The zombie lurched forward, its cloudy eyes fixed on him.
Ben's throat tightened. He had never fought anyone in his life, let alone… this.
The pipe in his hand felt clumsy, heavy, useless. His palms were slick with sweat.
It's just one. Just swing. Just survive.
The creature staggered closer, mouth hanging open, black drool dripping from its lips. The stench hit him—rot, iron, and something chemical, like acid burning his nose.
"Stay back!" Ben shouted, his voice cracking.
The zombie didn't listen. It never could.
It lunged.
Ben swung the pipe with every ounce of strength left in his body. Metal cracked against bone. The thing's skull caved halfway, but it didn't fall. It clawed at his arm, tearing through the fabric of his hospital gown.
Panic surged. Ben shoved it back, his legs nearly giving out. The world blurred. Adrenaline roared in his veins louder than his heartbeat.
Another swing—this time lower. The pipe struck the side of its neck. A wet crunch. The zombie toppled to the floor, twitching. Its fingers clawed the air once, then stilled.
Silence.
Ben collapsed beside the corpse, gasping. His hands shook so hard he almost dropped the pipe.
I killed it… I killed it.
He wanted to throw up, but nothing came. His stomach was empty, just like his memory. How long had he slept? Days? Years? Everyone he knew… were they all like this now?
The thought chilled him more than the corpse at his feet.
Then—
Clang!
The sound echoed from the hallway. Metal on concrete. Deliberate. Not the random stumble of a monster.
Ben froze. His breath caught.
And then—faint, trembling, human.
"...Is someone there?"
A girl's voice.