"What do we do, Ethan?" Chris asked, his voice tight with panic as he stared at the swarm closing in from both directions—easily a thousand zombies now.

Up until now, they'd had it relatively easy. Ethan's [True Sight] let them avoid large groups before they ever got close. They'd never been surrounded like this.

But with nearly 28,000 zombies on campus, it was only a matter of time. Getting boxed in like this? This was the apocalypse they'd been lucky enough to dodge—until now.

Honestly, the fact they'd survived this long, wandering around outside every day, was already a damn miracle.

Ethan's heart pounded. He hadn't expected a trip to Patterson Hall to turn into a death trap.

Their position was terrible. Ahead of them, nearly five hundred zombies blocked the path. Behind them, the screaming girls were still running straight toward them, dragging another horde in their wake.

To the left and right were dorm buildings. The right side was the back of a building—no exits, no windows low enough to climb. The left side was the front of another dorm, and its main entrance was right in the middle of the zombie crowd.

Those girls had probably been trying to get back to their dorms—only to find the place already crawling with the dead.

"Chris, Henry—get ready to fight!" Ethan barked. "We have to break through to that door. If we can get inside, we're safe."

Chris and Henry followed his gaze to the dorm entrance. Their faces tightened. Five hundred zombies stood between them and safety.

But they knew Ethan was right. If the two hordes merged, they'd be trapped in the middle. Game over.

"Get ready. Go!"

Ethan charged first, barbell bar in hand. Chris and Henry were right behind him.

They slammed into the front line of zombies like a wrecking ball. Ethan's barbell bar came down hard, smashing through skulls. The first three zombies dropped instantly, heads bursting like overripe fruit.

But there were too many. Before the bodies even hit the ground, more zombies surged forward to take their place.

Chris and Henry joined the fray, swinging with everything they had. The three of them fought their way forward, step by brutal step, until they were completely surrounded.

Back to back, they formed a tight triangle, each man covering a direction, weapons rising and falling in a blur of motion.

Above them, Pumpkin had already scampered up the side of the building and perched on a second-floor windowsill, tail flicking lazily as it watched the chaos below.

No way were they trapping a cat in a place with walls. Not happening.

The three men glanced up at it, envy written all over their faces. Species privilege. Unbeatable.

As for asking Pumpkin to help? Pointless. In a situation like this, it'd be more of a liability than an asset.

The zombies kept coming, wave after wave, hurling themselves at the trio with mindless hunger. The barbell bars crushed skulls with every swing, but for every one they dropped, five more took its place.

These things didn't feel fear. They didn't hesitate. They just kept coming.

And mixed in with the regular ones were Tier 1 zombies—faster, stronger, harder to kill. The pressure mounted fast.

The barbell bars were powerful, sure—great for wide, sweeping attacks—but they were heavy as hell. Every swing drained energy. Every kill cost stamina.

And in a crowd this size, there was no room for finesse. If a zombie got too close, the barbell bar became a liability—too slow, too unwieldy.

If it had been just a few dozen zombies, they could've kept them at bay easily. But hundreds? That was a different story.

And once the zombies got close enough to grab?

There was no way to avoid getting hit. No matter how hard they fought, they were starting to bleed.

Ethan, leading the charge, was under crushing pressure. The wall of zombies ahead was so dense it felt like trying to punch through concrete with bare hands. Every time he smashed one down, another filled its place like water rushing into a broken dam.

They were moving—barely. Inch by inch.

Behind them, the group of girls had finally realized what was happening up ahead. But instead of turning back, they kept running straight toward the chaos. They had no other choice.

"Hey! Help us! We've got a better shot if we work together!" the one in front shouted. She was in a tracksuit, hair matted with sweat, eyes wild with desperation.

Chris glanced at the horde chasing them—easily five or six hundred strong—and muttered, "Yeah, or we all die faster."

Even Henry, who usually couldn't resist playing the hero, didn't say a word. He knew. Trying to save anyone right now would just get them all killed.

Some of the zombies surrounding the trio peeled off, drawn by the fresh prey. It gave them a moment of breathing room—but it wouldn't last. Once the girls' pursuers caught up, the real storm would hit.

Ethan knew it too. His heart pounded as he glanced at the dorm entrance—less than twenty feet away.

But every step forward felt like dragging a mountain. The closer they got, the harder it became.

Then the screaming stopped.

The girls had been swallowed by the horde. Just like that.

No one said anything. There was no time to mourn. No time to look back. The zombies that had been chasing the girls were now turning toward them.

Chris and Henry, covering the rear, suddenly found themselves under twice the pressure.

Ethan clenched his jaw, then roared and shoved his barbell bar forward, jamming it into the chest of the zombie in front of him. He pushed with everything he had, muscles straining, feet grinding against the blood-slick pavement.

The zombie stumbled back, crashing into the one behind it. Ethan didn't stop. He kept pushing, driving the bar forward like a battering ram.

One zombie fell. Then another. Then another.

They piled up like dominoes—ten, fifteen, twenty deep—until Ethan couldn't push anymore. He'd cleared over ten feet in one brutal surge.

But the cost was steep.

With both hands locked on the bar, he couldn't defend himself from the sides. Zombies clawed at him, teeth sinking into his arms, shoulders, back. Blood soaked through his shirt in seconds.

"Ethan! Switch out!" Chris shouted, eyes blazing. He grabbed Ethan and yanked him back, stepping into his place and swinging hard to hold the line.

"I'll heal you—just hold still!" Henry said, already reaching for him.

"No!" Ethan barked, breath ragged. "We're almost there. I can still fight."

They were less than six feet from the door now. But the last stretch was the worst—zombies packed so tight they were practically fused together. There was no room to swing, no space to breathe.

Then—

"Meow!"

A sharp cry cut through the chaos.

Pumpkin, who'd been lounging on a second-floor windowsill like a smug little bastard, suddenly leapt into the fray.

It landed on a zombie's head with a thud, claws flashing. Then it sprang to another, and another, tearing into faces, eyes, throats—moving so fast it was a blur of orange fur and blood.

The zombies in front turned, distracted by the sudden feline assault. Several lunged at Pumpkin, giving the trio a narrow opening.

Chris didn't hesitate. He surged forward, shoulder-checking a zombie out of the way and barreling through the gap.

Ethan and Henry followed, sprinting the last few feet.

They hit the door, shoved it open, and dove inside. Henry slammed it shut behind them, and Chris threw the bolt.

The iron door clanged shut just as the first zombie slammed into it from the outside.

Without a word, the three of them turned and bolted up the stairs, hearts pounding, lungs burning, blood dripping from their wounds.

But they were alive. For now.

...

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