Vincent and the group had been trapped on the rooftop for over three days. The experience could be summed up in a few words: boredom, tension, anxiety, and, now that their food had run out, sheer terror.

  There are many ways to die. The most peaceful, of course, is slipping away in your sleep with the help of pills—no pain, no fear. On the other end of the spectrum, being eaten alive by zombies is arguably the most horrifying fate imaginable. But somewhere in between lies starvation—a slow, agonizing death that countless people in this new world were already facing. And now, it seemed, Vincent and his group were next.

  Without food, the women would likely outlast the men. Biology played a role here—women generally had more body fat, making them more resilient to starvation. Strong John, despite his name, would probably be the first to go. His muscular build, while impressive, meant he had less fat to sustain him. The last to die? Probably Manny.

  Of course, there was another way to survive—one that required sacrifice. Cannibalism. Vincent was certain that somewhere in this broken world, there were already groups of people who had resorted to eating their own to stay alive. He didn’t know if he could bring himself to do it. Humans were rational creatures, but when pushed to the brink of death, when starvation clawed at their sanity, would they choose to die—or to eat? If he could face death, could he face the alternative?

  But Vincent doubted it would come to that. More likely, he’d choose to end his own life before it did.

  The past few days had been uneventful. That was the nature of the apocalypse—either nothing happened, or everything happened at once. The zombies had become a constant, almost mundane presence. Without them, this wouldn’t be the end of the world.

  Vincent had kept his plan to himself, only mentioning it to Strong John. He didn’t want to raise false hopes. Hope could be dangerous—it could lead to disappointment, and in their situation, disappointment could be deadly.

  By midday, the group had finished their last scraps of food. The mood was grim. Even Jason, who had spent the past few days trying to charm Kelly despite Strong John’s protests, had fallen silent. The shadow of death loomed over them, and the air was thick with despair.

  Vincent stood at the edge of the rooftop, staring down at the sea of zombies below. He had hoped for a miracle, a passing car, a distant gunshot, anything to draw the horde away. But nothing had happened. The world outside was eerily quiet, and Vincent’s hope was fading.

  If no miracle came, they would have to save themselves.

  *Clap! Clap!* Vincent suddenly turned and slapped his hands together, the sharp sound cutting through the silence. Everyone looked up, their eyes dull and lifeless—even Robby, who was slumped against the railing, looked like he was waiting for death.

  “Get up. We’re leaving,” Vincent said, his voice firm. He ran a hand over the stubble on his chin, his expression resolute.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “Leaving?” The group murmured in disbelief, but they slowly rose to their feet. Robby was the first to move, springing up with a quickness that belied his earlier lethargy. He strode over to Vincent, his voice low. “What’s the plan?”

  “Not me,” Vincent said, shaking his head. He grabbed Manny’s emergency bag, slinging it over his shoulder. Inside were medical supplies, clothes, and ammunition—no food, but enough to keep them going for a while. He pulled out his pistol, removing the silencer, and held it at the ready.

  The others followed suit, gathering their belongings and preparing their weapons. Jason, ever the optimist, flashed a grin, his white teeth gleaming. If the situation hadn’t been so dire, he might have broken into a dance.

  “How are we getting out?” Old Mike asked, his voice tinged with skepticism. Vincent’s confidence was infectious, but the old man needed answers.

  “Follow me,” Vincent said, leading the group to the northern edge of the rooftop where the ladder had once been. The railing was gone, and Vincent pointed to the building across the gap. “How far do you think that is?”

  The group exchanged glances, unsure where he was going with this.

  “About seven meters…”

  “Maybe eight…” Robby and Manny offered their guesses. The ladder that had once bridged the gap had been about eight meters long, so the distance couldn’t be much more than that.

  “See those ladders on the other roof?” Vincent pointed to the metal ladders lying on the opposite rooftop. They were identical to the one that had been kicked away. It seemed Brook had stockpiled several for his escape route, leaving a few behind.

  The group nodded, their eyes following Vincent’s gesture.

  Vincent paused, his gaze shifting to Jason. “Jason,” he called.

  “Yes, sir!” Jason responded with a mock salute, his usual cheerfulness returning. He didn’t know the plan, but he trusted Vincent. If Vincent said they could leave, then they could leave.

  “Jump across,” Vincent said, nodding toward the opposite rooftop.

  “What?” Jason’s smile vanished, replaced by a look of sheer panic.

  “Jump across,” Vincent repeated, his tone unwavering. “I know you can do it. You’ve done parkour before. This is no different.”

  This was Vincent’s plan—a desperate gamble. Someone had to jump the gap to the other building, retrieve a ladder, and bridge the gap for the rest of the group. Jason, with his background in parkour and street dancing, was the best candidate. But it wasn’t without risk. The world record for the long jump was just under nine meters, and Jason wasn’t a professional athlete. The gap was close to eight meters, and the stakes were life and death.

  “Are you sure?” Jason asked, his voice trembling.

  “I’m sure,” Vincent said, stepping back to give Jason space. “You’re our only chance.”

  Jason stared at Vincent, his expression hardening. After a long moment, he nodded and began stretching, preparing his body for the jump. He was scared, but he was willing to try.

  Laura, Jason’s aunt, couldn’t hold back her tears. She rushed to Vincent, grabbing his arm. “You can’t make him do this! There has to be another way!”

  Before Vincent could respond, Jason spoke up. “It’s okay, Aunt Laura. I’ve got this.”

  But Laura wasn’t convinced. She turned to Vincent, her voice breaking. “You can’t force him to do this! He’ll die!”

  Vincent didn’t answer. Instead, he raised his pistol and fired three shots into the air. The deafening blasts echoed across the rooftop, and the zombies below erupted into a frenzy. The door to the rooftop began to shake violently as the horde surged against it.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Strong John shouted, raising his gun at Vincent. But before he could act, Robby, Manny, Chris, and Mike all turned their weapons on him.

  Vincent ignored the standoff, walking over to Jason and placing his hands on the younger man’s shoulders. “Jason,” he said, his voice steady, “if you die, we die with you.”

  The words hung in the air, heavy and final. Jason took a deep breath, stepped back, and began his run toward the edge of the rooftop.