The first day of the apocalypse had been surprisingly quiet for Liam, aside from the initial shock. As night fell and the darkness swallowed the city, the world seemed to hold its breath. Prostitutes no longer stood outside, smoking and watching strangers walk by. Drunks no longer staggered through the streets in groups of three or four. Neon lights vanished from New York, and with them, the old rhythm of the city disappeared too. That life was gone.
Liam knew he had to leave the apartment. It wasn't safe here. The door looked sturdy, but if four or five zombies came pounding at once, it would eventually give in. Zombies didn't care about damage to their bodies. They didn't hold back. Their strength, even in decay, surpassed that of ordinary people. And Liam didn't barricade the door because it was his only exit. If the infected ever made it inside, there'd be no time to think. He couldn't exactly jump from the fourth floor—not without breaking half the bones in his body.
The only real defense was silence. Zombies responded to sound, not sight. Their hearing wasn't better than a human's, just more reactive. As long as he kept his voice down, he wouldn't draw their attention.
Food was the biggest problem. Starving to death in hiding was no better than being torn apart. He had enough to stretch out for three days if he rationed carefully, but he didn't want to. If he didn't eat properly, he'd be too weak to run. And once he left, running would be everything. So Liam decided: he had two days. After that, he was gone. No wishful thinking. No waiting around. In a world like this, hope would get you killed.
Zombies didn't react to dim light. Liam had noticed that. Even when night fell and faint lights flickered from a few neighboring windows, the infected didn't swarm. That meant survivors were out there, hiding just like he was. But the creatures outside barely stirred. Only now and then did one of them groan low in its throat.
Liam left a small lamp on, its brightness dimmed to a low, amber glow beside the bed. He sat near the window in the armchair, eyes scanning the quiet street.
"Can I take a shower?" Manila asked quietly from the bed, her voice soft. When Liam turned to look, she quickly added, "I didn't rinse off properly this morning. I had something on my skin… it's uncomfortable." She squirmed slightly, as if proving her point.
"Just don't use the overhead shower. And shut the door," Liam said after a moment. The sound of running water might carry, even through two doors. Better safe than sorry.
"Thanks," she said, smiling brightly—and without hesitation, grabbed the hem of her T-shirt and pulled it over her head. She hadn't been wearing anything underneath. In the dim light, her sun-kissed skin glowed, her chest full and heavy, easily a D cup, moving with every breath.
Liam had often wondered why someone like her hadn't ended up in a high-end escort service. With her looks, charging at least three to five hundred an hour wouldn't be unreasonable. She could've lived far better than this rundown building. But he'd never asked, and she'd never offered the answer.
Manila never missed a chance to tease him. After tossing her shirt aside, she slowly slipped out of her pants, moving with a dancer's rhythm. Liam, as always, stayed completely detached. He just raised an eyebrow and offered a casual smile. "You're beautiful." Then he turned back to the window and stared at the half-moon hiding behind a layer of cloud.
"Want to join me?" she asked, now fully naked, standing by the bed. She'd shaved completely. One hand lazily cupped her breast, her fingers squeezing softly, offering an invitation with her eyes as much as her voice.
"Thanks, but I'm good," Liam replied from the armchair. He smiled again, then looked away.
She didn't react, just curled her lips in a faint pout before turning with an exaggerated sway of her hips and walking into the bathroom. The door closed behind her, and soon, a faint trickle of water could be heard.
Forty minutes passed.
The bathroom door opened again, and Manila stepped out, skin damp, drying her hair with a towel.
"I used your towel. And your toothbrush," she said casually, walking back to the bed.
"No problem. Help yourself," Liam replied without looking.
She climbed into bed and pulled the blanket over her body, her bare skin still radiating heat and scent. She didn't put anything on. That was Liam's bed, and it was clear what she was hoping for.
Silence filled the room again. Breathing, faint and shallow, was the only sound. Liam stared at the sky outside, until finally, his eyes closed.
"Aren't you coming to bed?" Manila asked suddenly. "That chair's too stiff. You won't sleep well."
Liam opened his eyes, turned his head. She was lying on her side, one hand propped beneath her cheek, the other lifting the blanket, exposing the empty space beside her. Her body half-hidden, half-revealed, more tempting than full nudity.
"I'm fine here. You go ahead," Liam said.
Manila frowned. This man was infuriating. She pulled the blanket up and turned off the light, then rolled to face the wall, her anger cooling into quiet frustration.
"You should probably put something on," Liam said after a moment. "If zombies break in, you don't want to be running around naked."
Without a word, she sat up, turned on the light, quickly slipped into her clothes, turned the light back off, and lay back down with the blanket over her head.
Liam exhaled, a soft, tangled breath escaping as he closed his eyes again.
…
The night passed without incident. Nothing happened. Manila, annoyed and rejected, fell asleep quickly. Liam kept drifting between sleep and wakefulness until well past midnight, thoughts heavy and unrelenting.
Around 7:30 in the next morning. Liam was jolted awake by the sudden roar of an engine outside. He jumped up, yanked the curtain aside, and stared down at the street.
Right at the north intersection of Oak Street, a battered, blood-smeared Ford E450 made a sloppy, wide turn, knocking over several zombies, then sped south. The E450 was a heavy-duty MPV—ten seats, built like a tank with a 6.8L engine. The thing was all torque and raw power, one of the better models for surviving something like this.
Its presence set the entire street ablaze with motion. Every zombie on Oak Street suddenly locked onto the vehicle, groaning and snarling as they chased after it.
For Liam, it was the opening he needed. With most of the infected drawn away, his chances of escaping had just gone up dramatically.
Without hesitation, he grabbed his pack from the armrest, turned to the bed, and shook Manila awake. She bolted up like she'd just escaped a nightmare.
"We're leaving. Now," Liam said, yanking the blanket off her and tossing her shoes on the bed.
She saw his face and knew it was serious. "What happened?" she asked, fumbling with her shoes.
"A car passed through. It's drawing them away. If you want to live, keep up," he said, strapping on his bag and rushing to the door. He wasn't waiting.
In the hall, he could already hear them. The groaning. The dragging of feet.
He peeked out, gun drawn, then slipped into the corridor.
The hallway reeked—blood and rot, thick and choking. Dark stains covered the walls and floor. A single bloody handprint, fingers splayed wide, stood out stark against the pale paint. Five zombies, men and women, arms stretched out, snarling as they saw Liam. They came at him fast—not running, but moving with a kind of manic urgency. Faster than most could walk.
Liam sprinted to the right, toward the elevators. Two zombies stood in his way.
"Wait for me!" Manila yelled behind him, frantically tying one shoe while still fumbling with the other. A zombie turned the corner, having followed Liam's path—but it saw her instead.
"Oh God!"
She screamed, grabbed the bat, and faced it. She didn't feel safe, but there was no choice. She had to move. It lunged. She swung. The bat crashed into its head. It staggered. She shoved hard, squeezed past, and bolted out of the room. The zombie came right after her.
Liam kept running. He didn't hesitate. The two zombies blocking his path went down fast—pop, pop, pop. Four shots. Two hits. They dropped. He reached the elevator, breath racing, eyes on the numbers. It was on the third floor.
He hit the button. The light blinked. The elevator started to descend.
Seconds ticked. The door slid open. Empty.
Liam stepped inside, pressed the button for the first floor, hesitated for half a second, then hit it.
He heard Manila scream—but he didn't move.
The doors began to close.
Just before they sealed shut, a slender hand slid between them.
Liam raised his gun—then saw her. He grabbed her wrist and yanked her in. Manila, breathless and wide-eyed, collapsed against the wall as groans approached fast.
"Hurry… hurry…" Liam muttered, gun aimed at the shrinking gap in the door. That was why he hadn't taken the stairs. They connected every floor. If he'd run down, he could've led a swarm with him.
Suddenly, a grotesque face appeared in the gap, inches from the closing doors. The zombie shrieked and jammed its arm into the opening.
Liam fired without thinking.
The thing's shoulder burst open. Blood sprayed. The arm came clean off.
Clunk.
The elevator doors finally shut. The descent began.
Liam let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
"You were really gonna leave me?" Manila asked suddenly, staring at him, still gripping the bat, her voice sharp.
"You're not dead, are you?" Liam replied flatly, eyes closed.
Ding.
The elevator hit the ground floor. The doors began to open.