It was a clear afternoon, sunlight warm and steady. If the world hadn't fallen apart, this might've been the kind of day you'd spend tanning on a rooftop with your eyes closed and your worries small.
But the world had changed, and on that rooftop, the group sat close together, tension never far from their shoulders. Liam spread out a map of Manhattan on the concrete floor. Though much of the world had lost access to the internet, Manhattan still clung to fragments of signal. Manila pulled out her phone, searched for information on the underground drainage system, and handed the screen to Liam without a word.
"First thing we need to do is clear the dead out of that alley," Liam said, eyes never leaving the map. "Either lure them away or kill them, but make sure we don't draw more across those cars. Then we head down, reach the first floor, slip out the window, drop into the sewer, and disappear."
He zoomed in on the phone screen, pointing at several spots. "Every street in Manhattan links into this system. If there aren't any zombies on this one, we exit here. If that doesn't work, then here. Or here." His fingers moved across the map. The routes were all within a couple blocks—tight, local, with fallback points.
"You're going back for the vehicles," Strong said from where he sat, voice low and grounded. His daughter, Kayleeti, leaned on his back, chin resting lightly on his shoulder, eyes still wide and unsure, but better than before. She looked at people now, even if she didn't speak.
"Of course I am." Liam nodded, face shadowed with stubble and something older than years. At twenty-seven, his body had already begun its slow descent past peak. He wasn't young anymore. Not really. He was nearing the age where you stop counting forward and start counting costs.
"The Jeep doesn't matter. It's the truck. We spent a week modifying that thing. Reinforced it. Added weight. That cargo box? A handgun couldn't dent it. Even a rifle might bounce off. And it's not that hard to recover—just risky."
He went over the plan's fine print again, making sure everyone understood what was about to happen. Then he tucked the map back in his pack and stood, checking his watch.
"We move before nightfall."
Not long after, the rooftop cracked with gunfire.
Liam and Robby, each with an AK-47, stood on the eastern edge and rained bullets down into the alley. A dozen or so zombies were there, easy to kill. Controlled bursts. Quick. But noise attracts more, always does. The street outside the alley teemed with walkers. Not as thick as where the truck was parked, but dense enough.
At the sound of the shots, the dead screamed and turned, lumbering toward the noise. But the cars barricading the alley slowed them. Zombies are strong, not agile. Their movements are stiff and clumsy, crawling over the wreckage like oversized children learning how to walk. By the time Liam and Robby finished clearing the alley, only a handful had managed to climb in.
They ran to the northeast corner of the roof, picked off the few that had gotten through, and shot down some others still stuck on the wrong side of the blockade. The gunfire did its job. The dead froze in place, raised their heads, and screamed at the sky above. They knew the noise had come from there.
Liam and Robby shifted again, jogging west. Below, the street where the truck was parked. More shots. Casual. Deliberate. Just enough to stir the dead and lure them away from the alley. The response was immediate. But there were so many. They came in waves, too thick to fully push through. Even when they turned, they only moved so far before getting stuck, blocked by their own kind. Manhattan had millions of them. It didn't take much to choke a street with flesh.
"That's it," Liam said, slinging his rifle over his back. "We're going down. Keep quiet."
The rooftop door was locked. Liam unscrewed the suppressor from his handgun and shot the lock clean. Quiet enough. They filed into the building.
From then on, it was about silence.
The lower they went, the more careful they had to be. A loud step could bring the walls down. A dropped bag, a creak in the floor, a single cough, and the swarm outside might sense them, crash through glass or steel and turn the building into a tomb.
On the first floor, Liam and the others crept down the final staircase. Robby took point, peeking around the corner. One hallway led to the front doors—heavy iron, windowless, still closed. The other direction was a blank wall. No openings. Just the outer shell of the neighboring building pressed against it.
"Clear," Robby whispered, moving fast. He turned left, then left again into a half-open door. The others followed immediately. It was one of two small apartments on the east side. This one was closer to the back. From its only window, they could see the alley.
Inside, the place was a mess—but not from the apocalypse. It had always been like this. Just a single bed, an old cabinet, a dusty TV, a clothes rack, two chairs. Beer cans. Crumpled snack bags. Dirty shirts across the floor. The chaos of a cheap, lonely life. Liam recognized it. His room used to look the same.
They crouched low, careful not to step on anything that might make noise. One by one, they reached the window. It was open. The bars had long since been torn out. Finally, they breathed.
Liam gave Robby a look. Robby nodded. He'd go first. Jason might've been more agile, but he was still recovering. Robby had seen war. This was his lane.
He stood, peered through the window quickly, then ducked. The angle was narrow, but the cars at the mouth of the alley were visible—and so were the zombies crowded behind them. Robby watched. Waited. Confirmed none were facing this way.
Then he moved.
One hand on the sill. One on the wall. A push, a kick, and he was through. Landed low, arms bent, rolled into the center of the alley. In another second, he'd rolled again, pressed flat against the eastern wall, heart steady.
Not a sound but the distant cries of the dead.
His position was good. A wrecked car to the north blocked any line of sight. The zombies couldn't see him from the mouth of the alley.
Inside the room, Liam stepped back from the window, just in case. No need to be reckless now. He watched Robby, raised a thumb in silent praise.
The entire sequence had taken just seconds. But it was enough. Clean. Quiet. Professional. Not everyone could do what Robby just did. But in this world, it's the ones who move like shadows that stay alive.