Chapter 917: Day Two

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The dorm room door shuddered under the relentless pounding from outside.

The zombies weren’t giving up. It was like they’d locked onto Ethan and Chris specifically—obsessed, mindless, and determined. The door groaned with each hit, the frame trembling.

Inside, the three of them watched the bunk bed rattle with every impact. Without a word, Ethan and Chris grabbed the second bed and dragged it over. Might as well put their muscle to use.

With both beds braced against the door, the shaking finally eased. The room fell into a tense, exhausted silence. They all exhaled at once.

"Uh... Ethan," Henry said, rubbing the back of his neck, "you guys got any food? I haven’t eaten in almost two days."

He looked sheepish, but the hunger in his eyes was real. He’d been holed up in a bathroom for over twenty-four hours—no food, no sleep, just fear and silence. Now, he was running on fumes.

"Yeah," Ethan said, slinging off his backpack and unzipping it.

Inside was a decent haul—bottled water, energy bars, instant noodles, even a few packs of bread. All scavenged, all hard-won.

"Holy shit," Henry said, eyes wide. "You guys rob a convenience store or something?"

"Close enough," Ethan said with a smirk. "Eat up."

Henry didn’t need to be told twice. He tore into a pack of bread and twisted open a bottle of water, devouring both like a man starved. Which, to be fair, he was.

Ethan watched him with a faint smile. Henry’s ability had been a hell of a surprise—one that might just tip the scales in their favor. In a world like this, injuries were inevitable. None of them were doctors. A basic bandage job was the best they could manage, and anything worse than that? Well, good luck finding a hospital.

But Henry? Henry was a walking miracle.

After a while, Henry leaned back with a satisfied sigh, crumbs on his shirt and a sleepy grin on his face. "God, food is amazing."

"No kidding," Chris said, puffing out his chest a little. "We had to sweep an entire floor of the dorms to find that stash."

"Respect," Henry said, giving him a thumbs-up.

Chris turned to Ethan, his expression tightening. "So... what now? Those zombies aren’t going anywhere. We’re stuck."

Ethan shrugged. "They can’t get in. We rest. Sooner or later, some of them will wander off. When the crowd thins out, we make our move."

"Got it."

Chris winced and looked down at his hands—torn up, raw, and bloody from earlier. Henry noticed too.

"Your hands look rough," Henry said, stepping closer. "Let me take care of that."

Chris nodded quickly and rolled up his sleeves, revealing a mess of claw marks and bruises.

"Seriously, you two came in here together, and Ethan’s spotless. Meanwhile, you look like you got into a fight with a blender."

Chris groaned. "Please. I can’t keep up with him. If I were half as good, maybe he’d call me big bro."

Ethan raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Henry chuckled, then focused. A soft glow pulsed from his hands as he hovered them over Chris’s wounds. Within seconds, the torn flesh began to knit itself back together, smooth and unblemished.

Chris stared at his now-perfect arms, eyes wide. "Damn, Henry. That power of yours is insane. I don’t have to worry about getting mauled anymore!"

Henry opened his mouth to reply—then swayed.

His vision blurred. The room tilted. He nearly collapsed, catching himself on the edge of the desk just in time.

"Whoa, you okay?" Chris asked, stepping forward.

"I... dunno. Just got dizzy all of a sudden," Henry muttered, blinking hard.

"Probably burned through too much energy," Ethan said. "Using your ability takes a toll. You’ll be fine after some rest."

"Huh. That makes sense. I was wondering why I felt like crap all of a sudden—I’m usually pretty healthy."

Chris grinned. "Damn, Henry. You’ve got the stamina of a wet match."

"...Thanks," Henry deadpanned.

Ethan leaned back against the wall. "It’s normal. Early on, powers drain you fast. But the stronger you get, the longer you can use them."

Chris nodded. "Yeah, I’ve noticed that too."

Ethan glanced at Henry, who looked like he was about to keel over. "Alright, time to rest. Especially you, Henry. You haven’t slept in two nights. Your eyes are bloodshot."

Henry hesitated. "But the zombies outside..."

"They’re not getting in," Ethan said. "We’ve got two beds jammed against the door. Think of it as a zombie-powered waterbed."

Henry blinked. "...That’s messed up."

"Sleep," Ethan said, pointing at the mattress.

Henry didn’t argue. He nodded, then collapsed onto the bed like a puppet with its strings cut. Within seconds, he was out cold.

Meanwhile, on the seventh floor...

"Sean, you think Ethan and his buddy are gonna make it?" Skinny Pete asked, peering out the cracked window.

Sean leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Hard to say. But if anyone can, it’s Ethan. Guy’s sharp."

"Yeah... So, should we keep scavenging the sixth floor? Our food’s only gonna last through tomorrow. If we don’t find more, we’re screwed."

"Not with just us. We’d need to rope in those four from 708."

"Those wimps? No way they’d dare."

Sean smirked. "They will. Their stash is running low too. Once they’re hungry enough, they’ll come crawling."

"Hah, true."

...

Day Two of the apocalypse.

Across campus, shadows flitted through the dorm buildings—quick, cautious, desperate.

After a full day and night of hiding, hunger was starting to bite. Students who’d holed up in bathrooms and closets were finally being forced out, stomachs growling louder than their fear. But venturing into zombie-infested dorms for food? That was a gamble with steep odds. One wrong move, and you weren’t the hunter—you were the meal.

Then, around noon, a sudden blare cut through the tension.

The

Campus Emergency Alert System

crackled to life, its speakers echoing across the grounds. The effect was immediate. Zombies, hypersensitive to sound, snapped to attention. One by one, then in droves, they turned and began shuffling—then sprinting—toward the source of the noise.

It was chaos, but for the survivors, it was a miracle.

The message itself was simple, broadcast by a campus administrator: all surviving students were urged to make their way to the

main dining hall

.

There were three dining halls on campus, but everyone knew which one they meant. The

main

one—big enough to seat 3,000 students at once—was the closest to the dorms and the most accessible.

Whoever sent the message must’ve known the zombies couldn’t understand human speech. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have dared to broadcast it so openly.

Still, for the students listening, it was a lifeline. Proof the school hadn’t abandoned them.

But even with the dining hall nearby, getting there was no small feat. The campus was still crawling with the undead, and the path was far from clear.

Within minutes, the campus subreddit—

r/uofsc

—lit up like a Christmas tree.

"Anyone from Patterson Hall still alive? Let’s group up and head to the dining hall together."

"Bates House here—I made a group chat. Join up so we can plan a route."

"Dorms next to each other, meet downstairs. Safety in numbers."

Every building had its own thread, students scrambling to organize, to connect, to survive.

Even Bates West had a post going:

"How many of us are still alive in Bates West? Let’s get a headcount and move together."

Replies flooded in. After a quick tally, it turned out only 53 students from Bates West were still kicking. Ethan and his group hadn’t chimed in, so they weren’t counted.

That meant, on average, only seven or eight people per floor. The number hit hard. The silence in the thread said it all.

Then someone posted:

"Hey, didn’t someone already start clearing zombies in our building? I heard the seventh floor’s clean—they wiped out every last one. Maybe they can lead the way."

"Wait, for real? Someone cleared a whole floor?"

"Yeah, it’s true. But those guys are assholes. They took all our food."

"What? That’s messed up. Stealing from other students?"

"Seriously, we’re all starving. How can they just take what isn’t theirs?"

"People like that are the worst."

One by one, the comments piled on, moral outrage in full swing. Ethan and his crew were suddenly the villains of the hour, painted as selfish looters instead of survivors.

Back in their room, Ethan and Chris were scrolling through the same thread, both of them staring at the screen in disbelief.

"All that over a few slices of cake?" Chris muttered, brow furrowed. "You’d think we burned down an orphanage."

Ethan snorted. "Ignore them. They’re just pissed we did what they couldn’t. If the roles were reversed, they’d be ten times worse."

"Yeah... you’re probably right."

Chris looked up from his phone, eyes sharp. "So, Ethan, you think we should head out? The zombies thinned out a lot after that broadcast. With our skills, we could make it."

Ethan didn’t answer right away. He glanced at the barricaded door, then back at the screen.

"Not yet. More people doesn’t always mean more safety. Let’s wait and see how things shake out."

Chris nodded. "Got it."

...