"Crash!!"

The burning alcohol bottle smashed against the ceiling. Shattering, it scattered a wide sheet of transparent liquid over the zombies charging toward me!

Next second!

"Boom!!"

Every zombie lunging at me burst into flames. The alcohol intensified the fire, yet the burning zombies still tried to advance. But perhaps their resistance to high heat was weak. By the time they emerged from the inferno—flames nearly four meters high, licking the ceiling—they could no longer emit those revolting groans.

"Gurk... gurk..."

That was likely all they could manage.

Quickly, the entire horde charred into blackened corpses. They collapsed to the ground, twitching feebly once or twice before falling utterly still.

"Thud-thud-thud~"

Meanwhile, other zombies stumbled onto unbroken alcohol bottles. Instantly, the flames surged higher, the heat growing even fiercer.

After nearly a minute of burning, the fire showed no sign of shrinking. Faintly, part of the ceiling caught fire too. I grabbed the fire extinguisher beside me. Confirming no zombies remained active, I yanked the safety pin and sprayed the alcohol-fed flames!

"Hiss~~~"

I squeezed the trigger hard. Once the fire was mostly out, the dozen zombies had turned to roasted corpses, reeking of burnt flesh. It made me gag.

Pinching my nose, I checked each one with a fruit knife. Any that still whimpered got a finishing stab. After double-checking—no moving zombies left—I finally exhaled.

"Phew... That scared me to death. Good thing I ran fast, or I’d be someone else’s... zombie’s meal now."

I patted my chest, then froze as an astonishing bounce met my palm. Twitching my lips, I awkwardly dropped my hand...

"Better... make two more incendiary bombs. Seems zombies have zero resistance to high heat."

Action followed words.

I scoured the warehouse, gathering a roll of bandages, medical cotton, and two bottles of alcohol to craft incendiary bombs. Once done, I left this floor and headed downstairs.

That earlier chaos had sent me straight back to the ninth floor. This time, it should all be clear... right?

But... why had zombies gathered on the sixth floor?

Was something inside drawing them?

Questions flooded my mind.

Reaching the sixth floor, I found three zombie corpses at the stairwell corner. Clearly not natural deaths—I didn’t even know if zombies could die naturally...

Yet these bodies were intriguing.

Two looked ancient, their skin ashen and dull. But the third... wasn’t a zombie at all!

"Could this... be a survivor who weathered the crisis?"

I stepped closer to examine him.

A burly man, gripping two guns. Crucially, he wore tactical body armor—like a SWAT officer. His body was mangled by zombie bites, but the fatal wound was in his head.

The small hole near his right temple and the dried, spray-like bloodstains on the left wall suggested he’d shot himself with his right hand. After death, zombies had feasted on part of him.

I checked his weapons: the handgun in his right hand and the shotgun slung on his body were both empty. The exact situation was unclear, but the most logical explanation was...

"He charged in from outside... ran out of ammo, then chose suicide over becoming a monster. But why..."

I glanced up at the iron door behind his corpse.

"Why didn’t he enter the sixth floor? Wouldn’t that have given him a fighting chance?"

Something felt off. He was leaning against the door—not like he refused to enter, but more like...

"Protecting someone?"

Stroking my smooth chin, I pictured it:

A group—or a few people—forced into the hospital for some urgent reason. Overwhelmed by zombies, they’d exhausted their ammo. Underestimating the zombies, they were trapped, unable to escape or climb higher. Then this man, for some reason, became bait. He used his last bullet to end himself and collapsed here.

...

Shaking off the speculation, I hesitated. But the desperate hope to see living humans made me reach for the sixth-floor iron door.

"Creak..."

"Something’s blocking it from the other side?" Frowning, I stopped pushing. Instead, I moved the corpse propped against the door aside. The stench forced me to hold my breath, but I laid him down gently.

This man... chose death over becoming one of them. He deserved respect.

With the body cleared, I stood before the door again. Peering through the gap, I squinted inside.

"Beds...?"

The sixth-floor hallway looked relatively clean, not too chaotic. Right behind the door, an iron bed blocked the way.

"No wonder it was so hard to push..."

A single iron bed wasn’t light—and this one was piled with extra junk.

It felt like someone had deliberately dragged the bed here, then weighted it down to seal the door shut.

Hesitating, I knocked.

"Bang-bang-bang!"

Silence answered from the stairwell.

After another pause, I knocked three more times.

"Bang-bang-bang."

Suddenly, a little girl’s voice came from inside: "Mommy, Mommy... that rhythmic sound—could it be a person?"

Hearing that, I jolted!

Finally! Real people!

'Wait—don’t get carried away.'

I swallowed my excitement and impatience, then knocked three times again.

"Bang-bang-bang!"

And called out: "Is anyone in there?"

"Mommy! Look, it really is someone!"

"Who’s there?!"

A little girl’s voice, then an adult woman’s.

"I’m... a survivor passing through. I saw the man at your door... and noticed this place."

"A human?!"

"Yeah..." I replied, slightly confused.

Immediately, a "clatter-clatter" echoed inside. The door shifted, then a slow "squeak~" as it opened a crack. A woman’s face appeared—streaked with grime.

"Uh... hi."

She looked about twenty-seven or twenty-eight, still pretty despite deep under-eye shadows and a sickly yellow pallor—like a refugee.

She stared at me in shock, then frantically scanned the hallway. After confirming something, she sighed in relief and urged: "Get in quick! There are so many of those things in the stairwell!"

"Those things?" I blurted instinctively. "You mean... zombies?"

"Yes! Exactly! Hurry, hurry in..." Her voice faltered. She hesitated, then gritted her teeth: "You... come in. I’ve got a little food left. Enough for a few days, at least."

"That’s... really kind of you, but I have my own supplies." I patted my backpack, then noticed a small head peeking below the woman—a girl, no older than eight or nine.

"Is this... your daughter?"

"Yes—no! Not the time for this! Quick, get in! If they come, we’re done for!" The woman reached to pull me in, panic rising.

I slightly dodged, offering what I hoped was a friendly smile. "If you mean the dozen zombies crowding this stairwell... they’re all dead now."

"Dead...? Impossible! Who did it? The army?! How many troops did they send?!" Her barrage of questions overwhelmed me. I raised a hand to stop her.

"Not the army. Me."

"You...?" She eyed me up and down, suspicion thick in her voice. "A girl like you... killed all those... zombies?"

"Yeah. All of them."

She stared, disbelief plain on her face.

"If you don’t believe me... their bodies are on the ninth floor. Go see for yourself." As I spoke, I glanced down at the little girl. Her gaze wasn’t on me—it was fixed on my backpack.

"Hmm..." Seeing the malnourished, frail child, I asked gently: "Are you hungry?"

She nodded honestly.

Hesitating under her hopeful stare, I unshouldered my backpack and rummaged inside, pulling out scavenged items.

"Here... this candy. And... some potato chips, though they’re crushed."

While digging, I kept a watchful eye on the woman. In this dangerous world, I shouldn’t harm others—but I must never drop my guard.

"This... this..." The woman’s stunned whisper came.

I understood her shock. Just looking at their emaciated frames, food must be worth more than gold here.

People killing over rations wasn’t exactly rare...