Jack wiped his hands on his pants, grimacing at the sticky mess. He took a deep breath and turned to the old woman.
"You alright, ma'am?" he asked, still catching his breath.
Mrs. Smith, visibly shaken, placed a wrinkled hand over her chest but managed a small nod. "Oh, dear, I'm fine," she said, her voice trembling slightly. Her eyes flickered to the now lifeless corpse in the hazmat suit. A deep sadness settled in her expression. "I was just bringing this kind man some food… I thought he must be hungry after guarding the gate for so long. But then—" She shook her head. "He started running after me without warning."
Jack pressed his lips into a thin line. He didn't have the heart to tell her that the "kind man" had died long before she brought him that food.
While Jack was busy reassuring the old woman, Maarg quietly made his way toward the colony gate, choosing to take the normal route this time.
His eyes scanned the area carefully. If one of these things had made it inside, there could be more.
The streets outside the gate were eerily empty. A few abandoned cars, some scattered trash, but no sign of movement.
For now.
Maarg exhaled slowly. No more zombies.
Still, he wasn't about to take any chances.
He locked the gate and looked around for something to reinforce it.
A concrete bench sat nearby. It was meant for residents to rest on during evening strolls, but at that moment, Maarg saw it as the perfect barricade.
He walked over, grabbed the edges, and lifted it—effortlessly.
A few weeks ago, this would have been a struggle. But now?
It felt as light as a chair.
Suppressing the unease creeping up his spine, Maarg carried the bench over and propped it firmly against the gate, wedging it in place.
No one would be getting through easily.
At least, no human would.
Maarg dusted off his hands, not giving much thought to the fact that he had just lifted a concrete bench that easily weighed over 500 kilograms. His mind pushed away the nagging questions—how he had done it, why it had felt effortless.
Now wasn't the time.
He turned and walked back toward Jack and Mrs. Sharma, who were still standing near the lifeless body of the hazmat-suited man.
The old woman, though visibly shaken, had a warm smile as she looked at them. "You boys… you saved me." She sighed, looking down at the tray of food she had brought. "Well… the poor man won't be needing this anymore."
She held the tray out toward them. "Here, you take it. You must be hungry after all that effort."
Jack and Maarg exchanged glances.
It was just a simple home-cooked meal packed in a tiffin box. But in that moment, after everything, it felt like more than just food.
It was gratitude.
Jack took the box with a small nod. "Thanks, Mrs. Smith. You should head inside and lock your doors, alright?"
She nodded, giving them both a final look of appreciation before making her way back to her home.
As she disappeared inside, Jack let out a deep breath and looked at Maarg. "Alright, man… what the hell is happening?"
Maarg had no answer.
But deep down, he knew—whatever was going on, it was only the beginning.
The news spread fast. By noon, social media was flooded with videos, shaky phone footage of people being attacked, bitten, and—horrifyingly—getting back up even after suffering fatal injuries. Reports were conflicting. Some claimed it was a bioterrorist attack, others thought it was a new virus outbreak, worse than anything before.
One thing was certain: something was very, very wrong.
Jack and Maarg sat with Maarg's parents, discussing everything that had happened that morning.
"Zombies," Jack muttered, rubbing his temples. "I still can't believe I'm saying that word seriously."
Surprisingly, Sammy remained silent through the whole conversation. She wasn't panicking, wasn't questioning anything. She simply listened, her expression unreadable.
Maarg's father, a chemist by profession, had the most concerned look of all. "In times like these, chaos rises. And when chaos rises… bad things happen." His voice was grim. "It won't just be the infected we'll have to worry about. Desperation makes people dangerous."
A tense silence followed his words.
Then, as if the universe itself wanted to prove him right—
BANG.
A heavy thud against the colony gate.
Then another.
And another.
Jack and Maarg exchanged glances before rushing to the window.
Outside, a growing horde of zombies had gathered, pressing against the gate, their decayed hands slamming against the metal bars. Their eyes were lifeless, their mouths twisted in hunger.
But the gate held.
And so did the massive concrete bench Maarg had placed earlier.
Jack let out a shaky breath. "Whoever put that bench there… good call."
Maarg said nothing.
He just stared at the horde.