by Kent Reaper
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Zack stared. The bloody rock trembled in his grip. He didn't know what to do, what to think, how to even breathe.
He figured, by the time he managed to reach the janitor he would be long dead already, shot in the head at the very least.
"A-are you going to kill me?" Zack stammered at last, unable to take the silent staring game any longer.
The janitor took a step forward.
Zack inched himself back.
The janitor stepped forward again.
Zack retreated once more.
The janitor stepped forward a final time.
Zack backed up against the wall, unable to move any further.
The janitor revealed a sinister smile and shrugged.
"Depends." He said gruffly.
"O-on?"
"Whether you've been bitten, of course."
"Huh?" Zack was confused. "What do you mean?"
"I only shoot those who need this mercy."
"The hell are you talking about?!" Zack stood up, his legs turning into jelly once more as the janitor raised his revolver and aimed it straight at him.
"All right, I surrender! You don't have to point it at me! Please don't!" Zack pleaded meekly. He had temporarily forgotten who was the one in control of the situation.
"Drop your sorry excuse for a weapon." The janitor ordered.
The rock in Zack's hand fell onto the ground once more.
"Have you been bitten?"
"What? No!"
"Everybody says they haven't. Who can you trust nowadays…" The janitor muttered.
"Seriously! I haven't! Can't you see?!" Zack rolled up his sleeves.
"Take off your shirt." The janitor commanded.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me! If you are what you say you are, then you have nothing to fear."
Zack stood stiff, speechless. Unable to believe the words of this maniacal pervert.
"Do it. Or else I'm going to just play it safe." The janitor cocked his revolver.
"All right, all right, jeez!" Zack said as he started to pull his shirt over his head.
Maybe it's not only the dead that are dangerous now. He thought glumly.
"Mwarrgh!"
The janitor turned round, seeing that a horde of fallen zombies had gathered round at the other end of the corridor and were bearing down on their position and fast.
With his attention diverted, Zack seized his chance.
He leant over and swiped the rock up from the floor, preparing to bank on his throwing skills as the football quarterback to distract this gun-toting madman long enough to shut the door once more.
But the janitor was faster.
"I wouldn't if I were you." The janitor said coolly as he trained his revolver back on Zack.
"We're both going to die if we don't do something." Zack shrugged. "I'm living on borrowed time anyway."
Conflict was etched on the janitor's face for a split second before he snarled and kicked the corpse at his feet in disgust.
"All right, your call, young man. If you ain’t bit, don't get yourself bit, and here, take this with you."
The janitor unclipped the wrench hanging from his workman’s belt.
Tossing it into Zack's hands, the janitor pulled the door between them shut.
"I bet the feeling you're going to need that more than me, haha!" The janitor whistled in the distance.
Zack sank to his knees, the heavy iron wrench in his hands, unable to fathom what had just transpired.
He listened carefully, hearing nothing else except for the low hum of a thousand tortured moans meshed together.
Where the hell did that crazy guy go? He wondered, but dared not open the door to take a peek.
Bang! Bang!
Two shots were fired followed by a great crash. Zack wanted to fling the door open, to see what had just happened. His curiosity was eating him from the inside out. But he simply couldn't allow himself to follow his whimsical desires lest he risk revealing his position to a horde of hungry zombies.
What if they're still out there?
No, he simply couldn't risk it. He sank back to his feet, still in deep in despair. But the wrench in his hand gave him power. For once, he was no longer going to be the hunted.
Now, he could stand his ground against a group of them, assuming he took them on one at a time and if they fell after a crushing blow to the head.
It was gradual at first, but the effect was easily noticeable. The moans from hell grew softer and softer before being replaced by much needed silence once more.
Gently, Zack gave the corridor a swift peek, only to open the door fully on seeing only one or two zombies loitering outside.
He gripped his wrench tightly, stepping over corpses in his advancement down the corridor.
Looking to the right, Zack saw one of the doors that was closed earlier wide open. A gaping hole could be seen where the doorknob once was.
He stepped into the room after checking that none of the zombies further down the corridor noticed his presence only to find an open window on the other side, its curtains fluttering about, the only semblance of normality in a world that had gone raving mad.
Zack looked out the window, seeing neither janitor nor any horde of hungry zombies outside. It seemed so normal, so tranquil, like a deceptively perfect escape out this hell.
Except that there was no visible path for him to take.
He racked his brains, trying to figure out how that crazy janitor had managed to pull a Houdini on him.
This was the third floor after all, only the very best free runners and stuntmen would even dare attempting a straight drop onto the unforgiving concrete down below.
Shrugging his shoulders, Zack turned round and exited the room. As long as he didn't encounter the horde, he would be able to dispatch any lone zombie as easily as the next person thanks to his newfound weapon.
The two zombies between Zack and the staircase didn't last very long. With two dull strikes, they fell to the floor, their heads smashed in.
Zack crept down the stairs that he had so hurriedly sprang up from earlier, his eyes and ears were wide open, ready to react to the first sign of undead presence.
The second floor was rather empty. Like the corridor upstairs there were about one or two zombies milling about. None noticed his presence yet.
Zack briefly considered bashing their heads in and exploring the place for survivors or a phone or something. But why would he even bother when he could now smash the window of the double door entrance and hopefully dislodge the mop sealing him in from freedom?
He skipped the second floor, deciding on heading back down to the main exit that he had so hurriedly run from in the first place.
Zack tried keeping his steps as quiet as possible. Arriving at the staircase landing, he peeked round the corner and cast his gaze down the wide corridor littered with dangerous corpses and splattered blood.
He heaved a sigh of relief. The horde must be somewhere else in this building. But as long as they weren't hounding Zack, he didn't care much for where they were.
The main entrance was much different from when he left it screaming up the stairs earlier.
Invigorating rays of vitamin D shone through the wide open doorway, a thin veil of normality that masked the true nature of things around him.
The door handles had been blasted clean off, leaving two gaping holes to large to have been shot at by individual bullets where the handles once were. Pieces of mop lay shattered and strewn about the floor in front of him.
Not that he cared anyway. He could leave this accursed building forever and make his fortune in the chaotic undead world outside.
Zack stepped forward, eager to seek a safe haven elsewhere. Blind optimism had made him conveniently forget that the entire county was being overrun, that main street was already burning.
As far as he knew, there was nothing in here worth going back for, not even his bag of second hand textbooks.
> He looked down at the corpse lying by his feet. Kneeling down and smashing it over the head just to be sure, Zack searched its pockets, his heart jumped at the feeling of polished metal in his hand.
Swiping the smart phone’s touch screen and finding it (thankfully) unlocked, Zack proceeded to dial 911.
The beep and recorded message in monotone on the other end of the line told him that the situation was as fucked up as he had come to believe.
"We're sorry, but all our operators are busy right now. Please call back later."
"Yup." Zack muttered to himself. Even his phone wasn't worth going back for.
He dialed for his parents this time, hoping to tell them that he was safe, for now.
The questioning beep on the other end disappointed him more than calling 911.
"Network failure? We're on campus, dammit!" Zack swore, stuffing the phone in his pocket. Its battery would probably last for the rest of the day, if he was that lucky.
Zack looked up, prepared to step out into the light.
Ahhhh!
A scream held him back, a feminine shriek. It came from somewhere deeper inside the faculty building.
Zack briefly contemplated just going forward and pretending he didn't hear anything.
Call him crazy or whatever, but despite how everything around him had gone to shit, Zack still didn't want to abandon his humanity just yet.
Maybe it wasn't worth the risk, but a combination of curious and stupid conscience had made the decision for him a long time ago.
"Dammit!" Zack swore under his breath. He tightened his grip on the wrench and headed back down the first floor corridor.
He snuck round corners, keeping his head low as he headed towards the source of the scream.
Fully expecting a horde of bloodthirsty zombies to come out at him at every turn, Zack knew he had to keep on his toes.
He dispatched any lone zombie with a swift blow to the head, knocking them out before they finally realized that he was there.
His breaths were heavy and audible. This whole experience was an extremely fatiguing one after all.
Why did I even decide to do this? Argh!
But he gritted his teeth and strode forth deeper into the recesses of the faculty building. He knew why, even if he couldn't believe his reasons for doing so.
He was close. Another scream told him so.
Zack made a mental note to quiet his movement even further. Down the corridor there was an open doorway on his right.
He could hear the sniffing of a frightened person inside coupled with the unmistakable presence of someone else. Perhaps the perpetrator?
Zack perked his ears up. There wasn't a moan to be heard, not those to be made when the zombies found another victim anyway.
But his previous encounter with the janitor had taught him not to trust anyone in such a world.
The living are often more dangerous than the undead. He hastily reminded himself as he readied his wrench. At least when the dead are concerned they wear their black intentions on their sleeves.
He slid up against the wall, doorway to his side. From the shadows on the floor, he could see two figures.
"C'mon girl, take your shirt off! We wouldn't like it if you've um, been bit, would we?"
Zack covered his mouth barely stifling his gasp of surprise.
That voice, that tone, those words. He had heard it all before.
It was bad enough threatening to kill him earlier. Wrench or not, the janitor was as unstable as they came.
He swung round and hollered before he could stop himself.
"You monster! Leave her alone!"
Shit.
The janitor turned round to look at Zack, giving him a withering look.
Zack was almost ready to pounce when he tilted his head slightly, letting the janitor's victim come into view.
That pale blonde hair, scratched cheeks and a face filled with anxious fear.
"You." Zack couldn't help but choke out.
Kelly.
The very same girl that barricaded his exit earlier and left him for dead.
Chapter 4