The cat’s fur bristled as it let out a low, guttural hiss, its eyes locked on something behind Hugo. His stomach tightened. Slowly, he turned around, his fshlight trembling slightly in his grip.

  The old woman was moving. She had been lying on her bed, rotting in the oppressive darkness, but now she was on her feet, shambling toward him. Her skin was a sickly gray, sagging in pces where decay had begun to take its toll, with patches of darkened flesh peeling away to expose yellowed bone underh. Her nightgown, once pale blue, was now stained with dark, crusted streaks of dried blood and fluids that had seeped from her deposing body. Her milky, unseeing eyes stared past him, sunken deep into their sockets, surrounded by bed veins that stretched like cracks through her face. Her mouth hung slightly open, revealing gums that had receded, exposing long, ueeth. A thi sound escaped her lips, like air struggling to pass through rotted lungs. The putrid st of decay g to her, thid suffog, filling the room with the undeniable stench of death. Her body moved with unnatural purpose, drawn by the sound of his voice, as if the st remnant of whatever she had been in life had faded, leaving only hunger behind. Hugo took an instinctive step back, bumping into the ter. The impact sent the bowl of dy toppling to the floor, shattering upon impact. The sharp crack of ceramic breaking echoed through the room, followed by the scattering of hard dies skidding across the tiles. The cat let out another hiss before darting away, disappearing into the shadows of the apartment. His pulse pounded in his ears as he tightened his grip on the fshlight, the only thing separating him from the horror advang toward him.Hugo knew he had to act fast. His knife was still strapped to his belt, but getting close enough to use it was a risk he wasn’t sure he wao take. His only advantage eed. He had to get out before she reached him. The door. He turned his head just enough to g it. It was still closed, but the thought of opening it sent another wave of dread through him. The hallway outside itch bck. If he made too muoise, the other things lurking in the apartment plex would hear. He was trapped between two dahe undead inside and the ones surely waiting beyond the door. The old woma out a pierg scream, the sound gurgling deep within her ruihroat, and lurched forward with sudden urgenbsp;Hugo had no time to think. He had seen enough zombie movies to know the rule—go for the head. His hand darted to his belt, fingers closing around the handle of his knife. With a surge of adrenaline, he lunged forward and aimed for her face.But he missed. The bde gnced off her cheek, slig through rotting flesh but failing to do any real damage. She lu him in response, her bony fingers g at his arm as they tumbled to the ground in a chaotic struggle. The fshlight cttered against the floor, spinning wildly and casting frantic shadows across the walls. Hugo gritted his teeth and thrashed, kig with all his strength. He mao twist free before she could sieeth into him, rolling away just as she reached for him again. He scrambled to his feet, heart hammering, and bolted for the door.His hands fumbled with the handle, but in his desperation, he ya open and threw himself into the dark hallway beyond. He didn’t dare look back. He just ran. The hallway itch bck. His fshlight was still on the floor in the old dy’s apartment, spinning in the darkness, but he had no time to retrieve it. Stumbling forward, he felt the walls with desperate hands, trying to orient himself as his pulse pounded in his ears. Reag his door, he fumbled for the handle, yanking at it—locked. A sinking dread gripped his chest. He had fotten. The door locked itself when it shut, and his keys were still i was a rookie mistake, one he couldn’t afford in a world like this. His own stupidity sent a wave of frustration through him, but there was no time to dwell on it now. A guttural snarl echoed from the left. His breath caught as he turned his head. Shadows moved in the corridor, but the dim emerge sign at the far end provided just enough light to reveal the figures rushing toward him. More zombies. The noise had drawn them, and now they were closing in fast. Panic shot through him like electricity. He turned on his heel and bolted for the stairwell. His feet smmed against the floor, every step sending jolts of pain up his legs, but he didn’t stop. The growls behind him grew louder, the sound of rotti spping against the flaining on him. His mind raced as he ran. The hallway was too dangerous; his apartment was locked. The only pce left was the roof. If he could get up there, maybe he could buy himself some time. Maybe there was a way down from the other side—anything was better thaing trapped down here with the dead. As he he stairwell, a sudden snarl erupted from the darko his right. A zombie lu him from a side door, its rotting hands reag for his throat. Instinct took over. Hugo threw his weight forward, shoving the undead creature with all his strength. It staggered back, colliding with the wall as he stumbled past it, his foot barely missing a suitcase that could have sent him sprawling. His heart pounded as he crashed through the stairwell door, taking the steps two at a time. He could hear them behind him, stumbling, but relentless. His lungs burned as he climbed higher, his muscles screaming for relief, but he couldn’t stop—not now.The door to the roof was just ahead. He could make it. He lunged forward, shoving the heavy metal door open with his shoulder. It gave way, aumbled onto the rooftop, gasping for breath. Without thinking, he spun and grabbed the door, smming it shut. The silehat followed was deafening. Hugo had a moment to catch his breath. He leaned against the door, his chest rising and falling in rapid bursts, his muscles burning. The rooftop was eerily still. For a brief, fleeting sed, a sliver of hope crept into his mind—maybe, just maybe, they would stop chasing him. Maybe the dead would lose i and drift away. His muscles ached from the relentless sprint, and his lungs burned as if they had bee on fire. He had never been good with cardio, never had the endurance for this kind of exertion. He couldn’t even remember the st time he had run that fast or that hard. His body screamed for rest, but there was no time to rex. He had survived—for now.For a moment, there was only silehen the pounding started. The door shuddered with every hit, the dead determio reach him. Hugo was still pushing against the door, his entire body straining to keep it shut. If he let go, even for a sed, they would be on him. More and more undead were piling against it, their bined weight making it nearly impossible to hold babsp;His eyes darted around the rooftop, desperate for anything to barricade the door with—but there was nothing. Just gravel and the vast open sky stretg above the city. No furniture, no pipes, nothing that could buy him even a few seds. His mind raced. He anting hard, his muscles already burning. The summer night air was warm, but a chill ran through him, not from the temperature but from the sheer terror of the moment. It was June, just past 8 PM, and the golden hues of the su had given way to deep blue shadows creeping over the skyline. Under any other circumstahe evening would have beeiful. But beauty didn’t matter now. Survival did. His options were bleak—stay aorn apart or jump four floors down. His stomach twisted at the thought. The alley below was unfiving crete, but there were ledges, balies a few floors down. If he aimed right, if he was lucky, maybe—just maybe—he could survive the fall. A violent sm against the door jolted him back to reality. The door burst open with a deafening crash, and he was thrown aside by the sheer force of bodies pushing through. He hit the gravel hard, the impaog the wind out of him. Zombies spilled onto the rooftop, their weight causing them to stumble and colpse over one another in a writhing heap. There was no time to think—only to move. Scrambling to his feet, Hugo bolted toward the closest ledge, his breath ragged, heart hammering in his chest. As he skidded to a stop, dread shot through him like ice. He had chosen the wrong side. There was nothing but open air between him and the hard pavement below. No balies, no fire escapes—only a single rge garbage tainer oreet far beh him. A cold sweat broke out on his skin. His body trembled as he stood at the edge of the ft rooftop, trying to summon the ce to jump. He had no other option. But as he peered over the edge, his stomach twisted in airely different way. Heights. He had always been afraid of heights. Just looking down made his knees feel weak, his breath shaky. The idea of jumpi waves of hrough him, but the alternative—being torn apart—was far worse. Then, before he could react, a rotten hand grabbed his shoulder. He barely had time to twist before another shoved him hard. He felt the ground disappear beh his feet.The world spun. His stomach lurched. He filed in the air, his arms grasping at nothing. He had no time to aim—no trol. He felt the ground hit hard. Agony exploded through his body. He had missed the garbage taiirely. The impact sent a sharp, unbearable pain through his limbs, a siing ch reverberating through his skull. He knew instantly—bones had shattered, ans had ruptured. The worst pain imaginable ed him, drowning out every other sensation. He gasped, his breath ing in shurgling bursts. Blood filled his mouth, hot aallic. He managed only two shalled breaths before his sciousness began to slip away. No fshes of his life. No f light at the end of a tunnel. Just the cold, unyielding embrace of crete, and a body wracked with agony. Hugo died that night. Suddenly, he jolted awake in his apartment, his entire body drenched i. His breath came in ragged gasps, his heart hammering in his chest. The pain—the unimaginable agony of his shattered boill lingered, phantom echoes c through his limbs. He clutched at his ribs, expeg to feel broken pieces beh his fingers, but there was nothing. He was whole. His stomach twisted violently, nausea hitting him like a punch. He lurched fagging, but his stomach was empty. Nothing came out. He remained slumped on the bed, shaking untrolbly, his mind struggling to make sense of what had just happened. Minutes passed. Long, agonizing minutes filled with silent tears and shock. Slowly, his breathing steadied, and his mind cwed its way back to rationality. Was it a dream? It didn’t feel like o was too vivid, too real—the sensation of falling, the unbearable pain, the way the cold crete had swallowed him whole. That wasn’t something a dream could replicate. Hands trembling, he reached for his phone on the nightstand. The s lit up, casting a faint glow in the dim room. Battery: 10%. The same as before. His gaze drifted toward the window. Outside, the same m sunlight bathed the city. The streets were eerily still, just as they had been before. Nothing had ged. Swallowing hard, he turned his head, sing his apartment. The empty ers and instant ramen soup tainers were exactly where he had left them. The mess, the dim lighting—it was all identical. Every siail. His breathing quied as he looked down at his phone again, as if expeg the o ge. But they didn’t. June 12, 10 AM. The same day. Again.