(The door hadn't been properly closed, and now, a zombie stands just in front of it. Since the door isn't locked, closing it is no longer an option. His body tenses as he slowly backs away.)
Roy: (whispers urgently) "Don't make a sound. There's a zombie."
Jack: (whispers back, frustrated) "You didn't close the door properly?"
Roy: (defensive, still whispering) "I did! But maybe it didn't lock..."
Jack: Let me check.
(He slowly steps toward him, sticking to the wall. He looks at him, realizing that the door can't be closed without touching it.)
Roy (whispers): We have to either push him or distract him.
Jack (whispers): We can't push him—what if he turns? We'd both be dead.
Roy (smirks): Then let's distract him. (He runs toward the kitchen, grabs a steel glass, and throws it outside, making a loud, sonorous sound that distracts the zombie. He quickly rushes to the door and closes it.)
Jack: That was a close call. I was about to shout your name.
Roy: Let's hurry before more of them come. (He takes his phone and power bank, then puts his phone on silent.)
Jack: Two bottles are enough, right?
Roy: More than enough.
(Roy rummages through the drawers, grabbing steel glasses.)
Jack (confused)-Why are you taking those steel glasses?
Roy (checking them)-You never know when we might need them. Better than fighting those things empty-handed.
Jack (smirking)-Smart kid.
(Jack slightly opens the door. The stench of blood and rotting flesh hits them hard—Jack nearly gags. One zombie stands with its back to them near the stairs.)
Roy (whispering)-Now or never.
(He rushes forward and shoves the zombie down the stairs. They bolt upward—but suddenly—