Three in the afternoon. The rooftop wasn't big, but it felt smaller now, crowded with people pressed together at the northwest edge, their eyes sharp with worry. The iron door behind them still rattled under the relentless pounding of the undead, each crash louder than the last. Those gunshots Liam had fired hadn't just stirred the horde inside; they'd sent a ripple through the entire district. Wandering dead from every street and alley were now converging on this building, funneling in through stairwells that were already packed so tight it seemed impossible more could fit, yet more kept coming, clawing and snarling, starving for flesh.
Jason stood alone at the rooftop's center, about twenty meters from the north edge. He stretched one last time, shaking out his limbs, dropping low into position. Thirty seconds had passed since the shots. That's all it took for the dead to scream and surge, for the air to thicken with the weight of what came next.
He looked back once, glanced at the others, face unreadable. If Liam hadn't fired that gun, Jason would be jumping for a chance at survival—his own. If he failed, he died. The rest might still have a chance. People can live days without food. Maybe someone would come along, draw the horde away, open another window.
But now, that window was gone.
Liam had left no retreat. This wasn't just about Jason's life anymore. If he missed, if he fell, everyone else would die. The pressure should have broken him, should have paralyzed him, but sometimes pressure was also power. These were his people. Laura, his aunt. Christine, his friend. Kayleeti, the girl he'd just started to fall for. And Liam, Robby, Manila—new allies forged in blood and fire. He was the only one who could jump this distance. He had to do it for them.
One last look. He turned, eyes forward again. Liam had marked the edge so Jason wouldn't overshoot or jump too early. This had to be perfect.
Everyone held their breath. No one moved. No one spoke. Not even the dead could compete with the silence on that rooftop.
"God… help me," Jason muttered, closing his eyes. When they opened again, he exploded forward.
Twenty meters.
One.
Two.
Three.
They watched him like their lives depended on it. Because they did.
Jason's foot landed on the very edge, half the ball of it already hanging in open air. He pushed off with everything he had. His body lifted. Flew.
And then began to fall.
"Oh God—"
He wasn't high enough. His momentum was good, but the height was wrong. The moment stretched out, long enough for faces to change, for Laura's scream to catch in her throat, for hearts to sink. He was going to slam into the opposite building and drop.
He hit the wall.
A hard slap of flesh on concrete.
Silence.
"Shit—God that hurts…"
"Shut up, climb!" Liam barked.
The women who'd shut their eyes snapped them open. Jason wasn't gone. He was hanging there, both hands clamped onto the edge of the opposite rooftop, feet dangling over a seven-story fall. Just like Liam predicted—he hadn't needed to land on his feet. He just needed to grab something.
"Thank God," Laura gasped, sobbing with relief.
Jason kicked his legs against the wall, pulled, pushed, got his elbows over the edge and dragged himself up. One twist and he rolled onto the roof, breathing hard, bleeding from a scrape on his arm but grinning like a lunatic.
The door behind them warped under the pressure. The barricade held, barely. Not for long.
Jason rolled onto his feet, checked his arm, ignored the pain, and dashed for the ladders piled on the other side.
Liam called out, motioning everyone to the edge. "Let's go. Ladies first. Move!"
The plan was in motion. Jason hauled over two ladders, light alloy ones. He dropped one. Then stood the other upright and slowly lowered it across the gap. At a forty-five-degree angle, the weight became harder to control. Near the tipping point, it wanted to fall.
Clang.
It landed. Robby stomped it down to hold it steady.
Christine went first, crawling instead of walking—faster, safer. Manila followed. The ladder couldn't take more than two at once. Jason brought over the second. Laura climbed next. Kayleeti was supposed to follow, but she froze, clinging to Strong, refusing to let go.
Liam signaled Jason. They pulled the ladders together, side by side.
"Strong, carry her," Liam said, eyeing the door, already dented open at the edges. The undead pushed, squeezed, snarled through what little space they had. Some had spotted them.
Strong didn't hesitate. He lifted Kayleeti, nodded his thanks, and started across. For a man his size, with another body strapped to him, it should have been slow, but he moved fast and clean.
The moment his boots hit the far roof, the door behind them burst.
Zombies.
"Mike, go," Liam said quickly, giving Robby a look. They'd go ahead. Liam would be last.
Not his style. He was no martyr. But this wasn't bravery. This was calculation. The dead were predictable. They hunted noise. They swarmed sound. Liam had triggered them with those shots. He'd given them a direction.
Thirty meters between him and the broken door. Nine seconds, maybe less, before the first would reach him.
Mike and Robby crossed quickly. The two ladders together made a platform wide enough for them to support each other. Liam followed behind, unhurried, measuring every step. Within five seconds, they were across.
And the dead were at the edge.
They stopped. Looked out at the gap. They howled.
And then, one by one, they began to fall.
Pushed from behind. Pressed forward. They had no fear, no understanding. Only hunger. And when the front row couldn't move, the ones behind did what zombies always did—kept coming. The unlucky ones tumbled off the edge, crashing into the ground below. Cracking bone and crushing their own.
Liam stood tall on the opposite rooftop, raised his pistol, and fired twice into the air.
Let the dead scream louder.