The group gathered in the living room for breakfast. Vincent leaned back on the couch, chewing his food carefully. The swelling on his lip had completely subsided, and the wound had healed well, though it left a small, triangular scar stitched together with a dark red thread. Every time he opened his mouth, the scar was visible, a constant reminder of the bite that wasn’t from a zombie.

  “Where’s Christine? Why isn’t she out yet?” Vincent suddenly asked, putting down his piece of bread and glancing around.

  “She’s not feeling well. She’s resting and will have breakfast in her room,” Manuela replied casually, sipping her milk. She wasn’t lying—Christine *was* unwell—but she let Vincent assume it was just her period. The truth was far more complicated.

  “Oh,” Vincent responded, not pressing further.

  As they ate, a sudden noise interrupted the quiet morning. The phone on the side table, set to radio mode, crackled to life. Everyone froze, their attention immediately drawn to the device.

  A voice broke through the static.

  *“Hello, everyone. This is Lieutenant Tracy May from the Everett Naval Base in Washington State…”*

  The voice repeated twice before becoming clear. It was a military broadcast, the same one that had announced the outbreak at the beginning of the apocalypse.

  *“Hello, this is Lieutenant Tracy May. I’m glad to be able to share some updates with you. I’m still alive… I don’t know how many of you are listening, but I hope whoever hears this will not give up. Keep fighting to survive…”*

  The room fell silent as the broadcast continued.

  *Here are the latest updates. According to satellite imagery and data from cities near our base, the global population has plummeted to less than 300 million. Tens of thousands of people are still dying every day, and this rate is expected to slow in about a month. Currently, there are over 5 billion zombies worldwide, concentrated in urban areas. China accounts for a quarter of the global zombie population, reflecting its pre-apocalypse population density…”*

  The broadcast shifted to the latest findings on the virus.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  *“Recent tests show that the zombie virus doesn’t just affect humans. It can also infect other mammals, though at lower rates. Dogs are particularly susceptible, with an infection rate twice that of humans. Cats, on the other hand, show strong resistance, with very low infection rates. Rodents, especially rats, have the highest resistance and are rarely infected, though exceptions may exist.”*

  *“Some cities have already reported sightings of infected animals, primarily zombie dogs. While their numbers are low, these animals are extremely dangerous. Unlike human zombies, infected animals can run, making them much faster and harder to evade. If you encounter one, do not engage. Use melee weapons like axes, knives, or bats instead of firearms, as they are more effective against these fast-moving threats.”*

  *“That’s all for now. The next update will be broadcast at 9 AM Washington time. Stay tuned.”*

  *“May God bless the United States of America.”*

  The broadcast ended, leaving the room in heavy silence. A few people put down their food, their appetites gone. The news was grim—global population decimated, animals now a threat, and no sign of hope.

  After breakfast, Vincent walked to the window, wiping his mouth with a napkin. He stared down at the street below, a habit he’d developed to keep an eye on the outside world.

  *Click.*

  The sound of a lighter came from behind him.

  Manuela stood nearby, a cigarette between her fingers. She took a long drag, exhaling slowly as she joined Vincent by the window. “Where’d you get the cigarette?” Vincent asked, frowning.

  “Found half a pack in the room. Must’ve been left by the last guests,” Manuela replied, blowing smoke to the side. She’d been a smoker for years, and the habit had stuck.

  “I saw a zombie dog yesterday,” Vincent said suddenly, his eyes still fixed on the street.

  “What?” Manuela nearly dropped her cigarette, turning to stare at him.

  “At dusk. I thought it was just a stray at first. It was fast—darted across the street and disappeared. I figured the zombies didn’t chase it because they’re slow. But after hearing that broadcast…” Vincent shook his head. “It was probably a zombie dog. If it’s still out there, it’ll make leaving a lot more dangerous.”

  “Should we prepare for it?” Robbie asked, stepping up to the window. He’d overheard their conversation.

  “Yeah,” Vincent nodded, thinking for a moment. He walked back to the couch and pulled out a laminated menu from the coffee table. It was a room service menu, complete with contact numbers on the back.

  “What are you looking at?” Manuela asked, sitting down beside him.

  “Room service,” Vincent said, scanning the menu. His eyes landed on a line at the bottom: *“Room Service – 4th Floor.”*

  “Room service is on the fourth floor,” Vincent said, standing up and pulling out his gun to check it. Usually, room service, the kitchen, and security are all on the same floor for efficiency. Maybe… we can raid the fourth floor for supplies.”

  Manuela and Robbie exchanged glances, finally understanding Vincent’s plan. If they could get to the fourth floor, they might find tools, weapons, or even food to help them survive the next leg of their journey.

  “Let’s gear up,” Vincent said, his tone decisive. “We’re going to the fourth floor.”