Chapter 3: The Exit

Click.

The flashlight’s button gave a satisfying, mechanical pop as a beam of light sliced into the darkness. The hallway stretched out before Val like the throat of some sleeping beast—narrow, still, and suffocatingly quiet. Dust floated in the beam, caught like static in the air.

Val crept forward through the hallway, her flashlight beam bobbing with each cautious step. Apartment doors loomed on either side—shut, silent, or worse. Her boots creaked softly on the warped wooden floorboards, each sound magnified in the oppressive hush surrounding her.

Then—rustling. Behind the door to her right.

She froze.

Her breath caught in her throat, heart pounding so hard she feared it would echo off the walls. Instinct screamed to call out, to check if someone—anyone—was alive in there.

But she didn’t.

Val swallowed the impulse, clenched the flashlight tighter, and moved on—quieter now, each footstep measured and deliberate with her body tense as a wire.

Reaching the stairwell entrance, Val paused and cupped a hand to the metal door. Nothing.

She pushed the door open.

As the door crept open, the half-eaten shape of a man slumped against the railing just inside came into view—jaw slack, eyes glassy, most of his midsection torn open like wet paper. Whatever had killed him showed no mercy, no humanity.

Val swallowed hard and stepped inside, pulling the door shut behind her with a soft click.

The beam of her flashlight swept upward, then down—nothing but darkness.

One flight to the lobby, she thought, as She exhaled slowly and began to descend, bootsteps creaking on metal, one slow tread at a time.

At the foot of the stairwell, Val saw a faint sliver of moonlight bleeding under the door.

She creaked the stairwell door open an inch, then froze.

A figure stood motionless just inside the front entrance—broad-shouldered, uniformed, backlit by the fog-glow moonlit beyond the glass. A police constable. Hat askew. One arm hanging unnaturally low.

Val’s grip tightened on the flashlight. Her heart thudded in her ears as she squinted, trying to make out his features.

He wasn’t moving. Not a twitch.

Val tightened her grip on the kitchen knife, her knuckles pale in the moonlight. Heart pounding, she slipped through the door and into the lobby, silent as a shadow.

The room was still. Abandoned.

Faded couches lined the walls, a broken vending machine blinked nonsense in the corner, and dust hung in the air like ash. Other than her and the constable—if it even was still human—there was nothing.

He hadn’t moved.

Not a twitch. Not a breath.

Val crept forward, every muscle coiled, eyes locked on the silhouette by the glass doors.

She wasn’t sure what scared her more—that he’d move…

…or that he wouldn’t.

As Val neared the back of the constable, doubt slithered into her thoughts like a whisper through the fog flowing past the windows outside.

What the hell am I doing?

Her steps slowed. The knife trembled in her grip. Was she really about to attack a man—this man—without being sure? What if he was alive? What if he was just... in shock?

What if he was someone’s husband?

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Someone’s father?

Please... just be dead, she thought. Because if he wasn’t—and she was wrong—there’d be no taking it back.

That’s when it happened.

As if her hesitation had summoned it—him—the constable turned with a slow, grim finality. No twitch. No stumble. Just a pivot, smooth and certain, like a door closing on hope.

His face was smeared in blood. Not his own.

Eyes clouded, pale and soulless, locked onto hers with dead hunger.

Then his mouth opened—and from it came a sound that chilled her to the bone: a low, guttural moan, not quite human. Not quite alive.

And then he lunged.

Name Police Constable Occupation Undead Health 100% Hunger 100% Thirst 0% Gear Constable Uniform Weapons Unknown

Val reacted on instinct—no hesitation this time, no mercy. She drove the knife straight into the constable’s neck with a wet, meaty thunk.

He crashed into her full force, and they tumbled back onto the cold lobby floor, his weight slamming down on her. Blood sprayed in a hot arc, but he didn’t stop. The knife had cut clean through the artery, but the dead didn’t care about bleeding.

His jaws snapped inches from her face, breath reeking of decay and something worse.

She yanked at the knife to strike again—but the blade snapped at the handle with a sharp crack, the broken hilt slipping from her grip.

Val’s eyes went wide.

No.

As both scrambled together on the floor, Val twisted her hips, brought her knees to her chest, and planted both feet against the constable’s blood-slick torso.

With a grunt, she kicked.

The force launched her backward, sending her skidding across the cold, dust-coated floor. The thing’s grasping hands clawed at empty air as she slipped free, her breath ragged, heart pounding like war drums in her chest.

She scrambled to her feet, backing away as the constable flailed, gurgling and writhing with the broken knife still jutting from his neck.

There was no time to think—only move.

Val leapt to her feet, chest heaving, eyes scanning the lobby in a frantic blur. The red fire extinguisher caught her eye—mounted to the wall near the stairwell door.

She ran.

Behind her, the constable's boots scraped against the floor. She could feel him closing the gap, feel his dead hunger crawling up her spine.

She tore the extinguisher from its mount with a screech of metal and spun, not aiming—just pure instinct.

The canister connected with a ping, ringing like a tin bat striking steel.

The constable’s head snapped sideways. He dropped instantly, collapsing in a heap on the floor.

Val stood there panting, extinguisher in hand, body trembling—not from fear, but from the raw pulse of adrenaline.

She stood there staring at the constables crumpled form for what seemed like an eternity—though it was likely just a few minutes. The lobby was silent again, save for the sound of her own breathing and the faint hum of wind pressing against the building’s exterior.

Only when she was certain it wasn’t getting back up did she kneel beside him. Her hands moved quickly, searching his belt for anything useful. No firearm—of course not—but there was a taser and a pair of handcuffs.

Not great.

But better than nothing.

She unhooked the belt and gave it a quick look—it was several sizes too big for her, and smeared with old blood. She slung it over her shoulder like a bandolier, adjusting it against her frame.

The weight of it felt strangely reassuring.

She stood up, fire extinguisher in one hand, the constable’s gear slung across her shoulder. For a moment, she stared at the front doors—at the swirling wall of fog beyond the glass, thick and pale like milk gone sour.

Without another thought, she stepped forward, unlatched the lock, and pulled the door open.

The cold hit her first—wet and sharp. Then the silence, heavy and unnatural, like the world had stopped breathing.

Val tightened her grip on the extinguisher.

And then she stepped into the fog.

End of Chapter Stats:

Name Val Occupation Combat Medical Technician (CMT) Health 20% Hunger 10% Thirst 45% Gear Light Clothing, Flashlight, Handcuffs Backpack 2 Water Bottles, 3 Granola Bars Weapons Taser, Fire Extinguisher Skills Battlefield Medicine Kills 2

Name Police Constable (Terminated) Occupation Undead Health 0% Hunger 0% Thirst 0% Gear Constable Uniform Weapons None