The door shuddered under another impact, wood splintering near the hinges. Quinn didn't need to see through the pebbled glass to know what waited outside—that same hungry silence between attacks, the scrape of too-long fingernails testing weaknesses.
Sarah was already moving, her boots kicking aside debris as she scanned the lobby. "The desk!" she barked, voice cutting through the groaning wood.
Quinn saw it—a heavy particleboard monstrosity that might buy them minutes. He grabbed one end, the laminate peeling under his grip like sunburnt skin. Together they heaved, muscles straining as the legs screeched across tile. The sound set Quinn's teeth on edge, worse than the creatures' pounding.
"Again," Sarah grunted.
They shoved harder. The desk slammed into place just as something heavy hit the door from outside. The wood bowed inward but held.
Sarah didn't pause. She flipped the couch on its side, the faux-leather split along one seam, foam guts spilling out. They wedged it behind the desk, creating a layered barrier. Useless against real determination. Better than nothing.
Quinn wiped his palms on his thighs. The lobby stank of lemon-scented cleaner gone rancid and something darker beneath—metallic, meaty. The kind of smell that lingered in sinuses.
Sarah pressed her ear to the door. Her cheek flexed as she counted impacts. "Slowing down," she murmured. "Either they're giving up or..."
"Or calling reinforcements," Quinn finished. He turned, taking in the room properly for the first time. Abandoned in stages—dust-covered keyboards still plugged in, a coffee mug with a skin of mold. The glowing monitors cast jagged blue shadows.
His eyes caught on the cardboard boxes.
Curiosity, or maybe just the ingrained habit of scavenging, pulled Quinn towards the boxes. He knelt and ripped the tape off the top one. Inside, nestled in styrofoam, was a brand-new laptop computer, still wrapped in plastic. He pulled it out. It felt sleek and cool in his hands. He dug into the next box – more laptops. Probably an office shipment that never got distributed.
He hesitated for only a second. Then, acting on an instinct he didn't fully understand, he tore the plastic off the first laptop, found the power button, and pressed it.
Sarah's incredulous look when he powered it on could've melted steel. "It works," he said simply, stuffing it into his pack.
"Works how?" Her fingers twitched toward her tire iron like she wanted to smash it herself. "You planning to Zoom with the president? Check your fucking spam folder for salvation?"
Quinn zipped the bag. "Batteries. Data. Maybe maps." Weak excuses even to his own ears.
Before Sarah could retort, the sound came—eee...onk...eee...onk—a rusty hinge singing upstairs.
Sarah's fingers whitened around her tire iron. "That's not wind."
Quinn shook his head, already moving toward the staircase. The steps groaned under their combined weight, the worn carpet runner doing little to muffle their footsteps. Each creak sounded like a gunshot in the silent building.
Eeee...onk.
Closer now. The second-floor hallway stretched before them, doors gaping like missing teeth. The sound came from the last door on the left, swaying gently on its hinges. A cold draft slithered past them, carrying the cloying sweetness of spoiled fruit and something sharper beneath—alcohol and the first notes of decay.
Quinn pressed his back against the wall beside the door. Sarah mirrored him on the opposite side, her breathing controlled but shallow. With one silent count of three, he kicked the door wide.
The conference room stank of abandoned luxury. Champagne flutes stood sentinel on the polished table, some still holding finger-widths of amber liquid. A man in a ruined suit sat upright at the head, his skin gone waxy, lips pulled back in what might have been a smile before rigor mortis set in. The breeze from the broken window made his silk tie flutter.
"Jesus," Sarah muttered, stepping over a woman's outstretched hand. The diamond watch on her wrist still caught the light. "They toasted the end of the world."
Quinn nudged an overturned pill bottle with his boot. Empty. "Went out on their terms."
Sarah snorted, prying open a leather briefcase. "Rich people always do." She froze when she saw the stacks of hundred-dollar bills inside. "Worthless now." The bills fluttered to the ground like dead leaves as she tossed them aside.
Her fingers traced the briefcase's lining, then stopped at a slight bulge. With a quick jerk, she tore the fabric. A small black keycard fell into her palm. She held it up to the fading light. "Now this... this might actually be worth something."
Quinn barely glanced up from his inspection of the dead man's suit pockets. "Unless it opens a vault full of more dead presidents."
"Smartass." Sarah ran her thumb along the card's magnetic strip. "Corporate buildings use these for secure—" Her head snapped toward the bookshelf. "That panel's newer than the wall."
Quinn followed her gaze to a section of wood grain that didn't quite match. He pried it open with his knife, revealing a biometric locker. The keycard slot blinked red.
Sarah jammed the card in. The light turned green with a soft chime.
Inside, shrink-wrapped cash bricks shared space with two tactical shotguns. But it was the laptop that caught Quinn's attention—its power light still pulsing like a heartbeat. He grabbed it as Sarah whistled low, stuffing shells into her pockets.
"You're really gonna—" Sarah began, but Quinn was already flipping it open. The screen flared to life, displaying a paused video feed. He hit play.
A gray-haired general in full dress uniform filled the screen, his backdrop a sunlit greenhouse. Quinn's breath caught—he knew that face. General Aldridge had pinned his Force Recon trident on him three years ago.
"To any survivors," the general's recorded voice boomed, too loud in the dead office. Sarah slammed the laptop shut, then eased it open just enough to muffle the sound.
The general continued: "Humanity's future grows at Eden Base. We've secured fifty square miles of arable land, working infrastructure, and most importantly—" The camera panned to show children tending crops "—uninfected population. You are welcome here." His finger pointed directly at the camera. "You are needed here."
The screen cut to coordinates and a date—two weeks from now.
Quinn's hands moved before his brain processed it, scratching the numbers into his arm with a ballpoint from the desk. The video looped back to the beginning.
Sarah stared at the fresh ink on Quinn's forearm. "Could be bait. Could be bullshit."
"Could be breathing room." Quinn snapped the laptop shut. "Aldridge wouldn't—"
A crash echoed from downstairs. The barricade wouldn't hold much longer.
Sarah slung a shotgun over her shoulder. "Roof. Now." She paused just long enough to glare at the laptop in Quinn's hands. "That better not slow us down."
Quinn secured the laptop in his pack with one hand while drawing his K-Bar with the other. The crash from downstairs reverberated through the ceiling—something heavy had given way.
They moved in synchronized silence, Sarah leading with her scavenged shotgun at low ready. The stairwell door groaned as she eased it open, revealing the metal steps spiraling upward. Rust flakes drifted down like metallic snow with each footfall.
At the roof access door, Quinn pressed his ear against the cold steel. "Clear."
The rooftop wind washed over them, crisp and startling after the stale office air. Sarah immediately dropped to a crouch, scanning the surrounding rooftops. Near a rusted AC unit, several wooden planks lay scattered—leftovers from some long-abandoned repair job.
"Ten-foot gap," Sarah muttered, calculating the jump distance to the adjacent building. "With that duffle? You'll drop like a sandbag."
Quinn shrugged off the pack containing the laptop. "Then we bridge it."
They dragged the longest plank to the edge. Sarah tested its weight with her boot. "This held up better than the asshole who ordered it." She jerked her chin toward the luxury corpses below.
As they positioned the makeshift bridge, a new sound cut through the wind—the distinct screech of bending metal from somewhere below. The horde had breached the lobby.
Sarah's jaw tightened as she tested the plank's stability with one boot. "This'll hold exactly long enough to get us killed halfway across."
Quinn didn't smile. He slung the shotgun across his back and checked the duffel's strap. "You first."
"Like hell." Sarah grabbed his arm, her fingers digging in. "That laptop makes you top-heavy. I'll cover from this side."
Another crash echoed up the stairwell. Closer now.
Quinn met her stare—the unspoken calculation passing between them. Every second wasted on arguing was a second lost. He nodded once.
Sarah took position near the roof's edge, shotgun braced against her shoulder. "Don't look down, don't think about the drop, and for Christ's sake don't stop moving."
The plank groaned under Quinn's weight as he stepped onto it. Wind tugged at his clothes, the ten-foot gap yawning below. He focused on the opposite parapet, on the pitted brickwork where he'd plant his hand—
The roof access door behind them exploded outward.
Sarah didn't turn. "Move!"
Quinn's boots scraped across the weathered wood. The plank bowed dangerously, but held. Behind him, the first guttural snarls reached the rooftop. He didn't look back. Didn't need to. Sarah's shotgun blast confirmed what he already knew—they were out of time.
Halfway across, a splintering crack echoed beneath him. The plank sagged, nails screaming in protest. Quinn lunged, fingers clawing at the opposite ledge. His chest slammed into the parapet as the plank snapped, crashing into the alley below.
Sarah's voice cut through the chaos: "Go! Go!" Another shotgun blast. Then running footsteps.
Quinn rolled onto the safer roof just as Sarah launched herself across the gap. She hit the edge hard, her free hand scrabbling for purchase. His fingers closed around her wrist an instant before she slipped.
For one suspended moment, they hung there—Sarah dangling over the void, Quinn's muscles burning with the strain. Then he hauled her up, their combined momentum sending them crashing onto the gravel roof.
No time to breathe. The creatures' shrieks multiplied behind them. Sarah was already moving, scanning for their next escape route. "Fire escape. East side."