Despite his decision to return to his apartment for the time being, Isaac didn’t get up right away. Taking a minute—or five—to rest couldn’t hurt. His leg, as well as the rest of his body, deserved a little breather. Besides, he wanted to stick around until the three new corpses disappeared. Maybe if he were lucky, they would leave another gem for him.

  Spoiler: they didn’t.

  They just vanished after about a minute and left him alone in the empty staircase. Even the distant noises coming from the broken window on the third floor had quieted. He hadn’t heard any new screams in a while, only some muffled screeches and the occasional gunshot.

  Things are calming down. Everybody who survived the initial rush is probably hiding or… well, is dead.

  Isaac sighed, unwrapping the drenched bandage. It did nothing at this point, so he figured it was better to let the cuts breathe. At least the bleeding had almost stopped, though the persistent pain in his leg made it clear he had a long way to full recovery.

  At least Virus Integrity didn’t suffer too much, he noted while rolling up his pants to keep the fabric from covering the injury.

  Virus Integrity: 89%

  Three percent, he could live with that. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if the drop was all due to the fresh injury on his arm, or if his leg contributed too. Honestly, he wasn’t sure which option he preferred. Four percent for a cut this tiny was kind of a lot.

  No way to test it unless I’m willing to let a Wretched slice me into pieces. Isaac grimaced at the thought. He would have to find a different way to learn more about this stuff, for example, by talking to other survivors.

  Gonna have to go out for that.

  He considered calling Daryl so the two of them could compare their notes—both about the Interface and the Wretched—but quickly discarded that idea. For all he knew, the older man was already on his way to one of the schools in the city. No point in distracting him from a far more important task.

  Internet it is then, he thought, reaching into his pocket. His hand came up empty. Right… I left it upstairs to charge. Time to move then.

  With a groan, he grabbed the railing for support and pulled himself up to his feet. Pain shot through his left leg, forcing him to lean more on his right.

  “Guess I’m hopping back to my apartment,” he muttered, leaning down to snatch the discarded crowbar. The tool had served him well; no reason to leave it behind now.

  And so, Isaac began his climb back to the fourth floor, one limping step at a time. He could have probably gone faster, but he saw no point in hurrying. The less strain he put on his injury, the better.

  By the time he reached the third floor, the pain once more faded to a dull throb. Either he was getting used to it, or his body was healing faster than it should.

  Or both. He snorted, taking the first step onto the stairs leading to the final floor. Yet, before he could move any further, the soft click of a lock behind him made him freeze. He turned on his heel, the crowbar raised just in case.

  He didn't need to worry.

  The last door on this floor creaked open, and a young blond woman peeked through the gap.

  “Mr. Walker, please wait,” she whisper-shouted, her wide eyes fixed on Isaac. She stepped fully into the doorway but didn’t move a foot further. He could also see her hands trembling even as she gripped the doorknob.

  Unsure of what to do, he just raised an eyebrow and lowered the bloodied crowbar. “Yes?”

  The woman gulped. “I heard the noises. That was you, right? You killed those who turned.” Her eyes drifted to the blood splattered over his clothes, as if daring him to deny it.

  Isaac saw no point in lying and nodded. “I did. What of it?”

  “Is there”—she grimaced—“is there anyone else left alive beside us?”

  He frowned, recalling the faint noises behind some of the doors. “Probably,” he said with a shrug. “Nobody answered when I knocked, though.” He glanced at the stairs behind him and then back at the woman. “Is that all?”

  He really wasn’t trying to be rude or make this conversation even more awkward than it already was, but he wanted to get back to his apartment as fast as he could. His leg needed rest, and his phone was waiting. He didn’t have time for useless small talk.

  “No!” The woman shouted, taking a step forward. “I… You’re planning to fight more of them, to go out.” Isaac nodded again, even if it wasn’t a question. “Could you then please help me? My husband… he was at work when it all happened. I can’t reach his phone. I fear…”

  So that’s what this is about, he thought, narrowing his eyes. He opened his mouth to tell her he couldn’t help, but the woman spoke again, cutting him short.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  “I know what I’m asking for; trust me, I do,” she said, her voice trembling. “I would have gone to check on him myself, but I can’t. I can’t leave them.”

  As she said that, the woman looked behind her. At her nod, a mop of long brown hair appeared in the doorway, attached to a child no older than five. The small girl glanced at Isaac for a moment before hiding again.

  Suddenly, everything clicked in his head. This was Carol Jackson, mother of two. This young girl and an even younger boy. He didn’t know them well, but the old man had mentioned them a few times before he passed. Then, there were the occasional meetings in the hallways.

  And of course she had to mention kids. He grimaced. There wasn’t much he cared about these days—if anything—but kids had always been a soft spot for him. Not a big one, but there was a reason why the news about the schools almost affected him more than the sight of monsters on the streets.

  Still…

  “Where does he work?” Isaac asked, fishing for information. He wouldn’t go out of his way just to find the woman’s husband, but if it was somewhere on the way to Daryl’s neighborhood, then he might reconsider.

  Hearing his words, Mrs. Jackson looked like he had already agreed to help her. “Pioneer Savings Bank. It’s close, very close—barely two streets away.”

  Isaac bit his tongue. That wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t terrible, either. He had no illusion that he could make it to Daryl’s house in a straight line, so going a bit to the side to check the bank wasn’t out of the question. Then again, everything depended on the Wretched he would encounter on the way. For all he knew, the bank could be swarming with them.

  He looked up to meet the woman’s hopeful gaze and sighed. “Mrs. Jackson, listen, I can’t make any promises. This is my life on the line. But!” he added before she could say anything. “But I will see what I can do. Remember, though, no promises.”

  The woman opened her mouth, only to close it again. After a pause, she nodded, smiling weakly. “I suppose that’s more than I should have hoped for. Thank you, Mr. Walker. If there’s anything you need, just say so.”

  That got him thinking. “Weapons,” he muttered. “Anything I could use as a weapon. Kitchen knives and a crowbar won’t last me for long.”

  Mrs. Jackson perked up, her eyes lighting up. “Please wait a moment. I will be right back.”

  Before he could even say anything, the door clicked shut, leaving him alone on the staircase. Isaac groaned and eased himself down onto the steps, letting his leg rest. He also summoned the Interface counter.

  Current progress: 13 out of 20 | Rewards claimed: 224 out of 500

  He clicked his tongue. Even though he only needed seven more kills to complete the task, the rewards were being claimed faster and faster. He was lucky he only had to compete with the survivors in his Contamination Zone. If this were a global race, he would have already lost. There were people out there equipped much better for an apocalypse than him—people with combat training, weapons… guns.

  I still have a good chance. That’s all that matters, he thought, staring blankly ahead. If only Mrs. Jackson could hurry up… I still gotta dress those cuts again.

  Thankfully, as if summoned by his thoughts, the door opened, and the woman stepped out, this time approaching him.

  “There you go, Mr. Walker,” she said, holding out a leather sheath with a wooden handle sticking out. “Brandon bought this a few years back, and it’s been gathering dust since then. I hope it helps.”

  Isaac took the offered item and unsheathed it, revealing a long hunting knife. Not bad, he commented internally, studying the blade in his hand. This was leagues better than a random knife he had grabbed from the kitchen.

  He glanced up and gave her a small nod. “Thank you. It will definitely help.”

  With that said, he rose to his feet, feeling almost none of the earlier pain. He turned to leave, but before he could do that, Mrs. Jackson stopped him again.

  “Wait—let’s exchange numbers,” she said hurriedly.

  How he had forgotten about that, Isaac didn’t know. After all, how else was he supposed to contact her if he found her husband? He resisted the urge to drive his head into the wall.

  Priorities, Isaac. Priorities.

  After the exchange, he made his way back to his apartment. Once inside, he quickly applied a new dressing to his leg and gathered his phone from the bedroom. A fast check of the main Internet forums confirmed that sacrificing a few extra minutes on research had been worth it.

  While there was nothing about fully unlocked Interfaces—aside from speculative guesses—a few people had shared their experiences of fighting the Wretched. According to them, the only reliable ways to kill the monsters were to either decapitate them, stab their heart or brain, or let them bleed out.

  That gave Isaac a few ideas that he confirmed with another search of the net.

  I just have to sharpen you to perfection. Isaac grinned, unsheathing his new knife.

  He had a plan—a plan that just might get him into the first five hundred without even leaving his apartment building.

  Current progress: 13 out of 20 | Rewards claimed: 339 out of 500

  Twenty minutes. That was how long it had taken for over a hundred rewards to be claimed. It should have worried him, but it didn’t, not when he had used all this time to set up the next part of his plan.

  Looks good. Isaac nodded to himself, scanning his creation from top to bottom.

  It was a barricade cobbled together from salvaged furniture he had taken from every open apartment in the building. At first, he had just dragged it all down to the lobby that housed the exit to the street. Then, once he had gathered enough stuff, he began building.

  A shelf there, a dresser next to it, and some heavy boxes to fill them all and add weight. A few chairs propped up for support, and a desk topping it all off—also loaded with boxes to keep it stable.

  That was how Isaac created a barricade with a hole in the middle. There was no way around it, and once he opened the door behind his creation, the Wretched would have to go through it to reach him. No way to swarm him with sheer numbers… or so he hoped.

  In any case, even if the barrier collapsed, it should still buy him enough time to escape and close the second door in the lobby. What would happen after?

  Well, that was a problem for the future.

  Let’s do this. Isaac’s lips tugged upward, already hearing the now-familiar song of his blood.

  He spared another look at his weapon stash—a few broom handles, his crowbar, and broken chair legs—before climbing into the hole and putting a hand on the handle of the entrance door. After a count to three, he twisted it open and pushed.

  “Come.”