Chapter 903: Better to Fight Than Starve

With the weapon finally in hand, a grin spread across Ethan’s face.

In times like these, he couldn’t afford to let threats fester. Kill them in the cradle—that was the only way to stay alive a little longer.

"We’re from Dorm 308," Ethan said, stepping forward. "I’m Ethan, this is Chris. What about you guys?"

The tall guy nodded. "We’re from 716. I’m Sean. That’s Skinny Pete, and the big guy’s Big Mike."

"Just the three of you in your dorm?" Ethan asked, raising an eyebrow.

"There was one more," Sean said, his voice tightening. "But he turned into a zombie. Lucky we caught it early this morning—if we hadn’t, we’d all be dead by now."

Ethan blinked. "Damn. You guys made it out of that?"

"Barely counts as making it out," Sean said with a dry laugh. "It was three of us, one of him. He fell off the top bunk, and we managed to tie him to the bed with some sheets. That’s the only reason we’re still breathing."

"Still impressive," Ethan said.

Sean gave a shrug. "What about you two? You’re from the third floor—what are you doing up here?"

Ethan scratched the back of his head. "Uh... we were up here last night. Drinking. Talking. Never made it back to the dorm."

"..."

"Well, shit," Sean muttered. "You guys really lucked out."

"Yeah," Ethan said with a crooked smile. "I think so too."

The tension eased. They kept talking, and the vibe stayed friendly enough. After all, they were all students. No one was fighting over food or space—yet—so it was easy to get along.

That lasted until midday, when a loud growl broke the peace.

Skinny Pete clutched his stomach, looking sheepish. "You guys got anything to eat? We haven’t had a bite since morning. Kinda starving here."

Ethan spread his hands. "Does this place look like it comes with room service?"

Truth was, he and Chris hadn’t eaten since last night either. They were just better at pretending they weren’t hungry.

"So what now?" Big Mike asked. "Even if the zombies can’t get in, we’ll starve to death eventually."

"Hang in there," he added. "Rescue teams might show up any time now."

"And if they don’t?" Sean asked, voice low.

"They will," Big Mike said, but it sounded more like a hope than a fact.

Chris shook his head. "We can’t count on that. We need to figure out how to get food ourselves."

"Yeah? How?" Skinny Pete snapped. "There are two zombies right outside the door. We can’t even get out, let alone scavenge."

Ethan’s eyes narrowed. "Maybe... we let them in. Take them out. Then we head down to the dorms and grab what we can."

"You’re out of your damn mind," Sean said, recoiling. "Let them in? That’s suicide."

They’d fought zombies before. They knew what those things could do. After finally finding a safe spot, the last thing they wanted was to face them again.

"There are only two out there," Ethan said. "We’ve got five people. If we can’t handle two now, what happens when there are ten? Or twenty? We’ll never get out."

"You don’t get it," Sean snapped. "You’ve never fought one. They don’t feel pain. You hit them, they don’t even flinch. If they grab you, bite you—it’s over."

"Yeah," Skinny Pete added, shaking his head. "Letting them in is basically asking to die. You might be ready for that, but we’re not."

Even Chris looked uneasy. "Ethan... are you sure about this?"

"Sure or not, we have to try," Ethan said firmly. "We’re on the rooftop. Zombies are dumb—they don’t think. If we can lure them close and push them off, that’s it. Clean kill. It’s the safest way we’re gonna get out of here. If we can’t even do that, we might as well give up now."

Chris nodded. "I’m with you."

"No way!" Sean barked. "We’re not letting you open that door."

"This was our spot first," Ethan shot back, his voice rising. "Since when do we need your permission?"

Sean’s face darkened. He reached for the metal pipe—only to realize it was no longer in their hands. Somehow, it had ended up with Ethan.

"Give me back the pipe," Sean growled.

Ethan smirked. "You think that’s gonna happen?"

"That’s mine!"

"Not anymore."

"..."

"Fuck this," Sean snapped. "Without that pipe, there’s no way in hell I’m letting you open that door!"

Ethan’s eyes turned cold. "It’s not your call."

Then, without warning, he spun and kicked the ladder.

It clattered to the ground with a metallic crash.

"Shit!" Sean and the others scrambled, rushing to brace the iron door with their bodies, panic written all over their faces.

"You’re insane! You’re a goddamn lunatic!" Sean shouted, his face twisted with fury. "You’re gonna get us all killed!"

Ethan’s voice was ice. "Better to take a shot than sit here waiting to die. If you’re too scared to fight, then keep holding that door. Let’s see how long you last."

Neither side backed down. The air between them crackled, thick with tension.

Bang... bang...

The iron door shuddered again. The zombies outside, stirred by the shouting, had resumed their assault.

Sean, Skinny Pete, and Big Mike braced themselves against the door, muscles straining. When they glanced back and saw Ethan and Chris just standing there, not even moving to help, their faces darkened.

"What now, Sean?" Skinny Pete hissed, panic creeping into his voice. "We can’t hold this forever!"

Sean’s expression flickered—anger, frustration, calculation—before he finally clenched his jaw and turned to Ethan. "Fine. We’ll fight. But we need a damn plan. You can’t just kick the ladder down and call that strategy!"

Ethan gave a thoughtful nod. "Fair point." Then, as casually as if he were setting up a lawn chair, he walked over, picked up the ladder, and propped it back against the door.

"Phew..." The three of them collapsed to the ground, breathing hard. They’d thought the rooftop was safe. Turns out, it came with a side of adrenaline.

After a long moment, Sean looked up at Ethan. "Alright. Let’s hear it. What’s the plan?"

Ethan scanned the rooftop. "When it starts, Skinny Pete and Big Mike will move the ladder aside. Once the zombies come in, you two use the ladder to pin one of them against the wall. The rest of us will gang up on the second one and push it off the edge as fast as possible."

"Sounds easy when you say it," Sean muttered. "But zombies are fast. That ladder’s heavy as hell. If one of them gets close, it’s not a weapon—it’s dead weight. They’ll be sitting ducks."

"I’ve been watching them," Ethan said. "Physically, they’re about the same as us. Their edge is they don’t feel pain. But they’ve got a fatal flaw—they’re dumb. No instincts, no reflexes. They don’t dodge. So as long as you two get that ladder in place fast, it won’t even get close. If it does... well, that’s on you."

Sean scowled but didn’t argue.

"Fine. Let’s say you’re right. What about the other one? I don’t have a weapon. You expect me to fight it barehanded?" His eyes flicked to the metal pipe in Ethan’s grip, resentment simmering. That pipe had been his.

They’d had a folding chair too, but in the chaos earlier, it got left outside. Now they had nothing.

Ethan gestured to the rooftop. "There’s concrete chunks all over. Grab a couple. Smash its head in."

"Concrete chunks?" Sean scoffed. "That’s your big idea? Why don’t you fight it with concrete, then?"

"I’ve got the pipe. Don’t need to."

"..."