Hugo sat on the edge of the couch, staring at the empty soup bowl in his hands. The warm meal had dotle to ease the gnawing feeling in his stomach, both from hunger and the creeping realization that he was running out of time. His supplies were nearly gone. He couldn’t wait any longer.

  It was already te in the day—about the same time he had left st time. That thought sent a chill through him. He had died out there. Fell off the roof, bones shattered against the pavement. The pain had been unbearable, seared into his memory. Even now, he could still feel the phantom ache of broken ribs and splintered limbs.He inhaled sharply, shoving the thought away. He didn’t know how or why, but he had e back. And now he knew—he couldn’t rely on the roof as an escape. That route was a death trap. This time, he needed a better pn. Standing up, he rolled his shoulders and adjusted his backpack, making sure everything was secure. Salem stirred beside him, opening his yellow eyes to watch Hugo."I have to go out again," Hugo muttered, more to himself tha. Salem merely flicked his tail and stretched, showing no i in stopping him. Hugo gnced around his apartment, mentally running through what he still needed. Food was the priority, but if he could grab more supplies—better ons, medical supplies, or anything else that could improve his ces—he would. He pulled his knife from its sheath, cheg the edge. Still sharp. But a bde wasn’t enough. His gaze settled oal pan he had brought with him before. It wasn’t perfect, but it had weight to it. He gave it a test swing. It would do for now. Taking a deep breath, he moved toward the door. The weight of dread pressed against his chest, but he couldn’t afford to hesitate. Hugo braced himself and shoved the heavy dresser aside, muscles straining as it scraped against the floor. The noise made him wince, but there was no helping it. He he door clear if he had to rush back. Taking a steadying breath, he gripped the haightly, hesitating for just a sed longer. Slowly, he eased the door open, sing the hallway. The air was thick with silehe kind that felt too heavy, too expet. Stepping out cautiously, he pulled the door shut behind him with deliberate care, ensuring it made as little noise as possible. His fingers lingered on the knob for a moment before he finally let go. If things went south, he o make it ba one piebsp;This time, he wasn’t going to die. Or at least, he was going to try like hell to avoid it.There were still three other apartments on this floor. He had already looted 302, so that left two more he hadn’t checked. He moved cautiously down the hallway, stopping in front of the first door. The e was faded, but the lock was intact. He tried the handle—locked. Just as he expected. His mind fshed back to his previous attempt at esg. A zombie had lu him further down the hall, which meant that apartment’s door had likely been open. If it was still unlocked, he could get ihe thought made his stomaot, but it also meant supplies. Steeling himself, he crept forward, his breath shallow. He reached the door and pressed his palm against it. Uhe first, this one had a slight give wheested the ha wasn’t locked. That could only meahing—something had already been inside.Hugo ched his jaw. He could turn baow, leave it alone. But he was running out of options. Gritting his teeth, he tightened his grip on the pan in his hand and pushed the door open just enough to shine his fshlight inside. He had to be ready for whatever was waiting for him. As the door creaked open, Hugo immediately spotted a figure standing in the dim light of the apartment. A zombie. It faced away from him, its posture sck, head tilted slightly forward as if in a dormant state. It hadn’t noticed him yet. His heart pounded as he instinctively lowered his fshlight, swallowing hard. The st time he had entered this o had lu him wheried to reach the roof. He had pushed it away—retively easily, actually. That memave him a flicker of fidenbsp;Could he take it down now? The thought made his grip tighten around the pan. If he was careful, if he aimed right, he might be able to drop it before it even had the ce to react. But if he failed—if he missed or didn’t hit hard enough—he’d have a fight on his hands. He exhaled slowly, sidering his options. He had to decide quickly.Keeping his breath shallow, Hugo took a cautious step forward. Then ahe zombie remaiill, its body eerily motionless except for the occasional twitch of its fingers. Every muscle in Hugo’s body tensed as he crept clripping the pan so tightly his knuckles turned white. He adjusted his stance, making sure his footing was solid. He o swing hard and aim right—o, and it had to go down. He was close enough now to hear the faint, ragged breathing from the undead’s decayed throat. The stench of rot hung thi the air, making him want to gag, but he forced himself to focus. One more step. His heart smmed against his ribs. If he hesitated now, he was dead. With a sharp intake of breath, he swung the pan with all the strength he could muster. The metal ected with the side of the zombie’s head with a siing crack.The force of the blow sent the creature stumbling sideways, crashing into a nearby table. Hugo barely had time to process before he reared bad swung again, this time aiming for the of its skull. The sed hit nded with a dull thud, and the zombie crumpled to the ground in a heap. Panting, Hugo took a shaky step back, eyes locked on the unmoving body. His arms trembled from the exertion, adrenaline c through his veins. He kept his grip on the pan, ready for the thing to twitch, to lurch back to life. But it didn’t. It was down. Food. Hugo let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He had do. He had actually taken one down. It wasn’t , and it definitely wasn’t quiet, but it was dead.Swallowing hard, he wiped the sweat from his brow and sed the apartment. He had made oo muoise. He o be quick. Time to loot a out before anything else showed up. He turned back to the door, easing it shut to prevent anything else from wandering in. The click of the tch souoo loud in the silence, but nothing stirred. Hugo exhaled, rolling his shoulders to shake off the tension before moving further inside. The apartment was a mess, though not as bad as the st one. Dust coated every surface, and a faint musty smell lingered beh the stench of rot. He stepped around the fallen zombie, sing for anything useful. His first stop was the kit. Yanking open the ets, he worked quickly, pushing aside expired s ay boxes. He mao sge a few things—another of soup, a half-full jar of peanut butter, a box of dry pasta. Not much, but enough to st two or three days.Shoving the food into his backpack, he turoward the refrigerator, hesitating. He already knew most of what was inside wouldn’t be good, but there was a ething was still salvageable. He steeled himself, reached out, and pulled the door open. The stench hit him instantly, an overwhelming wave of sour rot. His stomach lurched, aaggered back, c his mouth. Still, through the ing smell, his eyes sed quickly. Most of the food was a lost cause—meat had turo sludge, dairy was curdled and unreizable—but a few things could still be useful. A sealed block of cheese, still firm to the touch, a bottle of water, and a couple of apples that had softened but weren’t pletely spoiled. He grabbed them quickly before smming the door shut, trying to shake off the nausea. He moved toward the hallway, searg for other supplies. A set of shelves he entrance caught his eye. There were a few things scattered across it—old mail, ay coffee mug, and a fshlight with rusting batteries. He left it, already having his own. Just as he turoward the bathroom, a sharp thud echoed from the back of the apartment. Hugo froze. His breath caught in his throat.For a moment, silehen—a slow, dragging scrape. His pulse spiked. He ched the pan in his hands, his grip turning sweaty. He hadn’t checked the entire apartment before he started looting—a mistake he nretted. His overfidence had nearly cost him. The noise meant something had been in here all along, and he had been blindly rummaging through ets without seg the pce first. He swallowed hard, f his feet forward. He had to know what was back there.As he approached the hallway, the scraping sound stopped. The door to what must have been the bedroom was slightly ajar. He could see just a sliver of darkness beyond.Taking a deep breath, he reached out and he door open wider.Something lunged. It was small—too small. Hugo's mind barely had time tister the shape before it was on him. A child. Or at least, what used to be one.A blur of rotting flesh and g hands burst from the shadows. Hugo barely had time to react before he stumbled backward, throwing his weight to the side as the thing crashed into the hallway wall. Heart hammering, he swung wildly with the pan, missing as the creature twisted unnaturally, its skeletal fingers reag for him. It was fast—too fast. That wasn’t fair. There shouldn’t be kid zombies. That was some -level horror movie nightmare fuel. His brain screamed at the absurdity of it, but his body had no time to react. It shrieked—a pierg, guttural sound that sent ice through his veins. His back hit the kit ter, and before he could react, the child-sized nightmare was on him. Small but impossibly strong, it cwed at him with frantic, jerking movements, its shrieks reverberating through the apartment. Hugled, twisting his body to shove it away, but the creature g to him with inhuman persistenbsp;Pain fred in his arm. A sharp, burniion as its ragged nails tore through his sleeve, scratg deep into his ski out a strangled yell, instinctively yanking his arm back, but the damage was done. His grip on the pan loosened for a split sed, enough for the zombie to push fain. Panic surged through him. He threw his knee up, catg the creature in the chest, sending it stumbling back for just a moment—just long enough. With a desperate swing, he brought the pan down hard on its head. The impact sent the thing crashing onto the floor, twitg, but not stopping. Hugo didn't hesitate. He lifted the pan again and brought it down, over and over, his breath ing in ragged gasps. The wet, siing ch of bone giving way made bile rise in his throat, but he didn’t stop until the thing finally went still.Gasping, he stumbled back, clutg his bleeding arm. The wound wasn’t deep, but it stung like hell. He stared at the broken form in front of him, chest rising and falling rapidly. This was bad. He had made way too muoise. And worse—he was injured.He o get out. Now.