The office corridor became a kill zone.
Not in chaos, not in panic.
In order.
Zubair didn't raise his voice—he didn't need to. A single clipped word was enough:
"Contain."
The rope tightened where it needed to. Boots shifted, weight set. The zombies swayed in their grotesque rhythm, heads rocking like buoys in waves no one else could feel. Then the pack snapped forward.
Lachlan met the first one head-on, his body already bleeding blue, his claws out.
He didn't think about fear, or about consequences. He was the wall.
He slammed into the lead zombie, shoulder driving it into a cubicle partition that groaned under the impact. Teeth lunged for his throat. He caught the jaws in his hands, blood slicking his palms as the shark-teeth bit through flesh.
He snarled, not in fear, but in challenge. "Come on then."
