My lungs burned like a wildfire raging through a dry forest as I sprinted along the deserted road. My heart pounded in my chest like a frantic war drum, not just from exertion but from sheer terror. Behind me, the guttural growls and shuffling feet of zombies drew closer, a relentless tide of decay and death. It had all happened so fast—the outbreak like a sudden storm, the chaos spreading like a plague, the loss of everything I knew as swift and cruel as a thief in the night.

  In the distance, I spotted a utility building on the side of the road. It was small and nondescript, a mere speck against the horizon, but to me, it represented my only hope, a beacon of salvation in a sea of despair. If I could reach it, maybe I could find a way to secure myself from the relentless pursuit. I pushed my tired legs harder, willing myself to keep moving, each step a Herculean effort. I ducked around a car that had crashed into the cement barrier, its metal frame twisted and mangled like a fallen giant, and kept going, my determination as unyielding as steel.

  To my dismay, I realized how fast the zombies actually moved. The horror movies had gotten it wrong—sure, some were the stereotypical slow, shuffling figures, but most could manage a slow jog and, for short distances, a terrifying sprint. I regretted all those cheeseburgers, Cool Ranch Doritos, and Mountain Dew, cursing the days spent sitting and gaming as I huffed and puffed. I hadn't worked out this hard since that wild night with my ex-girlfriend and her friend, a marathon of a different kind that left me breathless for entirely different reasons.

  As I got closer, the utility building came into clearer view, emerging from the landscape like a solitary outpost in an endless desert. It was a rectangular structure with a slanted, domed roof, likely designed to shed rain and snow efficiently, giving it a utilitarian and somewhat uninviting look. There were no windows to peer through, just cold, blank walls. On one side of the building, a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire protected an electrical installation, encircling the far side and back like a spiked collar.

  A narrow gap between the building and the retaining wall on the back wall of the structure pushed it back into the small hillside, creating a claustrophobic alley. The area was blocked by a chain-link fence that stood like an iron sentinel, three feet wide and ten feet tall, a barrier that seemed both daunting and impenetrable. The fence, topped with jagged barbed wire, glinted menacingly in the midday sun, a silent warning to intruders. The confined space felt like a trap, the walls pressing in on either side, amplifying my anxiety. The front of the building featured two metal-clad doors, sturdy and unwelcoming, while a larger roll up utility door was located in between them. I moved to the front of the building, my footsteps crunching on the gravel, each step a reminder of the urgency of my situation. I darted from one door to the next, hoping against hope that one of them would be open. The first door was locked. The second door, also locked. Desperation mounting, I ran to the utility door and yanked it with all my strength.

  In my tunnel vision, focused solely on getting inside, I was blindsided by a zombie that lunged at me from out of nowhere, like a ghost materializing from thin air. I barely managed to dodge, instinctively kicking out from long-buried memories of childhood kung fu classes. The creature overbalanced and fell to the ground with a thud, momentarily incapacitated like a discarded rag doll. Wheezing and out of breath, I knew I had to get to safety.

  I spotted the fence post next to the building and made a split-second decision. The barbed wire was flat, and I figured I could manage climbing up onto the top of the building by leveraging the post. My legs felt like jelly, and fear coursed through me as I started my ascent.

  The climb was a nightmare. My hands, already raw and covered in sweat, gripped the metal post, which was slick with grime, making every hold treacherous. Each step was agony as I hoisted myself up the fence, feeling the sharp edges of the links biting into my skin like the teeth of a relentless beast. My legs shook uncontrollably, like a baby taking its first steps, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I had pissed myself, though I couldn’t be sure if it was sweat or sheer terror. The barbed wire loomed just above my head, a menacing barrier I had to navigate, its twisted strands like the talons of a vengeful predator.

  I reached the top of the fence and used the post that was sticking up high, carefully placing my foot on the narrow top of it, balancing precariously like a tightrope walker. Every muscle in my body screamed in protest as I pushed myself up, my fingers scrabbling for purchase on the ledge of the roof. It felt like it was miles away. Gritting my teeth, I made one final, desperate effort, my body straining with the exertion. Blood pounded in my head, making my vision blur. I felt the skin on my palms tear open, the pain jolting through me like an electric shock.

  With a guttural cry, I heaved myself over the edge, collapsing onto the metal-clad roof with a clang that echoed through the still air. I lay there, panting and trembling, my vision swimming with black spots. My entire body throbbed with pain, every nerve ending alight with agony, but I was alive. Somehow, against all odds, I had the chance to eat Cool Ranch Doritos again. The absurdity of the thought brought a weak, delirious smile to my lips as I lay there.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  I had never felt this physically drained in my life. Yesterday, I thought, would be the worst day I’d ever experienced, but today seemed to be overtaking it like a race car, speeding towards an even darker horizon. I couldn't shake the image of my girlfriend turning, a sight I wasn’t ready to relive in detail. The memory gnawed at my sanity, a wound that refused to heal. As I lay on the roof, catching my breath, I realized I had lost one shoe during the scramble. A glance at my hands confirmed they were bleeding from torn palms, the raw flesh a testament to my desperation. I could feel a major case of shock setting in, my body trembling uncontrollably as the adrenaline ebbed away.

  Despite everything, I began to cry. The tears came suddenly, a flood of raw emotion that I couldn't hold back. I didn't know why the tears came, whether from the physical pain, the suffocating fear, or the sheer hopelessness of it all, but I couldn’t stop them. They flowed freely, each drop a tiny release of the overwhelming pressure building inside me. My sobs echoed off the roof top, a haunting soundtrack to my desolation. In that moment, the weight of my loss, my fear, and my exhaustion crashed down on me, and I felt utterly alone in a world that had turned into a nightmare.

  What felt like half an hour passed, though I couldn’t be sure, I regained enough of myself to sit up. I noticed a puddle of sweat beneath me—maybe piss, but at least I hadn’t shit my pants. That was one small victory. I slowly started to survey the top of the building. The roof was metal-clad and had a slight bow, with a five-foot difference from the edge to the center. The building itself seemed to be about twenty feet by forty feet, a rectangular shape with the long side facing the road.

  I looked around, taking stock of my situation. My entourage of passionate followers were milling around like paparazzi, waiting for a glimpse of a movie star. Their vacant eyes tracked my every movement, their guttural growls a constant reminder of the danger I was in. The metal roof creaked under my weight

  I looked down and counted the zombies. Six were around the building. Patricia, my girlfriend, or could you still call her that when she tried to eat me? Then there was the kid from apartment 2A who was always smoking pot on the balcony. Mr. Fatso in the red shirt, who I thought I had left in the dust. The sneaky bastard who almost got me when I checked the doors. He was Clutching my lost shoe in his hand. He must have grabbed it right off my foot as I made my last desperate climb. I hadn't even realized how close it was. Fuck. Then there were numbers 5 and 6, zombies I hadn't gotten around to naming yet. Plus, more in the distance, shambling aimlessly like rogue balls in a pinball machine.

  I did a lap of the roof as I thought of some names for zombies 5 and 6. Number 5; she had red hair, and number 6 wore a green dress, which made me think of Christmas. That was a shit idea, so I decided their numbers were good enough. I knew I needed to make a move, but my legs just wouldn’t work. It was a struggle to even stand. The light was fading, and I knew that if I couldn’t see those fuckers, they would have me in no time.

  The corners of the building I climbed up had a ten-foot barbed wire fence parallel to the road that extended out maybe fifteen feet. It connected to the back wall, which was a retaining wall made of cement. The wall was about six feet tall and had a fence on top of it, adding another eight feet. This created a fenced area from the road to a few feet past the back of building, forming a small alley from the back side of the building to the retaining wall. There was a sound reduction wall about twenty-five feet away from the back of building, blocking noise from the busy road on top of the hill from the neighborhood behind it. The fenced area seemed likely to keep people out of the electrical installation, though I didn’t know what it did. It took up about sixty percent of the space.

  I shrugged off my backpack, the burden that had nearly been my undoing. The weight had sapped my strength, each step dragging me closer to the edge of exhaustion. But it wasn't all bad; the pack contained vital supplies. I would need to ration my food and water carefully. I took three measured sips from my canteen, just enough to soothe the fire in my throat without depleting my reserves too quickly.

  Reaching into my pack, I pulled out a small bottle of antiseptic. The sting as I applied it to my cut-up hands was sharp, but it was a necessary pain. There was no chance of getting a tetanus shot out here, so I had to make do. I considered the spare T-shirt in my bag, thinking about cutting it into strips for bandages. Instead, I opted for a pair of socks. I cut off the toes and made holes for my thumbs, creating makeshift gloves to protect and warm my battered hands.

  Feeling the chill of my wet shirt clinging to my skin, I considered changing into the clean one in my bag. However, I decided against it, choosing instead to use my body heat and the fading sunlight to dry the damp shirt. The dry, clean one would be saved for when I went to bed,

  I climbed to the top rooftop, seeking a vantage point where I could keep watch. The world around me was eerily quiet, and the evening shadows stretched long and dark. I settled down, the smooth surface of the roof pressing into me as I scanned the horizon. The effort to stay alert was a battle against my own exhaustion, but I forced myself to remain vigilant, even as my eyelids grew heavy and threatened to close.

  I was physically exhausted, having been chased for what felt like at least ten miles. My legs felt like lead, each step a struggle against the weight of fatigue. But the physical toll was nothing compared to the emotional devastation. The horror of a girlfriend turned predator, the unbearable reality of my parents’ death Stripping off my wet pants, I changed into clean underwear and the dry T-shirt. I spread my damp clothes on the roof, hoping they’d dry by morning. From my backpack, I pulled out a micro sleeping bag, a small comfort in the chaos. I lay out on the top of the roof, got into the sleeping bag, and used my backpack as a makeshift pillow. As I closed my eyes, the weight of the day’s horrors pressed down on me, and I hoped that sleep would offer some solace.