Hugo woke up refreshed and ready for the day, blinking at the ceiling. The same morning light filtered through the curtains, and the same quiet reminded him that the world outside was still dead. But today, he wasn’t going to just survive—he was going to secure his territory.

  He sat up, rubbing his face before glancing at Salem, who lay curled on his side. The cat barely stirred, stretching a single paw before resettling. Hugo exhaled slowly.

  “Guess I should get moving.”

  The past loops had shown him enough. He’d cleared parts of the building, gathered supplies, and survived some serious fights. But he needed control. The first floor was still a liability, and until it was clear, he wasn’t truly safe.

  Hugo sat at his kitchen table, flipping through an old notebook he had found during a previous loop. Most of the pages were useless—half-written recipes, some notes from his old job—but he turned to a fresh page and started writing.

  The loop resets when I die.

  If I die, everything resets. All items, progress, and events are wiped out like nothing ever happened.

  If I sleep, I “save” progress at that moment (only if it’s more than 15 minutes).

  Napping often = less time to react to threats.

  Avoiding sleep = more time to explore, but exhaustion slows me down.

  Nothing carries over when I die—only my knowledge.

  He tapped the pen against the table. This was the key to everything. No matter what, he had to stay alive long enough to sleep if he wanted to keep moving forward.

  After a couple of days of eating and regaining his strength, Salem was in full health and more active than before. He no longer moved sluggishly or slept all day. Instead, he followed Hugo around the apartment, his eyes sharp, his tail flicking with curiosity.

  When Hugo prepared to leave, Salem insisted on going with him. At first, Hugo refused, worried that the cat would get in the way or put himself in danger. But Salem was determined. No matter how many times Hugo set him down, he would leap back onto the backpack, eyes locked onto Hugo like he was making a statement.

  “Damn stubborn cat,” Hugo muttered, finally relenting. “Fine. But you stay close. No running off.”

  Salem blinked slowly, as if accepting the deal, and nestled himself into the front pocket of Hugo’s backpack, where he could keep an eye on everything while staying out of trouble.

  Hugo equipped himself carefully before heading out.

  Baseball bat—no nails this time.

  Kitchen knife—deadly up close, though he hated using it.

  Black leather jacket with magazines taped to his arms and shins for bite protection.

  Motorcycle helmet—he wasn’t taking chances with head injuries anymore.

  Extra food and water—just in case.

  Salem, nestled in his backpack, watching everything.

  He moved toward the stairwell. The first floor was the real battlefield. It was the only entrance to the building, and he knew from past loops that it still had a large cluster of zombies inside.

  As he stepped off the last stair, he stayed low, keeping to the shadows. He had two choices—go straight for the biggest group and risk a fight, or lure them out one by one.

  He chose the smart way.

  Hugo found a piece of rubble on the floor and tossed it down the hallway. The sound echoed, and sure enough, a lone zombie peeled away from the group. A man in a security uniform, his vest still intact, his dead eyes locked onto the noise.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “Alright, let’s do this,” Hugo muttered.

  The zombie guard looked tough to deal with. He had a Kevlar vest with a riot helmet. The vest absorbed some of the blows from Hugo’s bat, making it harder to put him down. It took four heavy swings to the legs before the thing collapsed. He then jumped on its back and tried to remove the helmet to kill it with his knife. After a long struggle, he succeeded.

  Hugo barely had time to recover before he heard the unmistakable groan of another zombie nearby.

  He turned, heart pounding, as another one lunged from a nearby doorway. This one was different—a massive, heavy-set man, his bloated body barely fitting in the doorframe.

  “Oh, come on,” Hugo breathed, gripping his bat tighter.

  The fat zombie was slow but powerful. Its swipes were wide and reckless, forcing Hugo to duck and weave instead of going in for quick kills. When he finally managed to land a solid hit to the head, the damn thing didn’t even go down.

  Hugo was breathing hard, his arms aching, but he kept swinging. On the sixth brutal strike, the zombie finally collapsed, twitching on the ground before going still.

  He exhaled heavily, his breath fogging up the inside of the motorcycle helmet.

  That was two more down.

  Then he heard it.

  A low, guttural growl from deeper inside the hallway.

  Hugo’s stomach dropped.

  The dog.

  He didn’t hesitate. He turned and ran.

  The sound of claws scraping against the floor shot up behind him, the infected hound launching itself into pursuit.

  Salem, startled by the sudden chase, jumped out of the bag in a panic and bolted ahead of Hugo, his small frame darting erratically as he tried to get away.

  “Salem, no!” Hugo shouted, his heart leaping to his throat.

  The sound of claws was getting louder. Hugo barreled toward the stairwell, his legs burning with the effort.

  He risked one glance over his shoulder—the dog was gaining on him fast.

  He reached the stairwell door and slammed it shut, but he wasn’t fast enough. The dog’s head and one paw got through the gap, its jaws snapping wildly just inches away from his leg.

  Panic surged through Hugo as he instinctively pressed all his weight against the door, trapping the dog in place. It was pure luck, not skill. He didn’t plan for this. The animal thrashed and snarled, its claws scraping at the floor in a desperate attempt to free itself.

  His knife was already in his hand. Without thinking, he drove the blade into the dog’s skull, over and over, until the snarling stopped.

  Panting, he stepped back, hands shaking, staring at the lifeless body wedged in the doorframe. He had barely survived that.

  As the adrenaline wore off, Salem crept cautiously back toward the corpse, his fur still puffed up from fear. He hissed once before swiping a paw across the dead dog's face, his claws raking over its lifeless snout as if to make sure it stayed down.

  Hugo exhaled a shaky breath. “Yeah, I feel the same way, buddy.”

  For once, luck had been on his side.

  The rest of the day was spent clearing out the remaining zombies. Hugo knew he couldn’t stop now. He took multiple breaks, pacing himself, but he kept going, methodically luring them out and taking them down. One by one.

  By nightfall, his muscles were sore, his knuckles bruised, and his body felt heavy with exhaustion. But the first floor was almost clear. Almost. The only thing left was to clear the apartments. The hallways were free of undead. The next step was to remove the corpses and barricade all the windows and the front door.

  The next morning, he woke up still sore from all the fighting the previous day. His morning routine of exercising was rougher than usual, the soreness making it difficult, but he pushed through. It was important to stay fit to have a better chance of survival.

  His plan for the day was to barricade the first floor as best he could and clean up all the corpses lying around. Looting the Kevlar vest from the guard was also high on his list of priorities.

  As he went downstairs to talk to the neighbor, he noticed something in front of the apartment door. All the food he had given since the beginning was there, untouched. The water was missing, though.

  He knocked on the door, stepping aside as always.

  A gruff voice answered. "Got plenty of food. Water’s another story. Didn’t plan for it to shut off this soon."

  Hugo frowned. "You didn’t stock up?"

  A pause. "Had some. Not enough. Thought it’d last longer."

  Hugo sighed, rubbing his temple. "Alright. I’ll see what I can do."

  As Hugo continued speaking with the neighbor, he mentioned that he had set up containers on the roof to collect rainwater. To his surprise, the old man grunted in acknowledgment.

  “I got a tarp and a barrel,” the neighbor muttered through the door. “Might as well do it right. We’ll set it up later.”

  Hugo raised an eyebrow. “Wait—you’re actually offering to help?”

  A pause. Then, “Just don’t screw it up.”

  Hugo smirked. It wasn’t much, but it was progress.

  “One more thing,” the old man added. “Get rid of that damn rope to your balcony. I don’t like it.”

  Hugo sighed. “Fine.”

  As he walked away, he couldn't help but feel a small sense of accomplishment. Slowly but surely, he was making progress with the old man downstairs.

  After clearing the first floor, Hugo knew the next step—getting rid of the bodies. If he left them inside, they would rot, attracting flies and disease. Worse, the stench might lure more undead to the building.

  Before taking the first body outside, he took a moment to thoroughly clean the Kevlar vest he had taken from the security guard. Using some spare rags and water, he scrubbed off the dried blood and grime. It wasn’t perfect, but it was wearable now. Once it dried, he’d wear it under his leather jacket.

  It was the first time he had stepped outside in weeks, aside from the roof. He moved carefully, dragging the corpses toward the entrance. The door creaked as he cracked it open, his pulse hammering. A deep breath. Slow movements.

  Stepping out, he felt the sun on his face for the first time in what felt like forever. The street was eerily quiet. He spotted some zombies far away, shuffling aimlessly, but none seemed to notice him. He held his breath as he worked, hauling each body one by one to the sidewalk and stacking them near the curb.

  The large zombie was by far the worst to move. Hugo had to grab it by the arms and drag it inch by inch, his muscles screaming with effort. The sheer weight of the bloated corpse made it feel like he was pulling a dead cow. He gritted his teeth, adjusting his grip, and kept going. Sweat dripped down his face as he finally heaved it over the threshold and out onto the pavement. It hit the ground with a sickening thud.

  It was slow, grueling work. Every time he stepped outside, he felt exposed, his muscles tensed, waiting for something to go wrong.

  Each glance toward the street sent a fresh wave of anxiety through him. He half-expected the distant zombies to turn their heads, to suddenly break into a sprint toward him. But they never did.

  When the last body was out, he took a final glance around before shutting the door, securing it tightly. He leaned against it, taking a moment to catch his breath. The building felt safer already.

  Now, it was time to reinforce the entrances. Hugo gathered whatever furniture he could find—desks, chairs, even a heavy filing cabinet from one of the apartment. He wedged them against the main door, layering them until it would take significant force to break through.

  Stepping back, he studied his work. It wasn’t perfect, but it would hold.

  Hugo let out a tired sigh, looking at Salem, who was now sitting on a counter, watching him with an unreadable expression.

  “Well, buddy,” Hugo muttered, wiping sweat from his forehead. “That’s one less thing to worry about.”

  The cat flicked his tail, as if unimpressed, before curling up into a ball. Hugo shook his head with a chuckle. The job was done. For now.