The splintering wood and the muffled, terrified sobs from within only seemed to energize the three men. The leader grinned, high on this new, sick power.
"Almost got it, boys!"
As the leader and another man braced for a final tackle, the third man, acting as a lookout, suddenly stiffened. A hand was on his shoulder. Before he could even turn, that hand slid up, cupped his chin, while the other grabbed the back of his skull. A single, violent, practiced twist. The man's neck snapped with a wet thud as he collapsed, his spine severed.
The sound of the 180-pound body hitting the floor alerted the others. They spun around, their bravado vanishing, replaced by shocked confusion. They saw the man on the ground, his head at an impossible angle. They saw the stranger standing where he had been, his face an expressionless mask in the dim, red emergency light.
"You... you crazy bastard! You killed him!" one shouted, a mix of fear and rage.
"He's a murderer! Get him!"
As the remaining three fanned out and lunged at him, the MC spoke. His voice was cold, flat, not directed at them, but at the world itself.
"It only took a few hours. From civilized people to animals."
The first one threw a wild, telegraphed punch. The MC stepped inside it, driving his elbow into the man's throat, crushing his windpipe. The man gagged, clutching his neck as he fell.
The second, the leader, tried to tackle him. The MC met the charge, drove his knee into the man's solar plexus, and as he doubled over, brought his joined fists down on the back of his neck.
The third had frozen, his eyes wide with terror. He'd seen his friends dispatched in less than five seconds. He turned to run. He didn't make two steps before the MC was on him, tackling him from behind and ending the fight with a swift, final thrust of his knife.
Silence flooded the hallway, broken only by the MC's heavy breathing and the distant, constant sound of screams from outside the building.
He wiped his knife on the shirt of the leader, sheathed it, and nudged the shattered, splintered door. It groaned open.
He stepped inside. The room was dark. "Hello?"
No answer. The bed was made. The desk was clear. He scanned the room, his eyes adjusting. He saw the large, built-in wooden wardrobe.
He let out a long, heavy sigh. He didn't move toward it. Instead, he sat down, his back against the wall, about ten feet away from the wardrobe door. He was intentionally making himself non-threatening.
"It's okay," he said, his voice now gentle, the coldness gone. "They're gone. The bad guys won't bother you anymore."
A tiny, muffled hiccup came from inside the wardrobe.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he continued, his voice low and calm. He unzipped his backpack, pulled out an unopened bottle of water and one of his protein bars. "I have food. And water. You can come out. I'll just... I'll leave them here for you."
He started to place them on the floor.
The wardrobe door creaked open. A girl was huddled inside, curled into a ball. Her makeup was smeared in black, tearful streaks down her face. Her white t-shirt was torn at the shoulder. She was staring at him, her entire body shaking, like a cornered animal.
He held out the water and the bar. "You're safe."
She watched him for a long, agonizing moment. Then, with a sudden, desperate movement, she scrambled out, snatched the items, and scurried to the far corner of the room, pressing herself against the wall, never taking her eyes off him.
He simply nodded, letting her. He waited patiently as she tore the bar open with shaking hands and drank the water in three long, gasping gulps.
When she finished, the silence returned.
"My name is Alex," he said.
He got to his feet slowly, showing her his empty hands. "Do you have a key to another room? Your roommate's? An RA's office? Anywhere on this floor with a door that locks."
"I'm Alice."
"Alice," Alex nodded. He looked from her to the broken, useless door, then back. "Okay, Alice. We can't stay here. This room isn't safe. Do you have a key to another room? Your roommate's? An RA's office? Anywhere on this floor with a door that locks."
She shook her head, her eyes still wide, but the tears had stopped. "Not... not here. My friend, Sarah... she's in Carman Hall. The next building over." She was starting to think, the fog clearing. "She gave me her spare key... we were supposed to..." She trailed off.
Alex processed this. John Jay to Carman. Not connected. They'd have to go outside.
He glanced into the hallway at the four bodies he'd just created.
"Those men," he said, his voice a low calculation. "All their noise... and now... this." He gestured to the corpses. "This is a dinner bell. All the noise, the blood. This floor, this building, will be swarming in ten minutes. We have to go."
He made the decision. "Okay. Carman Hall it is. It's doable. Grab only what you need. A change of clothes, your phone, a bag. We leave in 60 seconds."
The clear, decisive order cut through her panic. She nodded, grabbed her backpack from the one corner the men hadn't touched, and stuffed a few items in.
Alex led the way back to the stairwell, his knife drawn. "No noise," he whispered, "I go first. Step where I step."
They descended the eight flights in agonizing silence. The lobby was even worse than before. The infected, drawn by the initial screams and the shattering glass, were a thick, shuffling mass at the front doors, trying to get in.
"They're focused," Alex breathed, pointing to the main entrance. "We're going out the side exit. Stay low, and when I say run, you run. Don't stop for anything. Understood?"
Alice just nodded, her knuckles white on her backpack strap.
They slipped out the side door into the frigid night air. The quad between the two dorms was a dark, open space. A 30-second sprint.
"Run," he said.
They ran. They made it to the main door of Carman Hall. It was ajar, a body half-in, half-out, jamming it open.
Alex pushed it wide enough to slip through, pulling Alice in after him.
The inside of Carman was different. The air was thick with the smell of copper. Bloodstains were smeared on the walls. It was quieter. A "hunted" building.
"4th floor," Alice whispered.
"Stairs. No elevators, ever."
This was a different kind of hunt. On the 2nd-floor landing, Alex held up a hand. Stop. He'd heard it. A wet, shuffling sound. He peered around the corner. A single infected, back turned, clawing at a dorm room door.
Alex moved like a shadow. Before Alice could even process it, he had one hand over the thing's mouth, the other driving his knife into its temple. He eased the body to the ground.
He did this three more times on the 3rd floor, silent, brutal, and terrifyingly efficient.
They reached the 4th-floor stairwell door. Alex listened, then eased it open.
And ran straight into a "pod."
Three infected, maybe roommates, were stumbling out of the common room, alerted by the click of the fire door. There was no time for stealth.
"Wall!" Alex yelled, shoving Alice hard against the cinderblock. "Don't move!"
It wasn't a fight. It was a brawl. He tackled the first one, using its body as a shield. He kicked the second in the knee, shattering the joint, and shoved it back into the third. His Leatherman blade was a blur of motion. It was ugly, desperate, and filled with grunts and the wet, percussive sounds of stabs.
It was over in twenty seconds. Alex was left standing, breathing heavily, splattered in dark blood, surrounded by three fresh corpses.
He turned to check on Alice. She was pressed flat against the wall, pale and shaking, her hand over her mouth. But her eyes... she wasn't looking at him with terror. She was looking at the dead things, then at him, her eyes wide. And in them, he saw a tiny, hard glint of resolve flicker to life. She was seeing, for the first time, what survival looked like.
"Which room?" Alex panted, wiping his knife on his jeans.
"418," she whispered.
She fumbled with the key, her hands shaking too much. Alex put his hand over hers, steadying it. "I got it." He took the key, slid it into the lock, and pushed the door open, his body blocking the entrance.
He scanned the dark room. Empty. Two beds, two desks. It was clean.
He moved in, pulling her with him. He shut the door, locked it, and shoved a heavy wooden desk chair under the knob, bracing it.
The silence of the room was a deafening relief.
Alex finally let out a long, shuddering breath. The adrenaline crash hit him, and he slumped down on the small dorm-room couch, suddenly exhausted. He pulled his backpack off and dropped it to the floor, unpacking his small haul.
"Okay," he said, his voice rough. He cleared his throat. "If... if you don't find it too uncomfortable... we should both stay in here. For safety. Easier to watch one door than two."
Alice was still standing by the door, watching him. There was a long pause as she processed everything that had just happened. Finally, she gave a single, jerky nod.
Alex saw the nod, the distant look in her eyes. He shrugged, breaking eye contact, mistaking her stunned processing for pure shock.
He stood up, needing to be practical. "There's a shower. You... you should take it first. Get clean." He gestured vaguely at the blood on his own shirt. "I'll... I'll prepare dinner."
He held up two protein bars and a bottle of water, a grim mockery of a meal.
The bathroom door clicked shut, and Alice leaned her head against the cold tile, the sound of the spray filling the small room.
Ten minutes. That's what he'd given her.
The hot water was a shock, stinging her skin, but she welcomed it. It was real. It was washing away the blood, the grime, the smell of that hallway.
Her mind, finally safe from the immediate, shrieking terror, began to process.
Alex.
He was a contradiction. He'd moved through that hallway like a ghost. The way he'd killed those... things... it wasn't panic. It was practiced. It was terrifying. He'd dispatched those three men in the dorm room with a cold, brutal efficiency that should have made her sick.
But it didn't. It made her feel safe.
And then he'd sat on the floor, ten feet away, and offered her food. He hadn't looked at her like... like they had. He'd looked at her like a person.
Mina.
The thought hit her like a physical blow, and she almost doubled over in the shower. Her little sister. Mina. She'd faked a cough this morning, said she had a fever. She'd wanted to skip her mid-term. She was at their apartment, just twelve blocks from here. Alone.
Alice started to scrub her skin raw, her breath catching in a sob. She was safe, for now, but Mina...
She had to get to Mina. But how? She'd seen the streets. She'd be dead in five minutes.
But he wouldn't.
A cold, desperate calculation formed in her mind. He was strong. He was skilled. He was the only person she'd ever met who looked... prepared... for this. He was her only chance to save her sister.
But what did she have to offer him? Nothing. She had no skills, no weapons, no food. The world had changed. Those men in the dorm, they'd shown her what the new currency was.
She grimaced, her eyes squeezing shut. If he was kind... maybe he'd just help. But she couldn't risk it. She had to guarantee it. She had to give him something he'd want, something to keep him with her.
She turned off the water. She'd made her choice.
Alex rummaged through his backpack. His "Get Home Bag" was mostly tools, a first-aid kit, and ammo for weapons he didn't have on him. But at the bottom, wrapped in a spare shirt, was a single, foil-topped, dehydrated cup noodle. It was an "in-case-of-emergency" morale boost. This, he decided, qualified.
The dorm room's kitchenette was tiny but functional. He found a small pot, boiled the water from his bottle, and made the noodles. The smell of artificial chicken broth filled the small room, smelling like heaven. He found two plastic bowls in a cabinet, splitting the meager portion between them. It was more soup than noodle, but it was hot.
He set them on the small desk, then opened the soda he'd grabbed. The psssht of the can was absurdly loud. He hoped the small, hot meal would cut through her shock, bring her back to herself.
He heard the bathroom door click. He turned, a small, encouraging word on his lips.
It died.
Alice was standing there, her hair dripping, wrapped in a single, small white towel.
Alex's face flushed a deep, instant red. "What...?" He spun around, fast, covering his eyes with his hand. "What are you doing? Did you... did you forget to bring your clothes in?"
His voice was flustered, high-pitched, and embarrassed.
"No."
Her voice was quiet, almost dead. He heard her bare feet pad closer on the linoleum floor.
"You wanted this, didn't you?" she said. "Like the other guys. At least... at least you have the decency not to force me."
Alex, caught completely off guard, could only manage a confused, "Huh...?"
He was still facing the wall, his hand over his eyes, his mind trying to catch up. But the words... they were starting to cut through his embarrassment.
Alice didn't notice, her voice cracking as she continued her desperate, horrifying rant. "I know how it is. I know all boys want... want this. And now... now the world's like this, I can't even... I can't stop you. You're... you seem okay. Strange. So strange, how you... you're not even scared. But... I'll do it. I'll give myself to you. If you help me. I have a little sister. She's... she's at our apartment. You just... you have to help me get her. You have to get us out of the city. You have to keep us safe. You can... you can have me. Just keep us safe."
The fluster was gone. As she spoke, every trace of heat drained from Alex's face. His hand dropped from his eyes. He turned around, but not to look at her. His whole body had gone rigid, his shoulders tight. The air around him felt ten degrees colder.
He was shaking, but it was from a white-hot, vibrating rage.
"You think of me," he grunted, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that she'd never heard before, "as one of those animals?"
Alice froze. This was not the reaction she'd expected. His voice, his entire demeanor, had changed. The kind, flustered boy was gone. The hunter from the hallway was back, and he was looking at her with a furious, disgusted disbelief.
He stalked past her, not even glancing at her towel-clad body. He went to the door, grabbed the desk chair he'd used as a barricade, and threw it across the room, where it clattered to the floor.
He snatched his backpack from the ground and turned, his hand on the bathroom doorknob.
"I'm going to take a shower," he bit out, his words like chips of ice. "Get. Dressed. Eat and drink what I left out. And then leave, if you want."
He didn't wait for a reply. He went into the bathroom and slammed the door. The click of the lock was the loudest sound she'd ever heard.
Alice was left standing in the middle of the room, alone, in nothing but a towel. She was shocked, confused, and suddenly, deeply ashamed.
Her eyes fell to the desk.
There, steaming, were two bowls. Two. He had split his food for her. And the soda can, open. A tiny, pathetic, absurdly kind "feast."
She stared at the two steaming bowls, and her knees gave out. She sank to the floor, pulling the towel around her, and finally, for the first time, she began to cry. Not from fear, but from a profound, crushing guilt.