William told Vella to rest first. Her body was shaking from exhaustion, and her eyelids were so heavy they could barely stay open. Without arguing, she lay down against the cold wall and quickly drifted into a restless sleep.
While Vella slept, William quietly gathered the guns and hid them in different places around the room.
It wasn't that he didn't trust her.
But the world had changed.
People changed when fear and survival took over. Even good people could make desperate choices.
Outside the building, the night was eerily quiet, broken only by the distant, chilling groans of the infected wandering somewhere in the darkness.
After hiding the weapons, William slipped into the bathroom and took a quick shower. The cold water washed away the blood, dirt, and sweat from the battles he had fought earlier that day. His muscles ached, and bruises covered his arms and ribs, but he forced himself to stay focused.
They were still alive. That was all that mattered.
Afterward, William began preparing their supplies. He packed food, bottles of water, flashlights, batteries, medicine, and every other essential item he could find. In this world, every single supply meant another chance to survive.
Once everything was ready, William gently woke Vella.
"Vella... wake up. Your shift."
She slowly opened her eyes, still groggy from exhaustion, but she nodded and sat up.
William was too tired after fighting all day. His body felt like it would collapse if he stayed awake any longer. The two of them took turns guarding the area through the night, making sure nothing—or no one—came too close.
When morning came, the pale sunlight barely pushed through the dirty windows.
William strapped on his holster and slid several magazines into it. Two bags were waiting near the door. William carried the heavier one, packed with most of the supplies, while Vella carried the lighter bag.
They moved slowly down the stairs, careful not to make any noise.
The building creaked softly with every step.
Vella broke the silence.
"What's the plan?"
William glanced toward the exit door.
"The plan?" he said quietly. "We get out of this city as soon as possible."
They decided to leave through the exit door instead of the main entrance. It was safer, less exposed.
When they stepped into the narrow alley outside, William suddenly froze.
Zombies.
A lot of them.
Dozens of infected wandered aimlessly through the streets, their bodies twisted and decayed, their hollow groans echoing between the buildings.
William frowned in confusion.
"How...?" he muttered under his breath. "They weren't here yesterday."
The situation had changed overnight.
William turned to Vella.
"How far is the bridge that gets us out of this city?"
Vella tilted her head slightly, thinking.
"Based on the city map of Staleford... it should be about twenty-nine kilometers from here."
William sighed quietly.
"That'll take days on foot... especially if we have to avoid these insane people."
He slowly scanned the surroundings, carefully studying every corner, every shadow.
One wrong move could get them surrounded.
They began sneaking through the alley, crouching low and moving quietly to stay out of the zombies' sight.
Step by step.
Slow.
Silent.
They finally reached the end of the alley.
William quickly ducked behind a large rusted dumpster and carefully peeked around the corner. His eyes widened.
The road ahead was crawling with zombies.
Dozens of them staggered across the street, bumping into cars and dragging their broken limbs across the pavement.
William hesitated.
Moving forward now would be suicide.
Then suddenly—
A desperate voice shattered the silence.
"HELP! HELP!"
Both William and Vella froze.
The cry echoed somewhere nearby.
Someone was still alive.
But in this world... a cry for help could also be a trap.