Only the undead would hammer away at a door with such uneven rhythm. Liam and the others could already hear the groaning and snarling behind it.
From the moment they'd entered this building, Liam had sensed there were zombies inside, though likely not many. In most places, the undead had already been drawn out by the chaos of the outbreak. Buildings with weak doors had long been emptied, survivors making noise on the roads were far more likely to attract attention, while those hiding inside rarely made a sound loud enough to lure the infected back in. It was the same story everywhere. The louder the streets, the emptier the buildings. The quieter the buildings, the more the streets swelled with death.
But this was only a guess. When they came in, they had taken the elevator straight up to the twelfth floor. They hadn't seen the floors in between, and no one knew for sure how many were still inside.
Since taking over the suite, no one had bothered to keep their voices down. Being this high up, any noise from inside wouldn't reach the street. And any undead still in the building—well, Liam had assumed they wouldn't be much trouble. But now that the noise had drawn something to the door, the room fell instantly silent.
Liam made the quiet gesture again, finger to lips, and crept toward the suite's main door. Two armchairs had been jammed up against it as a makeshift barricade, and now the door itself was shuddering from the pounding behind it.
As Liam moved closer, the others rose to their feet. Strong pulled his pistol from his belt and wrapped an arm protectively around Kayleeti. The rest of the group reached for their guns—under the table, beside the sofa, tucked into belts.
Liam drew his M9, popped the magazine to check—half full—and slid it back in. Quietly, he stepped up onto one of the chairs, leaned toward the peephole, and peered through. Outside, he saw six or seven zombies pressing against the door. The front ones clawed and pounded, while those behind reached in vain, blocked by the bodies in front.
He leaned in closer, listening. The walls in a high-end hotel like this were thick, so he had to really focus to get a sense of how many were out there. At least now he could estimate.
"How many?" Robby appeared at his side, speaking low.
"Around fifteen. Not more than that," Liam replied, thinking. Fifteen. Not too many, but not insignificant either.
Robby raised his eyebrows and made a quick throat-slitting gesture, then nodded toward the door. Liam considered it a moment longer, then gave a nod. Better to get rid of them. If they left them outside, they'd have to keep quiet for days, and if the door gave in, they'd still have to fight. Worse, the noise might attract even more from the building.
"No one move. Stay put. No need to panic," Liam said aloud, his voice calm. If they were going to open the door anyway, there was no point pretending anymore.
He stepped aside, raised his gun, and aimed at the door—then paused. "Wait. Here," he called, tossing the weapon to Robby and motioning for him to take over.
Liam knew his limits. When it came to marksmanship, Robby was the best they had. Strong had military experience, sure, but age dulled reflexes. Robby had youth and precision on his side.
Robby caught the gun and dual-wielded with his own. He hooked one of the armchairs aside with his foot, leaving the other to block the door slightly, then reached out and flipped the lock, stepping quickly back.
The door pushed open, stuck briefly on the remaining chair. Zombies tried to squeeze through, but that moment of hesitation was all Robby needed.
Pfft pfft pfft pfft pfft…
With both hands raised, suppressors hissing, Robby shot every head that appeared in the gap. One by one, they dropped. Corpses piled into the doorway. Ten seconds, maybe less.
He tossed Liam's gun back, and together they stepped over the heap of corpses into the hallway.
The twelfth-floor corridor was quiet. Just four doors along the hallway—top-tier suites. One of them now had twelve bodies piled in front of it, half a meter high. Liam and Robby scanned both ends. No more movement.
The others crept out behind them, weapons at the ready. Liam approached one of the opposite suite doors and banged it hard. No sound inside. He took a step back and fired a shot into the electronic lock. The door handle turned easily afterward.
"Come on. Let's move the bodies in here," Liam said. Leaving them at the doorway wasn't an option. The air up here was better than street level, but these corpses would rot quickly and foul the floor. Better to isolate them.
They tossed the bodies inside and shut the door tight. Two doors between the corpses and their own suite should be enough to hold back the stench.
They also used the opportunity to grab a few more armchairs, carrying them back to their own room to make sleeping arrangements in the living room more comfortable. Once finished, they washed up at the suite next door and re-barricaded their entrance with the extra chairs.
Liam returned to the window, slightly winded, and glanced down at the street. The horde had grown. Five hundred, maybe more. They must've been drawn by the sound of gunfire or moaning. But for a wide street like this, they were still spaced out. With their current gear, the group could still push through if needed.
The rest of the day passed in silence. Boring, even. The TV was nothing but static, the radio silent. That mysterious military signal hadn't returned in over ten days. Liam half-suspected the base had fallen, but that seemed unlikely. A military installation that had survived the outbreak's first wave wouldn't fall to a few stray zombies—not unless someone inside made a deadly mistake.
By evening, Liam stood at the window again. His lip was less swollen, healing well. Maybe four or five days more and he could remove the stitches.
The street outside remained the same—five or six hundred undead wandering slowly, clustered here and there. Probably the peak, unless something triggered more to arrive.
Manila approached, a backpack slung over one shoulder. She poked lightly at Liam's lip, grinning.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked.
"Staying alive," Liam replied, lips curling in a dry smile as he turned to her. "What's up?" He knew she wasn't the type for idle small talk.
"Christine needs her bandages changed." She handed him the backpack.
"You want me to do it?" Liam frowned. Manila could do it herself. Sure, he was the doctor, but it wasn't like Manila didn't know how to handle a dressing.
"She's still just a kid. Doesn't know better. Give her a chance to apologize, will you?" Manila said quietly, tilting her head.
Liam looked at her for a long second, then sighed. He reached up and flicked her forehead with a finger. "You better not have taken a bribe."
He slung the bag over his shoulder and headed toward Christine's room.