I stared out the window at the zombies in the park. It wasn’t a pretty sight. The once-beautiful park now looked like a war zone—trash scattered everywhere, benches overturned, and blood smeared across the pavement like crude brushstrokes on a forgotten painting. I didn’t know where all the zombies were coming from, but I sure wished they’d go somewhere else. Watching them shuffle around was seriously creeping me out.
Down on the street, I spotted a stray dog gnawing on what looked like a severed leg. I gagged a little. That was officially the grossest thing I’d seen all day—and that was saying something.
The sun was starting to set, casting long shadows through the buildings. I sighed. Back in the old days, that’s when the city would come alive—streetlights glowing, neon signs buzzing, cars rolling by, people laughing in the distance. But now? It was just darkness creeping in. No lights. No sounds. Just silence, and the ever-present groan of the undead.
Well, almost no lights. Our apartment still had electricity thanks to the solar panels. It made the place feel like a small bubble of the past, barely holding on in a world that had completely let go.
I wandered into the kitchen and grabbed another piece of cold chicken from the fridge. As much as I loved chicken, I was starting to get tired of it. My sister would’ve loved it cold. She always liked her food straight out of the fridge—chicken, chow mein, even frozen pizza.
If only we still had microwaves. My parents told me stories about them—how they used to heat up food in seconds. But those got outlawed back in 2084, before I was even born. Something about health concerns and environmental regulations. Typical future stuff.
I brought the chicken back to the bedroom. Jill was still curled up on the couch, reading like always. If there had been a copy of War and Peace lying around, I’m pretty sure she’d be halfway through it by now. I glanced at the book in her hands. Stuck in the Middle by Natasa Jacobs. Huh. I wondered what it was about. Maybe I’d borrow it when she was done.
It was getting late. I was full, sleepy, and bored. Nothing was on TV except the Emergency Broadcast Network, and we still didn’t have internet. Even if we did, I doubted anything was left to stream. The apocalypse kind of killed the whole subscription model.
I lay back on the bed, wrapping myself in a blanket that still smelled a little like laundry detergent. My eyelids were getting heavy.
Tomorrow, we’d check the roof. Maybe it’d be empty. Maybe it wouldn’t.
Either way, I had a feeling things were about to change again.
"Ew! Ew! Do we have to do this?" Jill cried. Mr. Sanders was standing there with a bucket full of zombie guts from one he'd killed earlier that morning, smearing the gory mess all over us like it was finger paint day at preschool.
"If you want to get to the pool without being eaten alive, then yes," he said, slapping another squishy handful onto Jill's arm.
"But it’s disgusting! And it smells like something that crawled out of a toilet and died—twice!" Jill groaned, nearly gagging.
"You’re telling me," I said, pinching my nose. "I’ve had it on longer than you. But hey, remember episode two of The Walking Dead? Rick and Glenn used this same trick. Zombie guts for camouflage—it worked for them."
"Yeah, and it rained right after!" Jill shot back. "It washed off and they almost died!"
I smirked. "I don’t think it’s going to rain indoors, Jill. Worst-case scenario, we have to take a bath before going swimming. Not exactly the end of the world… oh wait."
Jill groaned again. "I definitely just lost my appetite."
"Cool. More chicken for me!" I said, grinning as I plopped onto the floor with a piece.
Watching Mr. Sanders try to smear zombie goo on a squeamish six-year-old was like watching someone try to bathe a cat. Hilarious, terrifying, and definitely messy.
Sure, it smelled like death dipped in onions, but I had to admit, I hoped this plan would work. Back at the mall, I could pick off zombies from a distance. Here, they might be just a few feet away. That’s why we needed this disguise—and also, weapons.
"Hey, speaking of that..." I said, eyeing the old man. "What are we using to fight with? Because unless this is Minecraft, punching them isn’t going to cut it."
Mr. Sanders smirked and walked over to a cabinet, unlocking it with an old key. Inside was a stash of knives, a hatchet, and—was that a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire?
"Whoa," Jill whispered. "Are we in The Last of Us now? Because I feel like Ellie, and you look like you’re about to go full Joel."
"You two take the knives and bat," he said. "I'll stick with the hatchet."
I handed Jill the bat. "You know, if this doesn’t work and we get eaten, at least we’ll go out looking like absolute badasses."
She looked down at her slime-covered dress. "Badasses... who smell like a dumpster."
"Exactly," I nodded. "Now let’s go get that pool. Zombie-style."
“What are we going to use as weapons?” I asked Mr. Sanders.
“Don’t worry about that, I have it all planned out,” he said, putting the last touches of zombie guts on Jill. He then disappeared into his apartment for a moment and returned with a few items. From behind his back, he revealed two swords—one he handed to me and the other to Jill.
“Cool! I can be like Michonne,” I grinned, giving the blade a playful swing.
“You sure don’t look like her,” Jill teased, wrinkling her nose, “and you definitely don’t smell like her either.”
I stuck out my tongue. “Don’t swing that katana like that,” she warned. “You might accidentally cut us.”
I quickly stopped. “I’m actually using a katana, just like Michonne?” I could barely contain my excitement. I wanted to jump for joy, but I held back. Any noise might draw the zombies below. I did notice the katana seemed smaller than the ones I’d seen on TV. Maybe they made kid-sized versions?
Mr. Sanders returned holding a hatchet. He had given us his best swords, so this was all he had left for himself.
As we headed toward the staircase that led to the rooftop pool, I noticed something. “Mr. Sanders, why aren’t you wearing any zombie guts?”
“I’m a professional,” he said, matter-of-factly. “I cleared this whole level of zombies, and most of the Skyway too. They won’t get the drop on me.”
I decided not to argue. He was right—he had gotten us this far.
As we climbed the stairs, a nervous energy buzzed inside me. How many zombies were waiting up there? Would our camouflage actually work? Could Jill and I, now stuck in six-year-old bodies, really handle fighting dozens of zombies?
The top door crept closer. I could already hear the soft groans and shuffling feet on the other side. Mr. Sanders stepped in front of us, calm and confident. I couldn’t help but admire that. I missed being strong like that—back when I was a sixteen-year-old boy. Now, I felt like I was swinging a toy sword.
Mr. Sanders turned to us, his expression serious. “Are you both ready for this?” he whispered.
We both nodded.
I gripped my katana tighter. Jill raised her cutlass, which was slightly smaller than mine but still sharp and deadly.
Mr. Sanders opened the door just a crack to check. Only a few zombies were in sight. “This’ll be quick,” he muttered. He threw the door open and lunged forward, attacking with precision. The zombies turned on him instantly, ignoring us completely.
Jill and I slipped into the room behind him and quickly shut the door, barricading it with a chair. We made sure no one—or nothing—was getting out the way we came in.
That’s when a fresh wave of zombies surged in from the far side of the rooftop.
Mr. Sanders fought them off, moving with surprising agility for someone his age. Jill jumped into action, swinging at the nearest undead. Because of her height, she aimed for their sides—midsection strikes that threw them off balance. I joined her, slashing at legs.
“Die!” I yelled, cutting through one of the zombie's thighs. It groaned but kept moving. I growled in frustration. All I could really do was take out their legs. Once they fell, I finished them off by slicing through their necks.
I was getting tired. This wasn’t like the shows or the games. It was messy, exhausting, and repetitive. Slice. Chop. Drop. Slice. Chop. Drop. Rinse and repeat. And the worst part? They weren’t even going after us. Mr. Sanders had drawn most of the attention.
Still, we weren’t going to let him fight alone. I ran over to help him, slicing more zombie legs as fast as I could. Jill was nearby, hacking and dodging like a champ. Once they were down, we finished the job with our blades.
The rooftop was slowly becoming a graveyard. And for once, we were the ones digging the graves.
Jill’s sword wasn’t doing a great job. She was chopping away, but her strikes barely slowed them down. Sure, she knocked off a few arms, but the zombies kept coming. I knew I had to step in and give her some help.
“Need some help?” I asked, catching up to her.
“Why not? What else can I do? This sword he gave me sucks balls.”
I giggled and jumped in beside her. There were only nine zombies left on this side. I wasn’t sure how many were still on the other—most had chased after Mr. Sanders. I couldn’t help but wonder why these stragglers didn’t follow.
Then more zombies began shuffling in from nowhere.
“Wait… what?” I muttered, heart pounding.
Something wasn’t right. I darted toward a walkway and spotted the problem. The elevator doors were wide open—and they were crawling out of the elevator shaft.
“Seriously?” I gasped. “How are they climbing?!”
Zombies weren’t supposed to be smart. They weren’t supposed to be coordinated. But here they were, clawing their way up like oversized cockroaches.
I rushed to the elevator and threw my shoulder against the door. It wouldn’t budge. I pressed all my weight against it, gritting my teeth. Nothing.
“Jill!” I shouted. “I need help!”
No answer.
I turned and saw her across the pool near Mr. Sanders. No way she heard me. I sprinted toward her, boots slipping slightly on the blood-slick tile.
That’s when she slipped.
Her foot landed wrong in a puddle of zombie gore, and before I could warn her, she went down—right into the deep end of the pool.
All the zombie guts we’d smeared on ourselves washed away in an instant.
“HELP!” she screamed, flailing as she broke the surface.
The zombies noticed immediately.
One by one, they turned and began dropping into the pool after her.
“JILL!” I screamed, frantically searching the wall until I spotted the life preserver. I grabbed it and hurled it into the water.
“GRAB IT!”
She tried. Once. Twice. The third time—because of course it had to be three—she finally got it.
I gripped the rope with both hands and pulled with everything I had, dragging her toward the edge.
Meanwhile, Mr. Sanders had seen the commotion. Without hesitation, he leapt into the water. The zombies went in after him.
I couldn’t save him. Not with Jill barely clinging to the preserver and a dozen zombies between us.
I yanked her onto the deck and dragged her to the stairwell. She was soaked, terrified, and weaponless. Her sword was at the bottom of the pool.
“I can’t believe this,” I whispered, eyes stinging. “We lost him. We lost Mr. Sanders.”
I turned back to the pool, but it was already too late. The zombies had overwhelmed him.
We shut the door behind us.
We hadn’t won.
Not this time.