Hugo woke up feeling more in control than he had since this nightmare began. The last few days had been a whirlwind of survival, fighting, and barely scraping by. But now, for the first time, he wasn’t just reacting—he was planning, preparing. It was time to take the next step.

  The world outside was still chaos, but inside his apartment, he could create order.

  The first thing he did was establish a routine. It wasn’t much, but it gave him a sense of stability. Every morning, he started with a workout—push-ups, sit-ups, squats. His body needed to be stronger, more resilient. He had no idea how long he would be stuck in this time loop, but if he was going to keep dying and coming back, he at least needed to be better prepared each time.

  After exercising, he cleaned his equipment. His knife was wiped down, his bat inspected for any cracks, and his makeshift armor adjusted. The magazines taped around his arms and legs were a crude defense, but they had already proven useful.

  His apartment had to remain a stronghold, so he also dedicated time to maintenance. He reinforced his barricades, making sure nothing had shifted overnight. His makeshift rope of bedsheets tied to the balcony was still in place—his emergency escape plan if things went south. Every piece of furniture he had used to block the stairwells was checked and adjusted if needed.

  After his morning routine, he took the time to patrol his floor. He moved quietly, bat in hand, checking each apartment door, listening for sounds of movement. Most of the zombies in the complex were accounted for—he had killed several, trapped one, and had a rough estimate of how many remained. But he couldn’t afford to be careless.

  He also kept an eye on the outside world. He spent time each day at his window, observing the streets below. The patterns of the undead were becoming clearer—when they moved, how they reacted to noise, where they clustered. The world might be dead, but it still had rules, and Hugo was learning them.

  As the day passed, he felt a growing sense of confidence. He wasn’t just surviving anymore—he was preparing for whatever came next.

  After two days, he decided to go downstairs. He still had enough food for a couple more days, but it was getting low, and he knew he couldn’t wait until starvation forced him out.

  He moved carefully down the stairwell, bat in hand, trying to be quiet. The air was thick with dust, the faint smell of decay lingering. The hallway below was dim, only small slivers of light breaking through the boarded-up windows. The silence made his pulse quicken—too quiet. Too still.

  Then, as he took another step, something lunged at him from the darkness.

  The weight hit him hard, slamming him into the railing. He barely had time to raise his bat before gnashing teeth snapped just inches from his throat. His mind went blank with pure survival instinct.

  Hugo grunted, twisting his body to shove the thing back, but it was relentless, clawing and thrashing at him. He swung the bat in a desperate arc, smashing it into the zombie’s side. It barely staggered.

  A flash of pain erupted in his ribs as the undead’s flailing limbs struck him hard. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs. Panic surged through him.

  He gritted his teeth and swung again—this time, he aimed for the head. The bat connected with a sickening crunch, sending the creature reeling backward. He didn’t hesitate. Hugo stepped forward and brought the bat down again, hard, until the writhing stopped.

  His breath came in ragged gasps as he stepped back, pressing a hand to his side. A nasty bruise was already forming along his ribs, pain radiating with every breath. Carelessness had almost cost him.

  Leaning against the wall, he forced himself to focus. The floor below was dangerous, more than he had thought. If he wanted to make it through this, he needed to be smarter.

  Still clutching his side, Hugo moved toward the next apartment, deciding against entering the one directly below his own. He had heard noises from there yesterday, and he wasn’t ready to deal with whatever was inside.

  The next apartment was locked, but he had gotten good at breaking in by now.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Pushing the door open cautiously, he stepped inside. This apartment was different—neat, but minimal. A few posters on the walls, a collapsible table pushed against the wall, and an air mattress instead of a bed. There were several biking-related items scattered around—helmets, gloves, and a bike pump in the corner.

  A glance toward the kitchen confirmed what he had hoped for. The previous tenant had stocked up on food. Cans of beans, pasta, protein bars, and bottled water. Not an endless supply, but more than enough to make this trip worth it. He loaded his backpack carefully, making sure to distribute the weight evenly.

  Then he spotted it—the real jackpot. Against the wall near the entrance sat a sleek, well-maintained bicycle, complete with a mounted storage rack and reinforced tires. This wasn’t just any bike; this was the kind used by couriers who raced through the city, dodging traffic like it was second nature.

  Hugo ran a hand over the handlebars. "This could be useful."

  The final find was an old, folded map of the city pinned to the fridge. He grabbed it, unfolding it carefully. The previous owner had marked several routes—likely shortcuts and safer paths they had used while working. He studied it for a moment before tucking it into his bag.

  This was a win. He had food, a faster way to move around, and information that could give him an advantage in the city.

  With his backpack full and his ribs aching, Hugo took one last look around before heading back out. This time, he moved with more caution. He had gained something valuable today, and he wasn’t about to lose it by making another stupid mistake.

  It was time to head back.

  Back in his apartment, Hugo laid out the map on the kitchen table, smoothing out the creases. He scanned the area surrounding his complex, taking note of key locations—supermarkets, corner stores, gas stations. The previous owner had marked some areas with notes, likely places they had delivered to frequently.

  His original plan had been to fully loot his apartment complex before venturing outside, and now he was sure it was the best approach. There could be weapons, supplies, or anything else that might increase his chances of survival. A firearm would be ideal—something to keep him safe when the bat wasn’t enough.

  Beyond that, he needed to think about the long term. Water was his biggest concern. Could he set something up on the roof to collect rainwater? Maybe even a small garden up there? It wasn’t like he was leaving anytime soon.

  His fingers tapped on the map thoughtfully. He needed to secure the present before planning for the future, but it felt good to have a future to plan for.

  The next morning, Hugo set out with a new goal—clearing more of the apartment complex. If he wanted any chance of securing his long-term survival, he needed to make this building safe. The idea of finding a firearm was still fresh in his mind, and it kept him motivated.

  He moved carefully through the halls, trying to lure out any undead that might be lingering. He managed to isolate one—a lanky man with sunken cheeks and torn clothes. It was slow, stumbling towards him, and Hugo easily dispatched it with two precise strikes to the skull.

  The second zombie he encountered was a different story.

  A massive man, once obese but now horrifyingly bloated and swollen, shuffled towards him. His flesh sagged unnaturally, and every step sent a wave of putrid stench into the air. Hugo braced himself and swung his bat hard into its temple.

  It barely flinched.

  His stomach dropped as the zombie lurched forward, swinging its thick arms wildly. Hugo dodged just in time, feeling the rush of air as the heavy limb narrowly missed him. He struck again, aiming for the knee this time. The zombie collapsed with a groan but kept crawling toward him, its thick fingers clawing at the floor.

  Panting, Hugo raised his bat again and brought it down with everything he had. Again. And again. It took five full-strength hits before the skull finally caved in, and the thing stopped moving.

  His arms burned from the exertion, his breath came in short gasps, but he had won. Two more down.

  He wiped sweat from his forehead, stepping back to take in his surroundings.

  Hugo decided it was time to reinforce the building further. His goal was to secure one floor at a time, ensuring his safety before expanding outward.

  He started by barricading the second-floor stairwell completely. Dragging a heavy dresser from one of the apartments, he wedged it firmly against the stairway entrance, ensuring there was no way anything could push through. He reinforced it with a bookshelf, stacking it with training weights to add significant heft. Then, to make sure nothing could climb over, he pulled in a wooden table and angled it across the top, filling any remaining gaps.

  For the remaining stairwell, he needed a quick and effective way to control access. He found a metal bar from a closet rod and wedged it against the door handle, making it difficult to open from the other side. This would be the only way he traveled between floors from now on.

  After securing the second floor, Hugo turned his focus to another crucial issue—water. The taps had already run dry, and there was no chance of them coming back. If he didn’t prepare, he’d be in real trouble soon.

  He gathered every pot, bowl, and container he could find from the emptied apartments and carried them up to the rooftop. Once there, he arranged them in a wide spread, making sure they were positioned to catch as much rain as possible. Some he placed directly under the drainage points where water would naturally collect, hoping to maximize efficiency.

  As he worked, he thought about long-term solutions. Could he build a proper rain catchment system? Maybe using plastic sheeting from some of the abandoned apartments to direct water into a larger basin? It was something to consider.

  With water somewhat addressed, he turned to another long-term issue—food. A garden could be a game-changer if he could get it started. He began searching through the apartments, hoping to find anything he could use. There were no seeds or vegetables to plant, but he managed to collect several flower pots, planters, and bags of soil. It was a start.

  He had never kept a garden before and had no idea what season was best for which vegetables, but he figured he could learn. Maybe there was a book or something in one of the apartments that could help. For now, it was about setting up the space and preparing for when he did find something worth planting.

  For now, this would have to do. He stood back and surveyed his work, satisfied that he was taking another step toward true survival. If the rain ever came, and if he could eventually find something to grow, he'd be ready.

  That evening, Hugo prepared a simple but warm meal, enjoying a quiet moment with Salem. The cat sat by his side, watching him cook with curious eyes as he boiled some instant noodles and added what little seasoning he had. It wasn’t gourmet, but it was enough to make him feel accomplished.

  As he ate, he reflected on everything he had done that day. The barricades, the water collection, the makeshift garden. He was building something sustainable, something that could last. For the first time in a long while, he felt proud of himself.

  Just as he was about to turn in for the night, a distant explosion rocked the city. The walls trembled slightly, and Hugo sat up in alarm. Salem’s ears perked up, the cat shifting uneasily.

  He rushed to the window, unlatching and pushing it open. A faint glow flickered in the distance, smoke rising against the night sky.

  "What the hell was that...?" he muttered, gripping the windowsill.

  From down below, a gruff voice broke the silence. "My thoughts exactly."

  Hugo's breath caught. He wasn’t alone.