The three of them bolted up to the seventh floor, taking the stairs two at a time. But as they neared the rooftop access, the stench hit them like a wall.
The stairwell reeked of rot—thick, sour, and suffocating. The pile of corpses they'd left there days ago had been stewing in the summer heat, and now the air was practically toxic.
Ethan gagged and clamped a hand over his nose. The stairs were blocked, so he grabbed the railing and hauled himself up, climbing over the mess as fast as he could.
Chris and Henry followed, faces twisted in disgust, trying not to breathe.
They burst onto the rooftop and slammed the door shut behind them, gasping for clean air like they'd just surfaced from underwater.
"Ethan," Chris wheezed, still catching his breath, "why the hell did we come up here?"
"To look at the stars," Ethan said.
Chris blinked. "To what?"
"Look at the stars," Ethan repeated, dead serious.
