Two gunshots cracked across the decaying district like thunder. The undead went wild again. Liam had fired from the rooftop's edge, and the sound scattered in every direction. The dead didn't know how to find a path. They followed sound but only if there was a way to reach it—like stairwells. The building beneath their feet was sealed tight. Every roll-up door and window was shut, some long before the world ended, others more recently. It wasn't hard to guess that Brook and his group had sealed it off when they occupied this place.
More zombies flooded into the building Liam had just left. The rooftop creatures surged toward the north edge, forcing the ones in front to topple off the side. Those below wailed and squeezed through narrow halls, their cries pulling more from the streets into the building. A self-sustaining chain reaction had begun—like a living machine for self-destruction.
Zombies don't think. That's their weakness and their danger. Sometimes, it's possible to kill thousands of them without lifting a finger. Set them on fire. Herd them off cliffs like this. It works. But nothing's perfect. Fire can backfire. And this? This had its own risks. Already, corpses were piling up in the alley between the two buildings. Half a floor high and growing fast. Soon, the living dead might climb over their fallen, bridging the gap. And if that pile reached a window on a lower floor, the first to crash through would trigger a flood. Liam knew it could happen.
Which is why he had no intention of lingering.
Two shots, one glimpse at the grotesque spectacle of the undead tumbling down like bags of meat, and Liam turned. "Let's go," he said, leading the group toward the north end of the rooftop.
This building was massive, easily the largest on the block. Forty meters wide, stretching more than a hundred meters end to end. They reached the north side quickly. Another rooftop connected there by a ladder—Jason's work. Liam's group had brought over the two metal ladders and strung them in place. One by one, they crossed again.
The next buildings were smaller and closer together. Barely half a meter of gap. They didn't even need ladders. Just a careful step, one rooftop at a time, until they stood on the northernmost building of the block. Below, at the intersection, a fresh view of the street. Still thick with zombies, but not as dense as the place they'd escaped.
No obvious way forward. Still undead. So how had Brook and his people gotten out?
Everyone stood at the edge, panting, wondering the same thing.
"They must've gone through this building," Robby said, pointing downward. "Think they're still inside?"
"You'd build an escape route like this?" Liam asked, raising an eyebrow.
Robby shook his head. "Of course not. It's too narrow. Too exposed. You can't even get off the block."
"Exactly." Liam rested both hands on the waist-high concrete railing and peered down. "Brook wasn't stupid. You wouldn't make that mistake, and neither would he. There's something we're not seeing."
He turned. "Everyone take a breath. We've got time now. Jason, come here. Let me check that arm."
The wounds were shallow. Skin scraped raw from when Jason had grabbed the edge of the opposite rooftop. Liam cleaned it, dabbed antiseptic, and wrapped it with gauze. Nothing serious, but in a world this filthy, even a paper cut could be a death sentence if zombie blood got in.
Liam made sure it didn't.
The rooftop wasn't large, two or three hundred square meters at most, but it had solid cover. A half-wall of concrete all around the edges, unlike the first building's flimsy iron rails. From down below, no one could see them now. The group scattered—sitting, catching their breath. Liam called Christine over, led her behind the rooftop access shed where no one could see, checked her stitches. Everything looked fine, but it had to be him. Manila wasn't trained. Only Liam would notice if something had gone wrong.
Christine came out red-faced. Manila grabbed her, whispered something with a sly grin. Liam followed a second later, pretending not to notice.
"Hey, Liam!" Robby's voice broke the air. He waved him over. "Think I found something."
Robby was on the eastern edge of the rooftop, the side that faced away from the main avenue. The building was at a four-way intersection, surrounded on all sides. Liam moved quickly to join him.
Across from them stood a twelve-story office block. Not far—maybe ten meters. Below them, a narrow dead-end street. Parked cars. A handful of undead milling around.
"What are we looking at?" Liam narrowed his eyes.
"Down there." Robby pointed. "By those cars. See the manhole cover?"
Liam leaned forward. Seven floors up, hard to see. Shadows and undead blocked the view. But yes—there it was. A round metal lid, just peeking out beneath the feet of a slumping corpse.
"And those cars?" Robby said. "Look at the front. Dented, but not smashed. No signs of collision. They were pushed."
"I get it now," Liam said slowly, nodding. "Brook used the cars to block the alley. Zombies won't climb over if no sound draws them in. Meanwhile, they slipped down from the building through a window, crept into the alley, and escaped through the manhole. Once inside, they sealed it. The zombies that are there now? Probably followed a decoy, but too late to catch anyone."
He looked at Robby. Robby looked back. For a second, he hesitated, then scratched his head, made a slow circle with one finger beside his temple.
Liam smiled. "Don't flatter me. You saw it first. Your eyes caught what mattered. I just followed the threads. You didn't make it back from a warzone by accident, Robby."
Not the only smart one here.
He clapped Robby's shoulder, turned, and walked back to the group. Three sharp claps of his hands.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he called out with a grin. "We've got ourselves a way out."