I panted heavily as I sprinted toward the door. Just as I burst through, it slammed shut behind me, the deafening sound cutting off the relentless moans of the zombies right on my heels. The three men with me had managed to close it just in time.
We all gasped for breath, our chests heaving as we tried to steady ourselves.
"We just need to go up one more floor, and we'll be on the rooftop," the military man said, his voice strained but resolute. "We only have to endure one more floor, and then we'll survive this."
"How much time do we have left, oriental girl?" the tattooed man demanded.
"One hour before 10 P.M.," I panted, struggling to catch my breath.
"Given how things are going so far, I think we'll make it. Our timing will depend on the situation on the next floor," the military man said, his eyes darting nervously as he assessed the group. "Do you all want to take a breather now, or should we press on?"
"I think it's smarter to keep moving," the terrified man said, his voice shaky. "We can rest once we're on the rooftop."
I agreed with the plan. When the military man's gaze turned to me, I gave a firm nod.
"Alright. We'll head to the next floor now. Is everyone ready?"
We all nodded in unspoken agreement, silently acknowledging that he would take charge. It felt natural, given his extensive experience and his role as a veteran soldier. His authority was palpable, and it was clear he knew how to lead us through the chaos.
"Are you holding up alright?" the military man asked, his eyes scanning me with genuine concern.
"Yes," I said.
Your source is m-vl|em|p,yr
"You must have endured a lot to survive this apocalypse at such a young age. I'm guessing you were still in high school when it all started," he said, his voice carrying a mix of sympathy and admiration.
"...Well, I was in my third year of high school when it happened," I confessed.
"I see," the military man said, his gaze softening with a hint of sympathy. The way he looked at me was reminiscent of how a father might gaze at his daughter—tender and protective. It was a stark contrast to my own father, who was nothing more than a scumbag. I was relieved he was already among the infected.
"I bet you and my daughter would get along famously if you two ever met," he added with a wistful smile.
His expression made it seem like he was seeing his daughter in me. I couldn't relate, though. My own father was so vile that, if I had to imagine someone in that role, it would probably be this tattooed man.
With a collective heave, we slammed the door open with all our might, using the momentum to force the cluster of Demon Zombies back. The groaning creatures staggered, their grotesque forms momentarily disoriented by the sudden shove.
We immediately sprang into action, the air thick with the stench of decay and the screeches of the Demons. Weapons were drawn and our protective gear clattered as we engaged the horde. Each swing of our blades cut through the air with a brutal efficiency, and the sharp crack of our firearms punctuated the chaos.
The Demons, disoriented and reeling from our initial push, began to regroup, their numbers still overwhelming but their movements becoming more erratic.
Our strategy was clear: keep the pressure on them, push them back further into the corner, and create a path for us to advance. As we fought, the floor beneath us became slick with blood and the remnants of the Demons, adding a layer of treacherous footing to our struggle. With every step, we maneuvered carefully, eyes scanning for the next threat as we fought our way forward.
We finally found a slight gap and seized the opportunity, rushing through it. We made it to the other side, though there were still plenty of Demon Zombies left behind. With the way clear for now, we decided to head straight for the door.
It didn't dawn on us that the door might not open as easily as it had on the other floors. We were so accustomed to smooth progress that we didn't anticipate any problems.
"Fuck...! It won't open!" the tattooed man shouted, panic creeping into his voice.
The Demon Zombies were closing in fast. We were on the verge of being surrounded.
The military man used his body to slam into the door, shattering it. But in doing so, we lost our chance to block the horde with it.
"Head for the rooftop!" he ordered urgently.
We scrambled up the stairs, finding the door to the rooftop easily accessible. The three of us rushed toward it, but the zombies were closing in fast. If we didn't get the door shut soon, they'd be on us, turning our escape into a dead end.
It was then that...
"Eh?"
The tattooed man suddenly kicked the terrified man, who was still struggling to pass through the rooftop door and was lagging behind, right into the waiting horde of zombies. The Demons immediately swarmed over him, tearing him apart with brutal efficiency. His protective gear proved useless as they crushed his bones and shredded his flesh.
He was devoured alive, his screams echoing through the chaos. Blood gurgled from his mouth as the zombies feasted on him.
The tattooed man slammed the door shut and quickly secured it with a rusty metal bar, bending it into place to lock it firmly.
We were safe for the moment, with nothing left to worry about except waiting for the rescuer.
But my mind was struggling to process what had just happened.