Chapter 7: The Family

Val bolted into a full sprint toward the nearest storefront.

The chorus of moans behind her swelled like a tidal wave—raw, relentless, hungry. She threw herself into the plexiglass doors with her full weight.

They didn’t budge.

Locked.

“Dangit!” Val exclaimed. Even at her worst she couldn’t bring herself to curse.

Without further hesitation, she drew her pistol, aimed low, and fired. The sharp crack of the 9mm echoed like thunder through the fog-shrouded street. The round shattered the tempered glass at its weak point, spiderwebbing fractures across the panel.

Val shoved through the ruined door glass, shards scraping against her arms as she stumbled inside. The air was stale, thick with the scent of dust and disuse. She didn’t stop to breathe it in.

She ran.

Boots slamming across tile, she sprinted past rows of overturned shelving and abandoned displays, making for the back of the store—anywhere she could put walls between her and the horde now pouring toward the broken entry.

Passing through a curtain of hanging beads into the back of what looked to be an antique store, Val navigated a maze of old furniture, leaning bookshelves, and scattered trinkets. Shadows clung to every corner, the dim light making the space feel tighter than it probably was.

She scanned frantically for a rear exit.

At the back wall, just beneath a faded EXIT sign, stood a massive armoire—ornate, wooden, and completely blocking the door.

Val rushed to it, shoved her shoulder into the side, and pushed with everything she had.

It didn’t budge.

She gritted her teeth, braced her legs, and tried again—nothing.

There was no way, it had to weigh several times her weight.

Looking back, Val spotted a narrow stairwell tucked beside the beaded curtain she’d just passed through. Without hesitation, she turned and sprinted for it—her boots pounding against the warped wooden floor.

As she moved, she stole a final glance toward the front of the shop.

The front display window, once reading Kelly’s Nooks, shattered with a deafening crack under the crushing weight of bodies pressing against it. Glass exploded inward, and the dead began pouring through the jagged frames—hands clawing, jaws open extruding a concerted moan.

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Flying up the stairs now, two at a time, Val reaching the top—bursting through the old safety door just as the first undead began dragging themselves up the stairwell behind her. The door swung wide onto the rooftop—its hinges groaning with age. She scanned her surroundings: nothing but rusted vents, gravel, and a barren expanse of rooftop stretching into the fog.

No cover. No escape.

Turning, she threw her weight against the door and slammed it shut just as the first pounding began from the other side. The metal vibrated with each thud.

There was no lock. No bolt. Nothing to secure it from the outside.

Val braced her shoulder against the steel, pushing with everything she had—her boots scraping against the gravel as she strained to hold it shut.

Not willing to waste the last of her strength on a losing battle, Val released the door and spun toward the edge of the rooftop. Her eyes scanned desperately—first looking down at the 10 meter drop, then at a balcony attached to the adjacent building. Two and a half meters across. One meter down.

Good enough! she thought frantically.

She backed away from the edge, towards the undead spilling from the rooftop door, dug her boots into the lose gravel and ran hard for the ledge.

Val screamed as she launched herself off the rooftop. For a moment that stretched like eternity, her senses sharpened to an unnatural clarity.

She saw everything.

The rough, rusted texture of the balcony railing rushing up to meet her. The scattered puddles glistening like oil slicks on the pavement below. The weightless tug in her gut as gravity took hold.

Even the sound—the terrible, ceaseless sound—of the horde still clawing their way into the shop behind her, just on the edge of her awareness, like a nightmare trying to catch up.

Her boots struck the balcony’s iron floor with a jolt that sent pain lancing up her legs. Momentum carried her forward—into the door. She crashed through it, splintering wood and tearing hinges, before landing hard on her back.

For the second time that night, Val regained her lost breath as she lay in agony on the cold floor of a darkened hallway.

After an unknown amount of time lying in the darkness, a flicker of orange light began to illuminate the ceiling above her. Val sat up quickly, adrenaline holding her pain at bay. Hand on her holstered pistol, she peered down the hallway.

In the distance, she saw the faint orange outline of a little boy holding a lit candle, a woman and a man following in his wake.

End of Chapter Stats

Name Val Occupation Combat Medical Technician (CMT) Health 20% Hunger 40% Thirst 90% Gear Light Clothing, Flashlight, Handcuffs, Lighter Backpack 2 Water Bottles, 3 Granola Bars Weapons Glock 17, Taser Ammo 9mm – 51 rounds Skills Battlefield Medicine, Standard Weapons Trained Kills 4