Hugo stirred awake, blinking groggily as he adjusted to the dim m light filtering through the window. He was warm, his body coed under his b, and for a fleeting sed, he almost fot where he was. Almost.

  Then the dull ache in his arm brought everything rushing back.

  He exhaled sharply, sitting up as his mind fully cleared. Salem was curled up beside him, motionless except for the slow rise and fall of his breathing. The cat’s yellow eyes flicked open, watg Hugo as he moved. Without a sound, Salem hopped down from the bed and padded toward the kit.

  Hugo absentmindedly scratched his arm before pulling back his sleeve to check his wound.

  The bandage was still in pce, slightly discolored from dried blood. His fingers hesitated before he carefully peeled it back. His heart pounded as he ied the scratch.

  No redness. No swelling. No dark veins creeping up his skin.

  Just a wound. A pin, ordinary wound.

  He let out a long breath, the tension in his shoulders easing. He wasn’t turning. It had been at least ten hours sihe fight, and if anything were going to happen, it would have already.

  "Guess I’m not ied," he muttered, shaking his head. "Not like the movies after all."

  He got to his feet, stretg his stiff limbs, and made his way to the kit. Salem flicked his tail and leaped onto the ter, sitting expetly he cupboard where Hugo kept the cat food. The silent demand was clear. Hugo chuckled despite himself. "Yeah, yeah. Breakfast."

  The apartment was quiet. For now, things were stable. He poured some cat food into a bowl, watg as Salem immediately begaing. Theurned his attention to his own meal, grabbing an apple from his dwindling stash and slig it up. He scooped out a spoonful of peanut butter from a jar and spread it onto the slices, making a simple but satisfying breakfast.

  Hugo sat at the ter, slowly chewing on the apple and staring bnkly at the wall. Last night, he'd decided to take a d sleep on the scratch. It had been a gamble, but now he had a firmed piece of information—scratches didn’t turn people into zombies. That was huge. It meant he could afford minor injuries, that he didn’t have to be terrified of every little scrape.

  But there were still too many unknowns.

  He needed more supplies, and now that he was retively sure he wouldn’t drop dead from iion, he could pn his move properly. The apartment he had just cleared still had resources, and there was at least one more unit on his floor he hadn’t gotten into yet.

  Before itting to anything, he decided to do a quick routine check. He walked over to the window, carefully pushing the curtain aside just enough to peek outside. The street below was mostly unged—scattered debris, abandoned cars, and a few zombies shambling aimlessly. No new fires, no sudderu. Just the same lifeless city he had growo.

  He turned his attention to the hallway barricades . Quietly, he unlocked his door and peeked out. The furniture he had stacked against the stairwells was still in pce, and there were no signs of zombies pressing against them anymore. He waited a moment, listening, but heard nothing. That was a good sign. It meant they had moved on, at least for now.

  With his immediate surroundings secure, he turo the unpleasant task—getting rid of the bodies in the apartme door. He couldn’t leave them there to rot.

  Gritting his teeth, he ehe neighb apartment, dragging a sheet from the bedroom to use as a makeshift body . The first corpse was heavier than he expected, a dead weight that resisted every movement. He grunted as he pulled it across the floor, its limp limbs flopping with siing looseness. He avoided looking at the face. Once he had it ed, he hauled it toward the window, pausing only to check the street below. The coast was clear.

  With a deep breath, he heaved the body over the edge. It fell silently at first, then nded with a siing the pavement below. His stomach twisted, but he forced himself to move on.

  The sed body was smaller but just as uling. He repeated the process, trying to ighe way its limbs dangled unnaturally as he dragged it to the window. Another drop, another ch.

  It was done.

  Hugo leaned against the wall, exhaling sharply. He felt grimy, exhausted, but lighter now that the apartment was cleared. At least now, it wouldn’t stink up the pce.

  He took anside. Still no movement. Good.

  His objective was f in his mind. Loot the locked apartment. See if it had anything worthwhile. Maybe he could find another on, something more reliable than a frying pan and a kit knife. He o be better prepared if he was going to clear the building.

  Time to see what was behind that locked door.

  Hugo returo his apartment and grabbed the toolbox he had looted earlier. He took out a screwdriver and a pry bar, weighing his options. If he could wedge the screwdriver into the doorframe and create enough leverage with the pry bar, he might be able to force it open without too muoise.

  He stepped into the hallway, making sure to move quietly. The locked apartment was just a few feet away. He pressed his ear against the door, listening for any movement inside. Nothing. That was a good start.

  He crouched down, wedging the screwdriver between the door and the frame, trying to create a gap wide enough to fit the pry bar. His hands worked carefully, aware that too much force could break the wood and cause a loud crack. He gritted his teeth as he applied slow, steady pressure, feeling the frame give slightly uhe tension.

  A soft creak escaped as the wood shifted. Hugo froze, his breath catg. He waited, listening. No sounds from the hallway. No movement from inside.

  Enced, he pressed forward, w the pry bar into pce. The lock was cheap—nothing heavy-duty. With a little more effort, he felt the final resistance give way. The door popped open just an inch.

  Hugo held his breath and open further, peering inside.

  Darkness. Silence.

  He tightened his grip on his knife and stepped inside, ready for whatever was waiting beyond the threshold.

  What he found was better than he could have hoped for.

  The apartment was untouched. It was the est, best-stocked pce he had seen sihis all started. The decor was different—med, a distinctively mase feel to it. Leather furniture, heavy wooden ets, and a faint lingering st of oil aal. A biker’s apartment.

  Hugo's eyes immediately nded on a bck leather jacket hanging from a coat rack. He stepped closer, running his fingers over the thick material. It was sturdy, durable—a perfect makeshift armor if he reinforced it. With magaziaped around his forearms underh, it could protect him from bites and scratches.

  Beside it, he spotted something eveer—a full-face bck motorcycle helmet. His breath hitched. A solid, protective helmet. If he got hit, it wouldn’t be a death sentence. He picked it up, weighing it in his hands. This was a jackpot.

  He moved to the kit, rifling through the ets. More food than he had found anywhere else. ed goods, dried pasta, jerky—lots of jerky. It was the best haul yet, and he wasted no time stuffing his bag.

  Moving deeper inside, he spotted a baseball bat leaning against the wall, its surface slightly worn but still solid. Grinning, he picked it up. Finally, a real on.

  he closet, he found a rge green army duffle bag, half-unzipped, revealing more supplies—clothes, tools, even some first-aid items. Hugo exhaled, shaking his head. "Man, whoever you were, you were prepared. Thank you."

  After gathering his loot, Hugo carefully carried everything back to his apartment. He set the bag down and took a deep breath.

  Wasting no time, he began anizing. Food i, medical supplies ihroom, ohe door. Theurned his attention to his new gear. He slid into the leather jacket, feeling its weight settle over his shoulders. It was snug but durable.

  He grabbed a pair of jeans and, using the duct tape he had sged earlier, began reinf them. He carefully positiohick magazines around his forearms and shins, seg them tightly with yers of duct tape. The extra weight was noticeable, but the added prote was worth it. He flexed his arms, testing his mobility. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a hell of a lot better than before.

  , he dug through his supplies, assembling a makeshift first aid kit for his backpack. He packed bandages, alcohol wipes, painkillers, and the antibiotics he had found earlier. If he got hurt again, he o be able to treat himself immediately.

  Theurned his attention to the baseball bat. He pulled out a box of nails from his toolbox and began hammering them through the head of the bat, angling them outward. It was crude, but it would make each swing more devastating. He smirked, gripping the on with satisfa. "Looks straight out of a movie," he muttered.

  By the time he was done, his apartme more like a preparation zohan a hiding pce. He g Salem, who had taken a seat on the ter, silently watg him. "Not bad, huh?" he said.

  The cat blinked slowly in response.

  For the first time in a while, Hugo felt ready. He wasn’t just surviving anymore.

  He reparing for whatever came .

  Before leaving, Hugo took a moment to look at himself in the mirror he door. The bck leather jacket, reinforced jeans, the makeshift armor of magaziaped tightly to his arms and legs—it made him look prepared. Dangerous, even. The motorcycle helmet rested beside him, ready to go. His baseball bat, now lined with jagged nails, hung at his side, and his Japa knife was secured in his belt.

  For the first time sihis nightmare began, he felt ready. Strong.

  "Alright," he murmured to himself. "Let’s do this."

  With his gear ready, Hugo finally left his apartment, desding the stairs with a newfound sense of fidehe grip of the bat was firm in his hands, and each step dow like progress—like he was finally taking trol of his situation.

  The momeurned a er oairwell, he spotted a lone zombie lingering on the nding below. It stood still, almost as if waiting for him.

  Grinning, Hugo tightened his grip o. "Alright, let’s see what this baby do."

  He stepped forward, swinging hard. The bat ected with the zombie’s skull, but instead of a hit, the nails embedded deep into the bone, lodging it ihe force of the impact made Hugo stumble slightly. He tried to yank the bat free, but the zombie lurched toward him, snarling.

  Cursing, he struggled to pull it out, but it was stuck. The undead cwed at him, its movements jerky aic. Hugo barely mao shove it back with his boot, sending it crashing against the stair railing. With no other optio go of the bat and drew his knife in a swift motion.

  With a quick thrust, he buried the bde into the side of its head. The zombie stiffehen colpsed, motionless.

  Panting, Hugo stared at his bat, still wedged in its skull. "Great. Just great."

  Maybe the nails weren’t such a brilliant idea after all.

  Annou I have started a Patreon for the people that want early access to my story and to help me pay the bills. All help is greatly appreciated! https://patreon./Restartdeadtomorrow