"Okay, safe for now." Sam was still remarkably steady, the intense fight not leaving him overly winded. "Elevator's definitely out. That thing's a moving coffin now. We take the stairs." He knew very well that elevator shafts were narrow; if the doors opened to a horde of zombies, even his enhanced self would be hard-pressed to survive.
"My apartment is on the 10th floor," Vanessa's voice still trembled with fear. She clutched her clothes tightly, reminding him in a small voice, "And the fifth floor is a common area, with a cafeteria and a gym… Usually, usually there are a lot of people there…" The unspoken part was obvious.
"Lots of people… means lots of 'those things' too?" Sam's eyelid twitched involuntarily. He glanced at the stairwell; luckily, each floor landing seemed to have a fire door that could be closed. "Then we just keep quiet and clear them floor by floor. As long as we get to the 10th floor and secure that fire door, we should be much safer."
Vanessa nodded vigorously, trying to calm her rapid breathing. They exchanged a look, then began to cautiously, step by step, ascend the stairs, which had non-slip strips.
First floor, safe. Second floor, empty. Third floor… The fire doors on the landings were all ajar, but they didn't encounter any zombies blocking the way as they had expected. It was surprisingly quiet, only their deliberately softened footsteps and suppressed breathing sounding unnaturally loud in the dead silence of the stairwell. They moved with extreme caution, afraid of waking any monsters lurking in the darkness, waiting to devour.
They held their breath, cautiously ascending the stairs towards the tenth floor. Just as they were about to reach the sixth-floor landing, thinking they had temporarily escaped the monsters—
An extremely inappropriate, cheerful, and piercing cell phone ringtone suddenly blasted from Vanessa's pocket. It was a popular song fragment, common around the year 2000, but now it sounded like Death's summoning call.
"What the hell?!" Sam's nerves instantly tensed to the breaking point. He'd forgotten. He'd actually forgotten to remind this woman to turn off her phone or put it on silent. "Quick! Throw that damn phone away! Now!" he hissed, his voice low, but the urgency and anger in his tone were almost palpable.
Vanessa was also scared out of her wits by the sudden ringtone. She fumbled in her pocket and pulled out the still cheerfully ringing flip phone. The name flashing on the screen made her freeze instantly, her voice trembling with disbelief, "It's… It's Ryan! Ryan's calling!"
"Huh?!" Sam couldn't believe his ears. At a time like this?! But Vanessa had already subconsciously pressed the answer button. Stumbling as she tried to keep up with Sam running up the stairs, she pressed the phone to her ear, her voice distorted by excitement and fear, "Da… Darling? Is that you?!"
And the moment the ringtone sounded, from downstairs, and possibly even from other floors above, a chorus of even more frenzied zombie snarls immediately erupted. The sounds collided and amplified in the narrow stairwell, making the entire space hum, as if Death's footsteps were rapidly approaching.
"What the fuck are you doing?! Throw the phone away! They heard it!" Sam cursed as he sprinted upwards, trying to reach the tenth floor and close that damn fire door before they were completely surrounded.
"Baby… I… I'm being… eaten…" Ryan's intermittent, trembling male voice, filled with extreme terror and pain, came from the other end of the phone. The sound was like an icy awl piercing Vanessa's eardrums, making her body tremble uncontrollably. Though she was still mechanically running up the stairs after Sam, the hand holding the phone seemed nailed in place, showing no sign of letting go.
"I… I'm pinned under a bookshelf… my leg… my leg! Those monsters… they're gnawing on my leg!" Ryan's voice was filled with despair and heartbreaking pleas. "I love you, Vanessa… I love you… Please, baby… let me hear your voice a little longer… I'm so cold…"
"Darling… no… don't…" Vanessa's eyes were instantly flooded with tears, her vision blurring. Her steps began to falter, but the hand holding the phone never loosened. Behind them, the nauseating snarls and heavy footsteps of the zombies grew closer, louder. They hadn't even reached the eighth floor. At this rate, they wouldn't make it to the tenth floor to close the door in time.
"Last warning! Throw away that damn phone!"
"I love you, baby…" The voice on the other end grew weaker, as if life was draining away with the blood. "I feel… my flesh… there's less and less of it… But… but I feel like my body… something is… filling it up… so hot… so hungry… Please… let me hear your voice a little longer… I don't want… I don't want to forget your voice…"
At this moment, Sam and Vanessa finally reached the ninth-floor landing. But close behind them were several clearly visible, hideous zombies. They were climbing with unnatural agility, using both hands and feet, their greedy snarls reaching the two faster than their decaying bodies.
"No… don't… Ryan…" Vanessa bit her lip in agony, tears streaming down her face. She seemed to want to say something more into the phone.
But she would never get to say those words.
A foot in a police boot, viciously, without any warning, kicked her in the abdomen.
"Ah—!" Vanessa let out a short, incredulous scream of despair. Like a kite with its string cut, she tumbled backward uncontrollably, directly into the several zombies lunging up behind them. The impact sent the monsters sprawling, and she rolled down the stairs with them.
She didn't even have time to cry for help before the zombies, driven even crazier by the unexpected 'meal', swarmed over her, greedily, madly tearing at her soft flesh.
"Baby?! Vanessa?! What happened?! I heard… those sounds! No!!" On the other end of the line, Ryan's voice instantly became hysterical. He heard the zombie snarls, the woman's screams; he seemed to understand what had happened on the other side. But soon, his voice also began to distort, turning into unintelligible, pained, bestial growls…
The call didn't disconnect. Now, from both ends of the receiver, only two equally horrifying types of 'zombie' snarls could be heard, as if conducting a bizarre, cross-death 'conversation'.
System Mission Reminder: Escort Survivor Mission Failed. Hope Points -50.
The cold system notification sounded in Sam's mind, like an official stamp on the ruthless decision he had just made.
"Huff… huff…" Sam reached the tenth floor, slammed the heavy fire door shut behind him, and locked it, cutting off the nauseating snarls and chewing sounds from downstairs. The continuous running and fighting weren't overly exhausting for his enhanced body, but at this moment, he felt a bone-deep weariness welling up from the depths of his soul, weighing heavily on him.
"Damn it…" Sam gritted his teeth fiercely, cursing under his breath. He wasn't even sure who he was cursing—the stupid woman who had doomed herself and her companion with a phone call at the critical moment? The man who had called at the worst possible time, accelerating her death? The endless zombies outside? Or… the cold-blooded version of himself who had unhesitatingly kicked the woman down the stairs?
This feeling was completely different from when Sam had shot Martin or thrown those two scumbags out the window. This was a deeper, more piercing, colder sensation…
After a few seconds of dead silence, Sam suddenly let out a low chuckle. It started suppressed, but quickly grew louder, more manic, echoing in the empty stairwell, carrying a chilling madness. "Ha… haha… HAHAHAHA!" Yeah, why should he bother with a woman he barely knew? This was the fucking apocalypse. Survival of the fittest. Did he think that playing cop with that goody-two-shoes John for a few hours actually made him a cop? Don't be ridiculous. He wasn't a cop, he never was. He was an asshole, a scumbag sentenced to 25 years in his original world for violent crimes.
In this bullshit apocalypse, having power meant doing whatever the hell he wanted. Fuck responsibility. Fuck saving anyone. Sam's eyes turned cold and crazed. A new idea formed in his mind—he would kill more zombies, exchange their 'deaths' for Hope Points, continuously enhance himself, and then… then, in this completely broken world, he would thoroughly 'enjoy' himself.
But now, before all those grand 'pleasure' plans, Sam only wanted two things: find a lot of hard liquor, as much as possible, and then find a safe place where he could forget everything and sleep. Right now, he just wanted to get blackout drunk, to sleep a sleep as deep and dreamless as death itself.
He leaned exhaustedly against the fire door, slumping to the cold concrete floor, about to catch his breath for a moment, when a nearby closed apartment door suddenly creaked open a sliver.
"Young man… it's not safe outside, quick… come in." An old, raspy, but kind voice came from the crack in the door.
Sam snapped his head up, looking warily. A white-haired, wrinkled old white man peeked out from behind the door. Seeing Sam's disheveled, blood-stained (all zombie blood) appearance, he didn't seem scared at all. Instead, he looked at Sam with clear eyes, though clouded by age spots, and extended a wrinkled, slightly trembling hand, beckoning Sam into his apartment.
Sam initially wanted to refuse; he just wanted to be alone right now. But looking at the old man's somewhat anxious and concerned expression, and that beckoning, aged yet warm hand, he remained silent for a few seconds. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, brushed the dust off his clothes, got up from the floor, and accepted the stranger's invitation.