But that wasn’t the real issue. What truly unsettled me was…

“Not a single zombie in sight from start to finish.”

Exactly… After ten floors, I hadn’t spotted anything that could move. Not even a corpse. My heart clenched. Wasn’t that strange?

If no one had fled down the stairs during the chaos, I wouldn’t have scavenged so much loot. But if people *had* run this way… wouldn’t there be at least one or two bodies left behind?

A handful of zombies would’ve been normal.

Yet all I saw were scattered belongings—ID cards, X-ray films, medical permits, phones, watches. Not a single corpse.

“What… happened here?”

Still, thanks to these items, I’d found useful gear. Like this mechanical watch—a genuine Longines. A luxury brand, even if it was women’s style.

In this world, having a reliable way to track time was priceless. I slipped it on without hesitation. After all… I *was* a woman now.

A wave of sadness hit me. Was that just my imagination?

I’d synced my phone time with the wall clock while eating ham earlier. Now I adjusted the watch.

It was an automatic mechanical piece. The hands had stopped after a month unworn. But after fiddling with it, the second hand began ticking again—slow, steady.

The time now read…

14:43.

“Already past two PM?” I calculated. Those two earlier incidents had cost me precious time. I needed to leave before nightfall. In this dangerous world, darkness was death.

I quickened my pace. My sneakers stayed silent on the steps. I moved carefully, slowing at each floor’s landing to avoid drawing attention.

Even so, I reached the sixth floor in about ten minutes. How did I know? A large red “6” glared from the wall.

“One more floor down, and I’ll hit the external metal fire escape. That’ll be faster… and I won’t have to stay this tense.”

I muttered encouragement to myself, eyes fixed on the “6.” Meanwhile, debris thickened underfoot. I scavenged everything—until my main bag overflowed. I grabbed a smaller waist pouch too.

Shoulder bag. Waist pouch. Backpack.

“…Is this too much?”

I grimaced. The load would slow me down. Reluctantly, I ditched the shoulder bag, keeping only the waist pouch and backpack.

Just as I turned the corner past the sixth floor, my breath froze.

Zombies.

Dozens of them.

Standing utterly silent. Eyes shut. Motionless.

“*Hssk!*”

I sucked in a sharp breath. Two words exploded in my mind:

*RUN!*

Instantly, the zombies’ eyes snapped open. Every head swiveled toward me. Dozens of bloodshot eyes locked onto mine.

Every hair on my body stood rigid. No thought—just pure instinct. *RUN!*

I spun and bolted upward. Roars erupted behind me. Before I reached the sixth-floor landing, familiar snarls echoed from *above*—through the metal door.

I sprinted upward, heart hammering. The sounds gained on me—but lagged slightly at each turn. These zombies were clumsy on corners.

Glancing back on the seventh floor confirmed it: they jerked stiffly around bends.

Sixth floor. Seventh. Eighth—all swarming with zombies. Some already slammed against metal doors. I raced to the ninth floor and slammed my palm against its door.

*BAM!*

I counted three seconds…

“Silence!”

Right now, sound was my only zombie detector. They’d charge blindly toward noise. No growls after that hard knock meant the ninth-floor hallway was clear.

The doors weren’t locked. I slipped inside, spun around, and jammed a mop handle through the door handles.

I didn’t relax. Gun raised, I stared at the shuddering door.

*THUD!*

The door buckled inward. Cement dust rained from the frame as more zombies piled against it.

“This won’t hold long!”

I scanned the room. No wonder it was empty—the sign on the wall read: PHARMACEUTICAL STORAGE. Only staff came here.

“Pharmaceutical storage…”

The words sparked an idea.

*What if…*

But it was suicidal. One mistake, and I’d die here too.

*BAM! BAM-BAM! BAM-BAM!*

The pounding intensified—urgent, demanding a decision.

I gritted my teeth.

“Doing it!”

I scanned the hallway. There—the first room on the right.

No hesitation now. The door swung open easily—frequently used.

Inside, metal shelves lined the walls. Cardboard boxes stacked high. Bold letters on their sides:

**MEDICAL ETHANOL. 95%**

A fire extinguisher hung on the wall. I let out a slight sigh of relief.

I yanked a nearby cart over. Three boxes of ethanol bottles landed on it. I grabbed a pack of medical cotton balls, then snatched the extinguisher.

Outside, the door groaned under relentless impacts. Zombie shrieks raised goosebumps on my skin.

This was a race against time.

I slashed open bottle after bottle with my pocketknife. Stuffed cotton wicks inside.

*CRACK!*

The top-right corner of the door frame tore free—a hand-sized gap appeared.

I glared at the gap.

“Burn, you damn things!”

Fire was my only chance. Against a dozen zombies in these narrow halls? Even three would’ve forced me to flee. This horde would tear me apart.

I lit every cotton wick. Blue flames danced on ninety bottles. One I gripped tight. Another I tied to the mop handle with bandages.

The door warped violently. Both top corners ripped from the wall. Only the center held. The mop handle splintered with a *crack-crack*.

I backed up fifteen meters, dragging the cart loaded with burning bottles.

The door groaned… bent… began to give way—

*BAM!*

The mop snapped. The bottle on it shattered on the floor.

The door burst open. Zombies flooded in like a rotting tide.

*WHOOSH!*

I lit my last bottle and kicked the cart forward.

*SQUEEEE—CRASH!*

The cart skidded, tipped over. Every zombie’s head snapped toward me.

Then—

***KABOOOM!***

A fireball erupted. Heat slammed into me, forcing me back. When I blinked open stinging eyes, the zombies were charging *through* the flames.

“Perfect timing!”

I hurled the burning bottle straight at the ceiling.