The first day of the apocalypse had been relatively uneventful after the initial chaos. As darkness fell over the city, the world seemed to grow quieter. The usual sights of streetwalkers smoking by their doors, drunkards stumbling in groups, and neon lights illuminating the streets of New York were gone—vanished, as if they had never existed.

  Vincent knew he couldn’t stay in his apartment for long. The door might look sturdy, but if four or five zombies started pounding on it, they wouldn’t hold back. Zombies didn’t care about muscle strain or broken bones; their strength often surpassed that of a living human. The door could give way at any moment. Vincent hadn’t barricaded it because it was his only exit. If zombies broke in, he’d be trapped. Jumping from the fourth floor wasn’t an option—it would either kill him or leave him crippled.

  His best bet was to stay quiet. Zombies were drawn to sound, though their hearing wasn’t any better than a human’s. As long as they kept their voices down, they’d be fine.

  The biggest issue with staying in the apartment was food. Without it, they’d starve. Rationing could stretch their supplies to three days, but Vincent decided they had to leave within two. Starving weakened the body, and weakness meant death in a world overrun by zombies. Vincent wasn’t one to gamble with his life. In the apocalypse, luck was a luxury no one could afford.

  Zombies didn’t seem attracted to dim light, Vincent had noticed. After nightfall, a few windows in the building across the street glowed faintly, likely from survivors. Yet the zombies on the street remained calm, only occasionally letting out a low growl. Darkness seemed to pacify them.

  Vincent turned on a small bedside lamp, dimming its glow, and returned to his spot by the window. He sat in the armchair, his eyes scanning the street below.

  “Can I take a shower?” Manuela’s voice broke the silence. She sat on the edge of the bed, her tone soft but insistent. When Vincent turned to look at her, she quickly added, “I didn’t rinse off properly this morning. It’s… uncomfortable.” She shifted slightly, as if to emphasize her point.

  “Close the door. Don’t use the shower head—just the faucet,” Vincent replied after a moment’s thought. The bathroom door and the apartment door would muffle the sound, but he wasn’t taking any chances. Running water could attract unwanted attention.

  “Thanks,” Manuela said with a smile. She stood and pulled her shirt over her head, revealing her bare skin. The dim light caught the curves of her body, her chest heaving slightly as she moved. She was stunning, her confidence undeniable.

  Vincent had always wondered why Manuela didn’t work in a high-end club. With her looks, she could easily charge three or four hundred dollars an hour. Her life would’ve been far better than scraping by in this rundown apartment. But he’d never asked, and she’d never explained.

  Manuela had been trying to seduce Vincent since the moment they’d met, and she wasn’t about to stop now. After dropping her shirt, she slowly slid her pants down, her eyes locked on Vincent. He, however, remained unfazed. He gave her an appreciative smile. “You’re beautiful,” he said, before turning his gaze back to the window.

  “Want to join me?” Manuela asked, her voice dripping with invitation. She stood completely naked now, one hand cupping her breast, her other hand resting on her hip. The offer was clear, even if she framed it as a simple shower invitation.

  “I’m good,” Vincent replied, his tone polite but firm. He turned back to the window, his expression unreadable.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Manuela’s smile faltered for a moment, but she quickly recovered. She shrugged and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. The faint sound of running water soon filled the apartment.

  **Forty Minutes Later**

  The bathroom door creaked open, and Manuela stepped out, a towel wrapped around her hair. She was still damp, her skin glistening in the dim light.

  “I used your towel… and your toothbrush,” she said, walking toward the bed.

  “It’s fine,” Vincent replied without looking at her.

  Manuela climbed onto the bed, pulling the covers over her body. She lay there, her eyes on Vincent, her intentions clear. The room fell silent, save for the soft sound of their breathing. Vincent stared out the window, his mind elsewhere.

  “Aren’t you coming to bed?” Manuela asked suddenly, her voice soft but insistent. She propped herself up on one elbow, the covers slipping slightly to reveal her bare shoulder. “The chair can’t be comfortable.”

  Vincent opened his eyes and turned to look at her. “I’m fine here,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind.

  Manuela’s expression shifted from playful to frustrated. She yanked the covers back over herself and turned away, her back to Vincent. The lamp clicked off, plunging the room into darkness.

  “You should probably get dressed,” Vincent said after a moment. “If zombies break in, you don’t want to be running around naked.”

  Manuela didn’t respond. She sat up, turned the lamp back on, and quickly pulled on her clothes. Then she lay back down, pulling the covers over her head. The lamp clicked off again.

  Vincent sighed softly, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. He closed his eyes, only to open them again moments later. Sleep didn’t come easily.

  **May 21, 2025, 7:30 AM**

  Vincent was jolted awake by the roar of an engine. He shot up from the armchair and pulled the curtain aside, peering out at the street below.

  A battered Ford E450, its sides streaked with blood, skidded around the corner at the northern end of Oak Street. It plowed through a group of zombies, sending them sprawling, before speeding south down the street.

  The Ford E450 was a beast of a vehicle—a ten-seater with a 6.8-liter engine, built for power and durability. Its sudden appearance sent the zombies into a frenzy. They surged toward the sound, their guttural growls filling the air.

  This was Vincent’s chance. The truck would draw most of the zombies away, clearing a path for him to escape.

  He grabbed his pre-packed backpack from the armchair and rushed to the bed, shaking Manuela awake. She sat up with a start, her eyes wide with fear.

  “We’re leaving. Now,” Vincent said, tossing her shoes onto the bed.

  “What’s happening?” Manuela asked, scrambling to put on her shoes.

  “A truck just drove by. It’s drawing the zombies away. If we move fast, we can get out of here. Stay close if you want to live,” Vincent said, slinging the backpack over his shoulders. He didn’t wait for her response. He opened the door and stepped into the hallway, his gun drawn.

  The hallway reeked of blood and decay. Dark stains covered the walls and floor, and a bloody handprint stretched across one wall, a grim reminder of the chaos that had unfolded. Five zombies—three men and two women—lurched toward Vincent, their arms outstretched, their mouths gaping.

  Vincent didn’t hesitate. He fired three silenced shots, dropping two zombies. His aim was shaky, but it didn’t matter. He reached the elevator and slammed the button, his heart pounding.

  The elevator doors opened, revealing an empty car. Vincent stepped inside and pressed the button for the first floor. He hesitated for a moment, his finger hovering over the button. He could hear Manuela’s screams echoing down the hallway, but he forced himself to stay focused. The doors began to close.

  Just as they were about to shut, a slender hand shot through the gap, forcing the doors open. Vincent raised his gun but quickly lowered it when he saw it was Manuela. He grabbed her arm and yanked her into the elevator.

  “Hurry… hurry…” Vincent muttered under his breath, his eyes fixed on the closing doors. He hadn’t taken the stairs because they connected to every floor. Going down that way would’ve been suicide.

  A zombie lunged at the elevator, its grotesque face pressing against the narrowing gap. Vincent fired several shots, blowing its arm off and sending it stumbling backward.

  The doors closed, and the elevator began its descent.

  Vincent let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

  “You were going to leave me?” Manuela demanded, her chest heaving as she leaned against the wall of the elevator.

  “You’re here, aren’t you?” Vincent replied, his tone calm but dismissive.

  The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. They had reached the first floor.