitting howl tore from her throat.
Before she could lunge, Jason charged forward, slamming into her with the force of a linebacker.
"Oh shit—!" Elijah yelled.
The impact sent Penelope hurtling over the edge of the roof. Elijah rushed to the railing, watching as her body plummeted. She slammed into a streetlight, her spine snapping audibly before she hit the pavement with a sickening thud.
Penelope's body lay crumpled, a pool of dark, viscous blood spreading beneath her. But she wasn't dead. With grotesque determination, she began crawling across the cement, her head twitching at unnatural angles as she let out guttural growls.
Elijah stared in horrified disbelief, his breath caught in his throat. Jason walked back to his crate, his face unreadable.
"You're welcome," Jason muttered, sitting down with a heavy thud.
Elijah turned back toward the street, gripping the railing tightly as he stared into the chaos below. He silently prayed for the nightmare to end—for the world to return to what it once was.
The scene opens in murky, stagnant water. we'll pan up, revealing the grimy walls of a sewer tunnel. The faint sound of scurrying rats echoes through the darkness. Suddenly, a shaft of light pierces the gloom as a manhole cover is pried open above. Sunlight streams into the tunnel, casting long shadows as the rats scatter into the darkness.
Ryan descends the ladder first, his rifle at the ready and a flashlight mounted on the barrel. The beam cuts through the murk, illuminating the damp, slimy walls. His eyes dart cautiously, scanning every corner of the tunnel.
"All clear," Ryan mutters under his breath.
Next, Gabi climbs down, gagging as the stench hits her. She covers her nose and grimaces. "God, it smells like straight-up death down here," she groans.
Jay follows, hopping down the last few rungs and landing with a splash that sends ripples through the water. He doesn't bother to hide his irritation. "Not how I wanted today to go nigga."
Finally, Brayden descends, his muscles taut as he grips the ladder. Once his feet hit the ground, he glances up and carefully slides the manhole cover shut. The muffled screams and chaos above are abruptly cut off, replaced by the oppressive silence of the sewer.
"So," Jay pipes up, his voice echoing through the tunnel, "the hell we gonna do now?"
Ryan keeps his rifle aimed down the dim corridor, the beam of his flashlight slicing through the shadows. "We stay put for a bit. Give the military time to clean this up—assuming they actually show up," he replies tersely.
The others exchange uneasy glances but nod in agreement. Gabi, still pinching her nose, mutters, "I hope they hurry up because I can't handle this smell much longer."
The group begins to move cautiously, their footsteps splashing in the shallow, dirty water. Ryan leads, his flashlight flickering over the tunnel walls as the others follow close behind, their nerves on edge.
As we focus on the beam of Ryan's flashlight, we'll zoom in on the stark cone of light cutting through the darkness. The view suddenly shifts and zooms out, transitioning to the beam of a police officer's flashlight, now shining under a bathroom sink.
We'll focus on a name badge pinned to the chest of a police officer. It reads "Isaac," his first name obscured. Isaac crouches beneath a sink, his flashlight sweeping over pristine, untarnished pipes. His voice echoes in mild frustration, "There's no leak here."
Sudden laughter erupts from the kitchen, breaking the silence. Isaac flinches, banging his head lightly on the edge of the cabinet as he quickly looks up. The other officers in the kitchen are doubled over, laughing uproariously.
One of them, barely able to catch his breath, shouts, "Nigga, you're so gullible!" His words draw louder laughs from the others.
Isaac's face flushes crimson, a familiar burn of embarrassment creeping up his neck. He clenches his jaw, grabs his flashlight, and storms out of the kitchen. The laughter follows him like a mocking shadow.
We'll linger briefly on Officer Harris, her expression softening with pity as she watches Isaac retreat to the station lobby. Her name badge gleams under the fluorescent lights. Harris mutters under her breath, "You guys are such assholes," and follows Isaac.
The door to the kitchen suddenly swings open with a bang, and the laughter dies instantly. The Chief steps through, his broad shoulders straining against his uniform and his bald, tanned head glinting under the harsh lights. His deep, gravelly voice cuts through the silence.
"What the hell is so funny?" he growls, his sharp eyes narrowing at the group of officers.
The men, who had moments ago been doubled over with laughter, snap into stoic silence. Their postures stiffen as if struck by lightning. One officer stammers, "S-sorry, Chief."
The Chief's face twists in fury as he takes a menacing step closer. "Sorry? You're sorry? I've got hundreds of calls flooding in about zombies tearing up the damn city, and you're all here cracking jokes? You think this is a goddamn joke?"
His voice reverberates through the kitchen like a thunderclap. The officers shift uncomfortably, a few of them daring to steal glances at each other but none brave enough to meet the Chief's blazing stare.
Satisfied that his message has sunk in, Chief turns on his heel and stomps out of the kitchen. The officers exchange nervous looks but say nothing as the heavy footsteps echo away.
Isaac stormed out of the station, his fists clenched and his cheeks still flushed with embarrassment. The sound of his heavy boots echoed off the steps as he descended. Behind him, Harris emerged from the station, her expression filled with concern.
"Isaac, wait!" she called out, catching up to him. She placed a gentle hand on his arm, her tone soft. "Don't let them get to you. Those guys are jerks—you're better than this."
Isaac turned to face her, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. His shoulders sagged, and for a moment, he looked like he might break down entirely. Harris stepped closer, arms outstretched, ready to offer him a comforting hug.
But before she could reach him, the piercing sound of screams erupted from down the street. Both Isaac and Harris froze, their heads snapping toward the noise.
Chaos unfolded before their eyes. A stampede of terrified people surged down the busy New York street. Cars skidded and crashed into pedestrians, their horns blaring in an endless cacophony. Amidst the chaos, zombies darted after the fleeing crowd, their feral growls and grotesque movements sending waves of panic through the masses.
Some people stumbled, tripping over one another. Those who fell were instantly swarmed by zombies, their shrieks of agony drowned out by the horrific sounds of tearing flesh and splattering blood.
Isaac and Harris stood rooted to the spot, their minds struggling to process the scene. Before they could react, the crowd barreled toward them, forcing its way into the police station. Isaac and Harris were caught in the stampede, knocked to the lobby floor as the panicked civilians flooded the space.
The Chief burst out of the kitchen, his booming voice cutting through the noise. "What the hell is going on out here?!" Behind him, the officers scrambled to follow, their expressions shifting from confusion to sheer terror as they saw the chaos spilling into the station.
Isaac's gaze locked onto the entrance. A woman crawled toward the door, her legs bruised and twisted from being trampled. Her desperate cries for help were cut short as a zombie pounced on her back. It grabbed her hair and wrenched her head back, sinking its jagged teeth into the side of her neck. Blood sprayed across the floor tiles as the woman's screams turned into gurgling gasps.
Isaac gasped and scrambled backward, hitting a chair as his legs gave out beneath him. The officers around him pulled their weapons, the deafening cracks of their Glocks echoing through the lobby. Bullets tore into the advancing zombies, but the noise only drew more attention. Several zombies turned and sprinted toward the officers, overwhelming a few and dragging them down.
Harris grabbed Isaac's arm, her voice urgent. "Come on, Isaac! Move!" She pulled him to his feet, and they dashed across the lobby, weaving through the panicked crowd.
The Chief was already in the fray. With a roar, he vaulted over a line of chairs and shoved civilians aside. He grabbed a zombie by the head, twisting its neck with brutal efficiency. The zombie's body spasmed violently before collapsing in a heap, dark blood pooling around it. Undeterred, the Chief charged into a group of zombies, fists swinging like sledgehammers.
Isaac and Harris reached the janitor's closet. Harris fumbled with a key ring, her hands trembling as she tried to find the right key. She had just inserted it into the lock when a zombie lunged out of the chaos, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her back.
Isaac froze, his breath hitching. Harris struggled, shouting, "Isaac, help me!" But he hesitated, his fear paralyzing him.
Harris gritted her teeth, twisting her body as she delivered a sharp right hook to the zombie's jaw. It staggered, giving her just enough time to sweep its legs with a quick motion. As the zombie hit the ground, Harris pulled her Glock and fired, the shot reverberating through the station. The zombie's head snapped back, its body going limp.
She turned back to the janitor's door and pounded on it. "Isaac! Open the door!" she shouted.
Inside, Isaac sat curled against the door, his knees drawn to his chest and his hands clamped over his ears. Tears streamed down his face as he rocked back and forth, muttering to himself.
Harris screamed, slamming her fists against the door. "Isaac, please!"
A shadow loomed behind her. Another zombie seized her by the shoulders, slamming her to the ground. Harris fought back, her screams turning guttural as the zombie forced its hand into her mouth, muffling her cries. Its teeth sank into her neck with a sickening crunch. Blood spurted from the wound, splattering the floor as her body convulsed.
The zombie's grip tightened, its fingers prying at her jaw with horrifying strength. Harris's muffled screams grew weaker as the creature ripped her lower jaw clean off, leaving her tongue exposed. Blood cascaded from the gaping wound as her body went still.
Inside the closet, Isaac buried his head in his arms, his sobs the only sound he could hear over the chaos outside.
Back with the sewer group, they trudged cautiously through the damp, shadowy sewer tunnel. The faint sound of water dripping from above echoed around them, accompanied by the occasional scuttle of rats. Gabi tiptoed along the edge of the path, making a visible effort to avoid stepping on the scattered junk littering the ground.
Brayden pulled out his phone, his thumb instinctively swiping up to check for service. The screen displayed the all-too-familiar "No Service" message. He sighed, muttering under his breath, "Figured. Should've known better."
As the group pressed on, Brayden glanced sideways at Gabi. "So… you actually decided to come along," he said, his tone laced with mild surprise.
Gabi met his gaze but kept walking. "I didn't come for you guys. I was just out walking."
Jay, walking ahead of them, turned his head sharply at her response. "Just out walking? Yeah, sure. Lucky you ran into Brayden. You'd have been zombie chow by now if it wasn't for him."
Gabi glared at him. "What's your problem? Seriously? You're mad because I went for a walk? Alone?"
Jay spun around, his face contorted in frustration. "No, I'm mad because zombies are real now, and we're stuck in this damn sewer! On top of that, Jason, Elijah, and Mason left me to rot. So, yeah, forgive me if I'm not in the mood for your little stroll excuses."
Unfazed, Gabi shot back, "Well, maybe that's what you get for being in the back of a police cruiser."
Before Jay could fire off a retort, Ryan's flashlight beam swept ahead, illuminating a figure seated in the distance. The man was casually perched in a folding chair, watching two rats viciously scrap with each other. His clothes were casual but filthy, dirt and grime clinging to every fiber.
The group came to an abrupt halt, their eyes fixed on the strange sight. Ryan raised his voice, his rifle at the ready. "Sir, are you okay?"
The man turned his head slowly, revealing a haggard face streaked with dirt. His eyes were hollow, his expression vacant yet heavy with guilt. "It's all my fault," he muttered, his voice barely audible over the distant trickle of water.
Brayden exchanged a wary glance with Ryan before addressing the man. "What do you mean? What's your fault?"
The man's head tilted back toward the rats. He reached into his pocket, prompting Ryan to tighten his grip on his rifle, his flashlight trained on the man's hand. Slowly, the man withdrew a small, tattered book. Without a word, he extended it toward the group.
Brayden stepped forward cautiously, taking the book. He opened it to the first page as Ryan angled his flashlight to illuminate the writing.
The man's name was scrawled at the top: Chris.
Brayden began reading, his voice low but steady:
Chris's son had been bullied relentlessly, to the point of taking his own life by jumping from a roof. Grief-stricken and enraged, Chris had killed multiple employees at the morgue where his son's body was taken, stealing the corpse and bringing it home. Determined to undo the tragedy, he spent months experimenting with chemicals and built a crude machine to artificially pump his son's heart.
One night, the unimaginable happened—Chris's son was revived. But it wasn't the same boy who had died. The revived son was conscious but driven by uncontrollable aggression. He rampaged through Chris's home lab, bursting out into the night.
The book described his son's violent spree. He hunted down the bullies who had tormented him, killing them with savage precision. He tore their organs from their bodies, feasting on the remains in a grotesque act of vengeance.
Chris, horrified by what he'd unleashed, began experimenting with samples of his son's blood, injecting it into homeless individuals. These test subjects became mindless, feral zombies, but none retained the intelligence or focus of Chris's son.
As the situation spiraled further out of control, Chris enlisted a group of desperate individuals to help subdue his son. After a brutal fight, they dismembered the boy and fed his remains to wild dogs.
But it didn't end there. Members of Chris's hired team stole the remaining blood samples, determined to unleash them on the world. Their target: New York City.
Brayden's hands trembled as he closed the book, his mind racing to process the horror he'd just read. The group exchanged uneasy glances, each of them grappling with the same realization—they were standing in the aftermath of Chris's catastrophic mistake.
We'll be pulled back slowly, the dim light of Ryan's flashlight growing fainter as it panned down the tunnel. The air seemed heavier, the oppressive weight of hopelessness seeping into every corner.
Outside of the sewers a lone helicopter cut through the overcast sky above New York City, its blades thundering against the eerie silence below. The city was in chaos—streets teemed with infected, sprinting through the remnants of civilization. A camera attached to the helicopter live-streamed the devastation, broadcasting the apocalypse to millions around the globe. The footage flickered on televisions, fueling panic in every home and fueling a collective sense of dread as viewers realized the outbreak had consumed the entirety of New York State.
On the ground, the remnants of a military unit moved cautiously down an empty street. Their boots splashed through puddles of blood, crushing scattered organs beneath their soles. Abandoned vehicles lay piled against crumbling buildings, their interiors stained with the remnants of desperate escapes. The soldiers' armor clinked softly as they advanced, their rifles trained on every shadow, every sound.
The street ahead of them began to quake. A thunderous noise echoed, growing louder and closer. Suddenly, from the far end of the street, a swarm of infected emerged, hundreds of them sprinting at inhuman speeds, their eyes burning with primal hunger.
"Contact!" the unit leader shouted. The soldiers opened fire in unison, bullets tearing into the front ranks of the horde. Bodies dropped, but it barely made a dent. The swarm surged forward, undeterred.
The infected slammed into the soldiers like a tidal wave, dragging them to the ground. Screams filled the air as flesh was torn, helmets ripped away, and bodies devoured. Blood sprayed across shattered car windows and dripped down abandoned storefronts. Within moments, the street fell silent, save for the ravenous sounds of the infected feasting on their prey.
Above the carnage, in a modest apartment building overlooking the street, an elderly woman sat alone in her living room. Her frail hands trembled as she clutched a remote, her tear-filled eyes fixed on the news report streaming the chaos. State after state appeared on the screen, red zones marking the relentless spread of the infection. The plague spreading faster than anyone could contain it.
The woman sniffled, a tear sliding down her cheek as she absorbed the gravity of the situation. With a deep, shuddering breath, she reached into her robe, pulling out a polished Colt Anaconda. The gun gleamed faintly in the flickering light of the TV. She stared at it for a moment, her grip firming as her resolve solidified.
Closing her eyes, she raised the weapon beneath her chin. A single shot rang out.
The broadcast continued, oblivious to her final act. Blood sprayed upward, painting the ceiling in streaks of red, while the gun fell to the floor with a hollow clatter. The camera zoomed back out, showing the collapse of civilization as cities, states, and eventually entire countries were consumed by the infection.
Six months later, the television finally went dark, the signal extinguished.
Over Two Years Later
Date: 9/21/25
Time: 5:43 PM
The same apartment was now a monument to decay. Dust blanketed every surface. The elderly woman's corpse lay slumped in her chair, her once vibrant life reduced to a skeleton draped in tattered cloth. The Colt Anaconda sat on the floor, now covered in cobwebs and rusted with time.
We'll pan outside, revealing the world beyond. Vines and moss had claimed the towering buildings of New York City, their once-pristine facades now overgrown with nature's relentless grip. Rusted cars sat frozen in the streets, their glass shattered and frames blanketed with grime.
The world was silent, save for the soft rustling of leaves and the distant cries of scavenging birds. We'll continue to pan out, revealing the skyline of a once-thriving metropolis, now reduced to a ghost town.
New York City, once the city that never slept, had become a mausoleum of forgotten lives and shattered dreams.
Two sets of boots crunched against the cracked concrete, kicking up small clouds of dust as they came to a stop. Panning upward, revealing Jason and Elijah, older now, their faces hardened by the passage of time and the horrors they had endured. Jason's hand rested on the grip of a Beretta 92, while Elijah's fingers curled tightly around the stock of a 12-gauge shotgun. Their clothes were worn, patched in places, and stained from countless battles of survival.
Jason's gaze fixed on the rusted fountain before them. The structure was a shadow of its former self, its once pristine water long gone. What remained was a stagnant pool of dark green, a breeding ground for insects that hovered and buzzed above its surface.
"I remember this place," Jason murmured, his voice tinged with melancholy. "This is where we hung out for the last time… had ice cream together." His eyes lingered on the fountain, the ghost of a bittersweet smile fading as quickly as it had appeared.
Elijah sighed, his expression heavy. "Yeah," he said softly, "who wouldn't remember?" His tone carried a sadness that matched the desolation around them.
Jason took a hesitant step closer to the fountain, leaning over to peer into the murky water. As he stared at his reflection, the image shifted. A phantom face emerged behind his own—Mason's. The familiar features stared back at him, expressionless yet accusing. Jason's breath hitched, and his body tensed. A cold sweat began to form on his brow as the guilt he carried surged to the surface, raw and unrelenting.
He stumbled back, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Elijah noticed his friend's unease and placed a steadying hand on Jason's shoulder. "Hey," Elijah said, his voice cutting through the haze. "Let's head back to the others. We've already got enough food and water for now."
Jason blinked a few times, trying to shake the haunting vision. He nodded, his jaw tightening as he forced himself to focus. "Yeah… yeah, you're right."
Without another word, the two turned and broke into a sprint, leaving the fountain behind. As they ran, Jason couldn't help but glance back over his shoulder, half-expecting to see Mason's ghost still lingering there. But the fountain was empty, save for the stagnant water and the buzz of insects.
The setting sun cast an orange glow over the decayed cityscape as Chris sat on the edge of a crumbling rooftop. His thick beard, unkempt and wild, nearly obscured the hard lines of his face. His gaze was fixed downward, watching the desolate street below. The faint rustle of wind carried with it the distant groans of the undead, blending with the eerie silence that had become the world's new normal.
The creak of the rooftop door broke the quiet, followed by the soft crunch of boots on gravel. Brayden stepped out, his silhouette outlined by the fading sunlight. His hair had grown long, brushing against his shoulders, and a patchy beard framed his weary face. Despite the rugged exterior, his voice carried a tentative warmth.
"Hey, Chris," Brayden called gently, keeping his tone casual. "You sure you don't wanna come down for dinner? The others were asking about you."
Chris didn't turn around. His shoulders remained stiff, his focus never leaving the cracked pavement far below. "No," he replied, his voice cold and distant, the single word cutting through the stillness like a blade.
Brayden hesitated, the weight of the moment pressing against him. He knew better than to push. "Alright," he said softly, his words carrying both acceptance and a tinge of sadness. He lingered for a moment longer before turning away, his boots crunching faintly as he made his way back to the door. The hinges groaned as it closed behind him, leaving Chris alone once more.
The silence returned, heavier than before. Chris's stoic expression didn't falter, but a tear slid down his weathered cheek, carving a path through the dirt and grime that clung to his face. He didn't move to wipe it away, his features frozen as if carved from stone.
Above him, the sky began to dim, the stars faintly flickering into view. Chris stayed on the edge, the weight of his thoughts pressing down as heavily as the broken world around him.
Brayden descended the apartment's dimly lit staircase, the creak of each step echoing in the stillness. He felt a twinge of guilt for leaving Chris alone on the roof, but he quickly shook it off. Chris was a man of solitude—it wasn't Brayden's job to change that.
Halfway down, Gabi appeared at the landing, leaning against the stair railing. Her frame was thinner now, her cheekbones more pronounced, a stark reminder of the toll survival had taken on all of them.
"So, is he coming or what?" Gabi asked, her tone carrying equal parts curiosity and impatience.
Reaching the last step, Brayden sighed. "No," he replied, keeping his voice low. "You know Chris doesn't like being bothered."
Gabi rolled her eyes, the faintest hint of irritation crossing her face. "Yeah, well, we all know he's the reason this mess even happened. The least he could do is hang out with us or, I don't know, act like he cares."
Brayden hesitated before responding, his tone measured. "Maybe he's better off alone. Let him deal with it in his own way."
"Whatever," Gabi muttered, her shoulders slumping as she turned her gaze elsewhere.
An awkward silence settled between them, broken suddenly by the unmistakable crash of shattering glass from one of the lower apartments. Brayden and Gabi froze, their eyes meeting in mutual frustration. Moments later, the muffled sound of two men arguing reached their ears, the heated voices rising with every word.
"Of course," Gabi muttered under her breath.
Brayden rubbed his temples and exhaled sharply. "Why is it always them?"
Without another word, the two sprinted down the staircase, their hurried footsteps adding to the chaos.
Inside the dimly lit apartment, the remnants of a shattered plate scattered across the cracked wooden floor. The tension in the room was palpable. Jay stood a few feet away, his body coiled with anger, glaring at Diego, a young Colombian man with sharp features and a defiant stance.
"Clean that shit up, you faggot," Jay spat, his voice brimming with venom.
Diego's expression didn't falter. "Maybe if you kept your crap on your side, this wouldn't have happened," he snapped back, his tone firm but controlled.
Jay stepped forward, his fist tightening. "So, what you wanna do? I'll beat your ass right here, nigga."
Before the confrontation could escalate, the door flew open. Brayden and Gabi rushed in, their faces reflecting equal parts frustration and concern.
"The hell's going on here?" Gabi demanded, her eyes darting between the two men.
Diego turned to her, exhaling sharply. "I knocked over his plate because he left it too close to my side. It was an accident."
Jay scoffed loudly. "Near your side, not on your side. There's a difference."
Gabi moved closer, standing beside Diego. "Jay, just keep your stuff where it's supposed to be. This isn't rocket science."
Diego smirked faintly, clearly pleased to have Gabi in his corner.
Brayden stepped between the two men, holding his hands up in a gesture of peace. "Let's all take a breath and just eat some damn dinner. This isn't worth it."
But Jay wasn't backing down. He pointed a finger at Diego, his voice rising. "Why the hell did we even bring this fag with us? Huh? He cost us a whole bag of supplies just so we could save his sorry ass."
Diego's face darkened, and he retaliated. The shouting escalated, their words colliding in a cacophony of accusations and insults. Gabi tried to pull Diego back, speaking calmly in his ear, while Brayden held a hand on Jay's chest, attempting to de-escalate him.
The room felt like it might burst with tension when the door slammed open again, silencing everyone. Ryan stood in the doorway, rifle in hand, his steely gaze sweeping over the chaos. Behind him, Jason and Elijah hovered, their expressions weary.
"Are we really still doing this?" Ryan's voice cut through the air, calm but weighted with authority. He slammed his fist against the doorframe for emphasis. "Sort it out. Now."
The room fell silent, the heat of the argument dissipating under Ryan's glare.
Hours later, night settled in. Rain hammered against the windows, and distant thunder rolled through the sky. The sound of the storm outside matched the unsettled tension still lingering in the apartment.
The dimly lit apartment room flickered with the soft glow of candlelight, casting long, wavering shadows on the walls. Around a scratched wooden table, Brayden, Gabi, Jason, Elijah, Jay, Ryan, and Diego sat in uneasy silence, each with a plate of dry, uncooked food. The atmosphere was heavy, the quiet crackle of the candle flames doing little to mask the weight of their shared discomfort.
Elijah broke the silence first, tearing a piece of stale bread. "How are the ziplines looking?" he asked between bites.
"They're sturdy enough," Brayden replied without much enthusiasm.
Diego leaned back in his chair, his tone laced with sarcasm. "Would be even better if Jay wasn't too scared to try them out."
Jay's hand slammed against the table, sending crumbs scattering. "The hell do I fucking look like to you? A test dummy? I ain't risking my life for a damn test."
Diego smirked, unfazed. "Kinda do look like one, though."
Jay shot up from his seat, his eyes blazing. "Say that shit again faggot."
Ryan's voice boomed across the room, sharp and commanding. "Sit. Down. All of you. Eat your damn food."
The tension thickened but settled as Jay muttered curses under his breath and grabbed his plate. With a scowl, he moved to the far corner of the room, isolating himself. Diego let out a quiet, smug laugh, earning a glare from Brayden.
"I'm going to check on Chris," Gabi announced suddenly, rising from her chair.
Brayden frowned, his tone cautious. "That's a bad idea. Leave him be."
She shook her head. "I don't care. He's part of this group whether he likes it or not." Without waiting for a response, she strode out of the room, her footsteps fading into the hall.
Ryan shifted his gaze to the others. "We need to move soon," he said, his voice low but resolute. "I think it's time to head for the Statue of Liberty."
Jason raised an eyebrow, pausing mid-bite. "That old story about people living there? I thought it was just a story we made up."
Ryan leaned forward, his expression serious. "I thought so too—until a couple of hours ago. I was scavenging for supplies in a store and overheard two people talking. They mentioned the statue needing more materials to get through winter. It's real."
Diego scoffed as he stood, clearly unimpressed. "Yeah, sure, you heard voices. Doesn't mean you saw anything."
Ryan was on his feet in an instant, his temper flaring. "I'm the only one who's been keeping this group alive with real plans. You? You've been dead weight since day one."
Diego smirked, unbothered. "Eat a horsecock, Ryan," he said, turning to leave the room.
Jay chuckled darkly from his corner. "Should've left him to the zombies when we had the chance."
Brayden placed a hand on Ryan's shoulder. "We'll check it out tomorrow. No need to argue."
Ryan sighed, nodding as the sound of thunder rumbled outside. Rain pattered against the window, its steady rhythm filling the silence that followed. The group finished their meager meal in relative quiet, each lost in their own thoughts.
Suddenly, the door burst open, and Diego stumbled in, dripping wet from the rain. His face was pale, his breaths coming in panicked gasps.
"Chris has Gabi!" he shouted, his voice cracking with urgency.
The room froze for a moment as the words sunk in. Ryan was the first to react, grabbing his rifle and shoving past Diego without hesitation. "Move!" he barked.
The others scrambled to their feet, Brayden grabbing a flashlight while Jason and Elijah armed themselves with whatever they could find. Together, they charged into the storm, the heavy rain pounding against their backs as they followed Ryan's lead.
Rain lashed against the rooftop, the relentless storm soaking everything in sight. Chris stood at the edge, clutching Gabi tightly, the gleaming blade of his Rambo knife pressed dangerously close to her neck. His eyes, puffy and hollow, brimmed with tears that mingled with the rain. Gabi trembled in his grasp, her own tears trailing down her cheeks.
The rooftop door burst open with a crash. Ryan emerged first, his rifle slung over his shoulder, his eyes locked on Chris. One by one, Brayden, Diego, Jason, Elijah, and Jay followed, their faces etched with alarm.
Ryan took a cautious step forward, his voice steady but pleading. "Chris, let her go. Please. We can fix this."
Chris's grip tightened as he let out a broken, anguished cry. "FIX THIS? WE DON'T BELONG HERE ANYMORE! I DON'T BELONG HERE ANYMORE! I LOST MY SON! AND I MADE THIS WORLD WHAT IT IS! THIS IS ALL MY FAULT!" His voice cracked, and he sobbed openly, the rain masking nothing.
"Chris," Jason said suddenly, stepping forward. His voice was firm but laced with raw emotion. "You're not the only one living with guilt."
Chris's head snapped toward Jason, his eyes narrowing slightly, but his hand faltered just a bit.
Jason continued, his voice rising. "When all of this started, I let someone down—a friend. Mason. I failed him."
Brayden, Elijah, and Jay turned to Jason, confusion crossing their faces. The storm raged on as Jason's confession poured out.
"A zombie jumped him, and I just froze, too scared to help. I couldn't move! Then, when we climbed that ladder, I left him. I left Mason to die!" His voice broke, tears now mixing with the rain streaming down his face. "That's on me. It's my fault he's not standing here with us right now."
Chris's grip on the knife weakened, his arm lowering slightly as his gaze softened. "We're… not the same," he murmured.
Jason took another step forward. "We are, Chris. All of us are carrying this weight. But we can't do it alone. Let Gabi go, and we'll talk. We'll figure this out together. Please."
Chris's hand shook as he dropped the knife with a clatter. He shoved Gabi forward, and she stumbled into Diego's arms. He embraced her tightly, relief flooding his face.
Jason gave Chris a small, hopeful smile and took another step toward him. "Thank you. We can—"
Before he could finish, Chris turned abruptly and climbed onto the edge of the roof.
"No!" Jason screamed, his smile vanishing as he lunged forward. "Chris, don't do this!"
Chris stood motionless for a moment, staring down at the rain-soaked street below. Without a word, he stepped forward and let himself fall.
The group rushed to the edge, watching in horror as Chris plummeted through the air. He slammed into the roof of a car, the impact shattering the windshield and spraying blood across the hood. The rain quickly washed the blood into crimson streaks.
Jason staggered back, his face a mask of anguish. "No… no…"
A sudden, piercing car alarm shattered the stunned silence, its shrill beeping echoing through the storm.
The group froze as the sound carried through the desolate streets, bouncing off the walls of buildings and into dark alleyways. A low growl rose in the distance, then another. From the shadows emerged the first zombies, their decayed faces twisting toward the noise.
One by one, they emerged—hundreds of them. Shambling at first, then breaking into a hungry sprint. The horde surged toward the car and the fresh body atop it.
Below, Chris's corpse was dragged off the hood, his mangled face scraping against broken glass as the zombies tore into him. Blood sprayed across the pavement, mingling with the relentless downpour.
On the rooftop, the group watched in mounting horror as the undead swarmed, their building surrounded in mere moments.
Brayden's fists clenched at his sides, his face contorting with rage. The sound of the beeping car alarm mixed with the growls of the zombies below as we cut to black.
The End
Author: Theater Writers