The reason Liam was still being so cautious even after getting this far with the group was painfully simple—there were too many of them. Nine people meant nine chances to be seen, nine chances to make a mistake. When Brook had escaped, he only had three others with him. Four people could move fast. No need for stealth, no need to time anything. They could slip out the window, open the sewer cover, drop in one by one, and even if a few zombies noticed, the delay caused by the cars blocking the alley would buy them enough time. Four people could vanish before danger arrived.
But nine? If the first one was spotted, there might not be enough seconds for everyone to make it down. That's why Liam insisted on quiet. Every second they weren't noticed was a second they could use to survive.
Robby had already dropped into the alley and taken a moment to breathe. He didn't speak. He just pulled his pistol halfway, thought better of it, and slid it back into the holster. Then he reached for the ankle of a nearby corpse and slowly began dragging it toward him.
It was heavy. A woman likely couldn't have moved it at all, not without risking noise. But Robby was built for this. Not as thick as Strong, but no one in the group—Liam included—could match him for pure power.
The body scraped across the concrete inch by inch. Robby moved slow, steady, careful not to draw the attention of the walkers bunched up near the alley's mouth. It took him a full minute to get the corpse over to his side. Blood smeared onto his shirt and forearms, but he didn't have any open wounds. He wasn't worried.
Beneath the body, the rusted round cover of the sewer grate came into view. One of the corpses Liam and Robby had shot from the rooftop must've fallen right over it. That's why Robby had to move it now.
He stood up slightly, crouched low against the wall, and peered through the windshield of a nearby wrecked car. Just past the alley, out on the main road, a suffocating horde of zombies loitered in place, eyes glassy red, bodies swaying without rhythm. There were so many now that they couldn't even roam—packed in too tight to move.
Most of them were still facing west. That was where Liam had fired his last shots from the rooftop. They had been trying to follow the sound, to reach the street where the truck had been parked. But now they were bottlenecked by their own kind.
Robby inhaled deep. Then he slipped from the wall, crept to the uncovered grate, bent down and gripped the rusted handle. A quick twist, then both hands under, and he heaved the lid free. He didn't set it down. He dropped it—carefully—onto the corpse he'd just moved. The soft, ruined meat absorbed the impact. The clang was faint.
Then Robby raised both arms over his head, braced his frame, and dropped straight into the dark.
At that very moment, a walker at the alley's mouth twitched and turned. Maybe it had heard something. Maybe it had felt something shift. But all it saw now was a manhole cover lying beside a corpse and an open hole where there had been nothing a second ago. It stared for a beat or two. Then, as if bored by the mystery, it turned away.
"Three of you—go, one at a time," Liam whispered, barely audible, to Jason, Christine, and Manila. "No hesitation. Get to the grate, stay straight, and drop. Robby's waiting."
He'd already given these instructions on the roof, but he said it again. Because fear screws with memory. Because second-guessing gets people killed.
He glanced toward Kayleeti, still clutching Strong's sleeve, but didn't say anything.
He'd picked the next few based on two things. Youth and size. They were light enough to be caught, fast enough to make it. Kayleeti could've gone now too—she fit the profile—but her nerves were too raw. She wasn't ready.
There were no screams from below, no zombie howls. Robby hadn't been spotted. Good sign. Liam gave the nod.
Jason stood, glanced at the alley's mouth, saw no eyes on him, and launched himself through the window. One roll, one pivot, and he was upright. No wasted motion. He dropped straight down.
His arm bandage was soaked with rot and needed changing, but it didn't slow him.
Christine went next. She wasn't good with people, but zombies didn't scare her as much. Maybe because they didn't have minds. She couldn't vault like Jason, so she climbed the window slow, dropped with caution, crouched, walked quietly to the opening. Then she paused, braced herself, and dropped in stiff and straight.
A roar tore through the alley.
They'd seen her.
A walker at the edge had caught the movement just before she disappeared. The horde stirred. Liam's heart clenched.
"We're blown—go, Manila!" Liam yelled, shoving her up through the window. Stealth was over.
Manila jumped. Behind her came Laura, then Mike, then Strong and Kayleeti. Liam stayed back. He was the last. He had to be the one to shut the lid.
When Manila landed, she turned instead of running, grabbed Laura's hand and helped her balance. Then she darted to the sewer and dropped without flinching. In another world, she'd never do something like this. But this world didn't ask. It demanded. Like the saying goes—desperation makes men brave.
The horde was moving. One walker crawled over the car, tumbled down and staggered toward them. Others followed, clambering over the wrecks like slow-moving rats. It wouldn't be long now. Less than ten seconds.
Laura hit the ladder. Mike followed. Strong helped Kayleeti down from the window, then carried her to the grate.
"Go. Down now," he told her gently.
She wasn't too scared to move. She climbed slow, careful, looking back every few seconds to make sure her father was close.
"Liam!" Strong called, turning toward the last man through the window. "You go first!"
"Me?" Liam blinked, his forehead damp with sweat. "You sure?"
Strong didn't answer with words. He reached down and grabbed the sewer lid with one hand, hefting it like it was nothing. The round slab had to weigh at least fifty pounds, but it lifted easy.
"I'll handle this. Tell them not to catch me."
And then he turned, took two long strides, and swung the lid with full force.
The walker's head exploded like a melon. Strong didn't let go.
Liam understood. Without another word, he ran to the grate, looked down—Kayleeti was already clear, Robby ready and waiting, arms out to catch.
Liam dove.
Darkness swallowed him. Robby caught him by the waist, broke the fall. They rolled together and scrambled aside.
"Move!" Liam hissed, shoving him out of the way.
Above, Strong was already in motion. He raised the lid overhead like a discus, repositioned it between two hands, stepped once, and dropped.
It was like thunder. The iron lid struck the rim with a deafening slam.
Strong was gone. The hole was sealed. Above, the horde surged. Dozens of zombies circled the space where moments ago nine people had vanished. They clawed at the concrete, grunted, groaned, twisted in confusion. They didn't understand what had just happened. Their minds, if you could call them that, couldn't fathom the trick.
They didn't know there was a tunnel beneath their feet.
They just knew something had slipped away.
And they were too late.