Chapter 6 #2
It was eerily quiet as the three of them moved, their footsteps muffled by the carpet.
Too quiet—the sort of silence that seemed to press in from all sides, making Lionel’s ears strain for any hint of movement.
He kept glancing around, head jerking from side to side, the metal pole in his other hand lifted and ready to swing at the slightest threat.
He refused to let the calm lull him. He knew too well how fast the creatures could appear—how they seemed to pour out of nothing.
They passed dark smears on the walls, splashes of blood that trailed off into handprints or indistinct streaks. Bits of flesh or hair clung to the wallpaper in places. Lionel’s stomach lurched, and he forced himself to look away, stepping wide around collapsed bodies without lingering on them.
More than once, his feet faltered, a tremor shooting up his legs at the thought of who these people might’ve been only hours ago—a neighbor he’d smiled at in the laundry room, someone he’d fixed a leaky faucet for. Each time, Mads squeezed his hand, grounding him, and they kept moving.
At last, they reached the stairwell. Lionel shoved the door open and peered up into the shadowy chute of concrete and steel. It stretched upward endlessly, the echo of their breathing swallowed by the void.
He didn’t hesitate. Lionel launched himself up the steps two at a time, not bothering to check if Mads and Derek were right behind. He trusted their long legs and adrenaline would keep them close.
Halfway up, his thighs burned, and his calves twinged with every push off the step.
Still, he pressed on. He was grateful—distantly, almost absurdly—for all the hours he’d spent at the building’s gym since moving in.
At the time, it had seemed smart to take advantage of the amenities before his aunt inevitably decided he’d freeloaded long enough.
Now, it felt like every mile on the treadmill was paying him back tenfold.
Except he should’ve spent more time on the stair master. Definitely more time on the stair master.
Lionel was panting hard by the time he rounded yet another set of stairs, his breath rasping in his throat, legs trembling so badly it felt like he was running on water. Each step burned deep in his thighs. He could hear Derek behind him, his heavy huffing echoing in the narrow stairwell.
It wasn’t until he felt Mads stumble slightly, his grip tightening on Lionel’s hand, that Lionel finally slowed to a stop. He braced a hand against the cold concrete wall, head bowed, chest heaving.
They stood together on the landing, all trying to catch their breath. The stairwell felt stifling now, the air thick and stale, carrying only the scent of dust and sweat. Somewhere far below, a faint clatter made Lionel’s head snap up, but nothing moved in the shadows stretching downward.
Derek was doubled over, hands braced on his knees, sucking in air like he’d just run a marathon.
Sweat dripped from the end of his nose, spattering on the cement steps.
Mads was flushed from exertion, his pale skin blotched pink, but he looked far steadier than the other two—standing upright, one hand on Lionel’s shoulder as if ready to keep him from keeling over.
His chest rose and fell in quick, measured breaths.
“How many flights did we go up?” Derek finally managed, voice hoarse. He didn’t lift his head, just let it hang between his shoulders, like even that was too much effort.
Lionel tried to think through the haze of fatigue and adrenaline. His pulse still thundered in his ears, and it took him a second to realize he was gripping Mads’ wrist so tightly his knuckles had gone white. He loosened his hold, swallowing back the iron taste on his tongue.
Lionel frowned when he looked up at the door to the floor and didn’t see any number. They were usually labeled. His stomach clenched in suspicion as he opened the door and looked at the first apartment door.
His eyes widened, his entire body going cold as goosebumps appeared on his skin. He must have frozen where he stood, because Derek was asking, “What? What is it?”
“How?” Lionel whispered, shaking his head as Derek and Mads came up to look at the apartment that read ‘301’.
“How the fuck is this the third floor?” Derek hissed. “We started on the fourth!”
Mads looked like he was considering this, glancing between the apartment and the stairs winding above them. “Didn’t we go up?”
Lionel would have assumed they were on the ninth floor, or very near it, considering how far they had climbed.
It honestly felt like more than five stories, but Lionel had been looking for the distinct fire alarm that was on the ninth-floor landing.
It was larger than the others and bright red, with an extinguisher behind glass just below it.
Every time Lionel was forced to take the stairs up to his apartment, that was how he knew he was on his floor.
Lionel grabbed Mads’ hand again, tighter this time, and started climbing the stairs again. He heard a groan of annoyance from Derek, but a third set of footsteps followed behind them a moment later.
Lionel stopped when he got to the next landing and immediately opened the door.
“The sixth floor?” Mads said, voicing what Lionel was thinking at the sight of the first apartment.
“How?” Derek asked again.
Lionel ran a hand through his hair, shutting his eyes in annoyance. How the fuck was this even happening? Zombies were one thing—monsters were things that almost made sense to him. But the stairwell screwing up the floors? How was that possible?
“Maybe we should try going down,” Mads suggested.
Lionel figured that made as much sense as anything else, so he turned on his heel and started heading back down. He stopped at the next landing and pulled the hallway door open again.
“Twelfth floor,” Lionel groaned.
“How are we going to get back to the fourth?” Derek asked, panic lacing his words. “I knew we shouldn’t have left—now we’re never going to get back! We’re going to be stranded out here and—”
Lionel felt Mads’ hand suddenly clamp tighter around his, and before he could question it, he was being pulled forward. He stumbled, almost losing his balance, as Mads threw open the stairwell door and charged into the hallway beyond.
“Where are you going?” Lionel demanded, quickening his pace to avoid being dragged outright. His heart was still hammering from the climb, sweat chilling on his skin, and now adrenaline spiked again at Mads’ sudden urgency.
He watched, confused and increasingly alarmed, as Mads moved quickly down the corridor, rattling each doorknob he passed.
The quiet clicks of metal echoed too loudly in the still hallway, like tiny alarm bells.
Lionel’s brow furrowed, eyes darting nervously over his shoulder, half-expecting something to appear at the far end.
When one of the knobs finally turned under Mads’ hand, he paused. For a heartbeat, he simply stood there, knuckles white on the handle, before cracking the door open and peering inside. Then he waved them over with a quick, jerky motion.
Lionel didn’t wait for more explanation.
He grabbed Derek’s sleeve, tugging him along until they reached the door.
Mads ushered them inside with an almost frantic urgency.
Once they were through, he shut the door carefully—slower this time, easing it closed until the latch clicked quietly into place.
“What’s going on?” Derek whispered, voice thin with confusion and fear.
Lionel turned to Mads, searching his face for some clue.
The faint light from a dusty lamp inside the apartment threw deep shadows over all of them, making their wide eyes look even more terrified.
Mads’ chest still heaved faintly, but he didn’t seem out of breath—more like he was bracing for something they couldn’t yet see.
Mads didn’t answer Derek’s question, just waited a few moments before opening the door again and stepping outside. Lionel’s jaw dropped open when they saw the number: 732.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” Derek said, throwing his hands up.
Lionel moved methodically down the hall, testing each door with a quick, quiet twist of the knob. Most were locked tight, the metal refusing to budge, until finally one gave way under his hand. He pushed it open and froze.
“Oh, fuck,” he breathed.
His eyes went wide, heart giving a hard, startled thump.
Beyond the threshold stretched a cavernous space—easily the size of a basketball stadium, maybe larger.
The sheer scale of it seemed to swallow up the light from the hallway.
It was cavernous, eerily empty, the floor vanishing into distant shadows where the walls and ceiling should have been.
The place felt off, and it was far too big to possibly fit inside the building.
A faint echo rolled back to him from somewhere deep inside, though he hadn’t made a sound.
Lionel took a step in, curiosity and horror warring in his chest, his footfalls eerily muffled on the floor that looked almost like polished concrete.
Then hands clamped hard around his waist and yanked him backward.
He stumbled into Mads, who had appeared at his side with Derek right behind. Mads’ grip was bruising, his arm locking around Lionel’s middle as he hauled him bodily back through the doorway.
“How about we don’t go into the weird giant empty room?” Mads muttered, his voice pitched low but tight with urgency.
Lionel scowled, still staring at the impossible space even as Mads maneuvered them out of it. He felt like his eyes didn’t want to leave it, like if he just looked a little longer, he might see something moving far inside.
Mads didn’t give him the chance. He shoved the door closed with his shoulder, the latch clicking with a decisive finality. The three of them stood in the hall for a moment, Lionel’s heart still racing, the silence pressing close again.
“That was…” Lionel began, his voice cracking, then trailed off. He didn’t know what to call it—a hallucination, a tear in reality, another trick of the building.
“Yeah,” Mads said shortly, not loosening his hold on Lionel’s wrist. “Let’s try literally anywhere else.”
“So what are we meant to do?” Lionel demanded. “Do we just need to open doors until we—”
“Hey, hey!”
Lionel blinked and turned sharply to see Derek, who had started shouting, his voice bouncing unnaturally down the silent hallway. Derek was practically hopping on the balls of his feet, one arm waving wildly over his head like he was trying to flag down a distant taxi.
Lionel’s gaze snapped past him, following the line of his gesture. Further down the corridor, dimly lit by flickering overhead lights, stood a young man. He looked frozen mid-step, staring back at them with an almost curious tilt of his head.
“Who is that?” Lionel whispered. He squinted, but distance and dim lighting kept the stranger’s features vague, like smudges on wet paper.
Beside him, Mads went rigid. Lionel felt it first in the hand that clamped tight around his wrist, then saw it in the way Mads’ jaw locked, teeth grinding together. His usual gentle expression had vanished, replaced by a look so cold and sharp it made Lionel’s stomach drop.
“Hey, are you okay?” Derek was calling again, already starting forward.
“Derek!” Lionel hissed, grabbing at his arm. “You’re too loud! We don’t even know who that is!”
Derek glanced back, mouth falling open in bewilderment. “It’s another survivor. We should help him, shouldn’t we?”
He wanted to argue, but the words died in Lionel’s throat as he looked again at the stranger.
Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. The way the man was standing was too still, too perfectly balanced, like he didn’t quite need to shift his weight like a person would.
And then he started walking with slow, deliberate steps that felt off for someone who’d just been spotted by fellow survivors.
He didn’t call out, didn’t wave back, or ask for help.
His silence was a void that swallowed all rational explanation.
Lionel’s gut twisted painfully. Every instinct in him screamed to turn and run.
“Derek,” Lionel breathed, voice cracking. “Derek, stop. I don’t think—”
“What—?”
The thing exploded into motion. It lunged forward with a burst of speed no human could muster, closing the distance in a horrifying blur of movement. Lionel’s heart nearly stopped.
He jumped in front of the others without thinking, lifting the pole high like a baseball bat. His hands tightened so hard around it, his knuckles went white, every muscle coiling to swing the moment it came close enough.
Even with adrenaline flooding his veins, with every nerve laser-focused on the creature barreling toward them, Lionel still registered something strange. A scent. It threaded through the air so suddenly that it startled him more than if he’d been physically shoved.
His nose had long since grown numb to the horrors around them.
The ever-present tang of blood, the rank rot of decay, the sour sweat of human fear—all of it had become a foul, constant backdrop.
So when that new smell hit him—something achingly sweet, almost floral, undercut with a hint of warm spice—it carved straight through his panic.
Lionel rocked on his toes, momentarily thrown. His grip on the pole faltered by a fraction as he sucked in a deeper breath, trying to place it. It reminded him of something pleasant, something comforting, tugging at a memory he couldn’t quite reach.
He didn’t get another heartbeat to wonder.
A sickening weakness slammed into his legs, so abrupt it felt like his muscles had simply been cut. His knees buckled, the pole slipping through his sweaty hands. The world tilted violently, shadows and overhead lights spinning together as he dropped.
Lionel hit the floor hard enough to jar his teeth, a sharp jolt lancing up his spine. His limbs were heavy, unresponsive, panic clawing at his chest as he tried to push himself up—and failed.
The last thing he saw before the dark closed in was the creature’s feet picking up speed, almost graceful in how they skimmed over the carpet.