Philosophy Building, Second Floor Hallway | December 23, 2029, 1:20 PM
"Shift the desk."
Paul's voice was a mere whisper, yet in the stillness of Room 205, it rang out like a shout.
Chika nodded, swallowing hard. He gripped the edge of the heavy mahogany desk they had wedged against the doorframe just an hour before. It felt like an eternity had passed since then.
Only an hour ago, they were refugees hiding from the apocalypse, and now they were fighting to become something else.
Something that needs to endure, something struggling to survive.
Abuchi stepped up beside him, clutching his broken chair leg in his right hand. His knuckles were white, sweat glistened on his forehead, but he gritted his teeth.
He forced a tight, fearful smile at Chika, a mask of bravado slipping into place.
"Ladies first, bros," Abuchi whispered, leaning his shoulder against the wood next to Chika.
"On three," Paul instructed, stepping back with his knife held in a reverse grip, his gaze fixed on the impending opening. "One! Two! Push!"
The wood screamed against the linoleum as they pushed the barricade back just enough to create a narrow gap.
Then the foul odor hit them.
It wasn't just the metallic scent of fresh blood anymore; it mingled with the stench of decay, leaving Chika to wonder if the flies had evolved into something more sinister too... or if they were just on holidays.
Paul was the first to move, slipping through the gap with a surprising lightness for his size. Chika followed, his heart racing like a caged bird against his chest. Abuchi came next, and Okafor trailed behind, clutching his journal tightly against his chest, his eyes wide.
They stepped into the hallway.
Chika had to fight back the urge to vomit. If anyone were to call this the red hallway, it wouldn't be a mere figure of speech.
The afternoon sun, filtering through the overgrown vines choking the hallway windows, cast everything in a mottled, sickly gloom. But the floor... the floor was a slick, crimson reflection.
Bodies lay strewn about in desperate postures, headless torsos, limbs torn away as if yanked apart by angry children.
Chika recognized a shirt, a blue checkered button-down. That was David, who sat two rows behind Chika in Logic 104, now David is nothing but flesh, his chest cavity hollowed out and devoid of a heart.
"Don't look," Chika told himself, feeling the bile rise. "We're here to look for threats, not dead bodies."
"Formation!" Paul hissed.
It was instinctive, the muscle memory from hours of practice kicked in.
Chika moved to the front, taking position at the tip of their triangle. Paul shifted to his left, Abuchi to his right. Okafor remained in the center, positioned behind Chika, protected by the human barrier.
Grind. Crunch. Slurp.
The sound emanated from down the hallway, near the stairwell,ten meters away.
Three of those creatures making such a ruckus.
They were hunched over a mysterious pile, their elongated, scaled spines arching like hyenas. The grinding noise came from their teeth, rows of serrated bone gnashing through something solid.
[CORRUPTED IDENTIFIED]
[Name: Shambler
Classification: Fodder Class
Rank: ★ (1-Star)
Threat Level: Low (Individual) | Medium (Swarm)
Class : Fodder
Speed: Slow]
One of the Shamblers lifted its head.
Its side-mounted eyes swiveled independently, twitching until they locked onto Chika. The single star on its forehead throbbed with a sickly yellow glow.
It released a hiss that echoed like steam escaping a valve, black ichor dripping from its jaws.
"We move when... I say so," Paul said, his tone flat.
The Shambler screeched, a high-pitched, mechanical cry that resonated in Chika's bones, then charged. The other two abandoned their meal and sprinted forward with frightening speed on their reversed legs.
Fear surged through Chika like icy water. His instinct urged him to freeze, to flee and hide.
NO.
He recalled the sensation of the rock in his hand, that moment of rage… it felt harnessable now. Maybe, he had a chance… to confront this creature once more.
"Hold," Paul commanded.
Ten meters. Then five.
"NOW!"
Chika stepped forward, surrendering to instinct… not with a rock this time, but with his fists raised and the strange, dark energy of Chaos swirling in his gut.
He didn't yet know how to project it, he isn't capable of firing energy blasts like in the movies. But he understood that he had to fight or end up like the corpses littered around him.
The first Shambler leaped, its jaws unhinging wide as it aimed for his head.
Chika didn't dodge the attack instead, he stepped forward, delivering a powerful punch straight into the creature's vulnerable chest.
[Pain Spike activated]
He infused the concept into his strike. The blow landed with a wet thud, sending the creature sprawling as it convulsed violently.
It unleashed a piercing shriek, a horrific sound of raw suffering that shattered the stillness of the hallway. The beast crashed to the ground, writhing and clawing at its chest as if trying to escape the pain.
Paul appeared in an instant.
He moved like a wraith, gliding past the thrashing creature, his knife glinting in the dim light. His target was the second Shambler, leaping through the air. With a swift slash, he cut cleanly across the creature's neck.
[Layered Cut.]
The blade, though short, cut deep, severing muscle, windpipe, and spine as if defying the laws of physics. The Shambler dropped lifelessly, sliding across the blood-soaked tiles.
[Shambler killed.. saturation increased ]
The third one attempted to flank, rushing toward Abuchi.
"Don't you dare touch me!" Abuchi shouted, panic rising in his voice.
He swung a chair leg with frantic strength, lacking any semblance of martial skill, just pure instinct to protect himself. The wood struck the creature's knee with a sickening crack.
The Shambler faltered, letting out a hissing sound as it turned its teeth towards Abuchi.
"Get down!" Chika barked.
He spun around, seizing the first Shambler still spasming from the pain spike, and with a newfound strength he hadn't had yesterday, he hurled it at the third one. The two bodies collided in a chaotic tangle of limbs and claws.
Paul quickly finished them off with two decisive stomps to their skulls.
Crunch. Crunch.
[Shambler killed.. saturation increased ]
Silence fell over the hallway, thick and oppressive.
Chika stood there, breathing heavily, his fists clenched tight. Looking down at his hands, he saw no black blood this time, but he could still feel the reverberation of the impact. He had won today, he had hurt it, made it suffer...it was a significant step forward for him.
"Good," Paul remarked, wiping his knife on his trousers while scanning the corridor for any more threats. "Messy, but effective. You hesitated for a moment, Abuchi. Next time, don't hesitate."
Abuchi leaned against the wall, gasping for breath, staring at the chair leg as if it were a deadly serpent. "I... I actually hit it. I really hit it."
"You did actually," Chika assured him, his voice calming. "You did well...really well."
"Room 301," Okafor murmured from behind them. The professor's face was pale, even for a Black man, as he pointed a trembling finger down the hall towards the bodies of the students they had just passed. "It's just down there."
They advanced cautiously through the devastation.
Room 301 is locked.
Just like Room 205, this door is sealed tight.
However, unlike their makeshift barricade, this door seemed to have been reinforced from within. Peering through the frosted glass panel, Chika could make out dark silhouettes of furniture stacked high, desks, chairs, possibly even a lectern.
Chika stepped closer to the door, straining to hear the sounds coming from inside. There were shuffling noises and shallow breaths, accompanied by the soft whimper of someone desperately trying to remain silent.
He knocked three times.
The interior fell silent. Instantly, the whimpering ceased.
"Open up," Chika called. "It's Chika. Chika Offor."
No response...
"We know say you deck there"("We know you're there,") Abuchi chimed in, attempting to convey confidence, though his voice trembled. "We don run this space, coast clear"("We cleared the hallway. It's safewell, safer.")
"Go away!" a male voice shouted from within. It sounded like Emeka, not the deceased friend, but "Tiny" Emeka, the hefty guy with a tiny feminine voice from Fine Arts who occasionally joined their lectures. "We're armed! Don't come in!"
"We're not corrupted!" Chika shouted back, frustration bubbling over. "We're students. Survivors like you. We have Professor Okafor with us."
A moment of silence followed, then a different voice emerged, softer but laced with resolve. "Professor Okafor?"
"I'm here," Okafor rasped, moving closer to the door. "It's me, child. We… we survived the fall."
Sounds of furniture being dragged echoed through the door, heavy grinding noises followed by a click, the lock being turned.
The door opened slightly...
Chika found himself staring down the barrel of a makeshift spear, a mop handle with a pair of scissors taped to the end, wielded by a girl he recognized immediately.
Afoma.
She looked rough, her hair unkempt, eyes rimmed with red, and a smear of blood, one that wasn't her own, marked her cheek.
Yet her gaze was firm,and assessing. She scrutinized Chika, then the bloodied corridor behind him, then zeroed in on Paul's knife.
With a cautious movement, she opened the door wider.
The classroom's odor washed over them, sweat, urine, and an almost palpable scent of fear filled the air.
Inside, there were about twenty-five people. Some sat on the floor, hugging their knees, while others stood by the windows, clutching improvised weapons.
Tunde, the campus security guard, was there too, his black uniform and badge unmistakable, he looked dazed, holding onto his baton.
Afoma lowered the spear. "Chika," she breathed, and for a brief moment, the steel in her expression softened, revealing a flood of relief. "You're alive."
"We need to move," Paul interjected, his tone cutting through the poignant reunion like a chilling breeze. He stood at the doorway, scrutinizing the cluster of frightened students with a soldier's eye. "This building isn't safe. We're heading to the Medical Center."
He altered his strategy regarding the initial securing of the philosophy building. With this particular group of individuals, a swift training could enable him to reach the medical center with greater safety.
"The Medical Center?" a guy in the back rose to his feet. "That's across campus! You want us to go out there? Didn't you see what happened? Did you see those things?"
"We encountered them," Paul replied. "We killed some."
He gestured towards the dead Shamblers in the hallway. The students craned their necks for a glimpse, whispers and gasps rippling through the room.
"We can't go out there," another girl wailed. "We're safe here."
"You're trapped here," Chika insisted something rare for him, stepping into the room. He struggled to project authority he didn't quite feel, though he did not know why Paul made the drastic decision.
"Uhmm there is no food, no water and I think eventually, those things will break through. The Medical Center has supplies. At least it has walls."
"Who put you in charge?" someone muttered.
Chika hesitated, glancing at Paul.
Paul's expression was unreadable as he surveyed the twenty-eight survivors, panicked, untrained, a potential liability. Then he met Chika's gaze.
"I'm not doing this," Paul said quietly, low enough for only Chika and Abuchi to hear.
"Not doing what?" Chika whispered back...
"I have a wife, a child. They're my priority," Paul's voice was like stone. "I can fight, I can kill"
"But I can't babysit twenty-eight people who'll panic at the first hint of danger. I won't lead them, Chika. I can't. If I try, I'll abandon them the moment it gets tough."
He locked eyes with Chika.
"But they're your classmates. Your people." Paul gestured toward the group. "If you want them to follow, you need to lead. You have to take responsibility for them. I'll handle the threats. But you... you have to be the Shepherd."
The gravity of this responsibility weighed heavily on Chika. In critical moments, who would he be?... If he left them here, what would Judy think of him? He had already failed once... he couldn't afford another.
He turned his attention to Afoma. She was looking at him, eager, waiting. Her gaze was not on Paul, the strong man with the knife, it is fixed on Him.
He surveyed the fearful faces around him. If he didn't step up, they will remain here. And they will die.
Chika inhaled deeply. He squared his shoulders, pushing through the residual ache of his injured bones.
"I'm leading," he declared, his voice resonating through the room. "We're heading to the Medical Center. We'll move in a single file. The armed will take the outer positions, the injured in the center. If you want to survive, you'll listen to me. If you choose to stay and perish, that's your choice."
He locked eyes with Afoma. "Afoma, can you organize them? Give me a headcount. Find out what weapons we have and what skills they possess."
Afoma didn't hesitate. She didn't question him or ponder his authority. With a newfound focus replacing her earlier relief, she straightened.
"On it," she said, turning to the group with her usual commanding tone.
"You heard him! Everyone up. Grab whatever you can use for defense. Dubem, check the back door. Ngozi, keep an eye on the windows, then report back what you find in a single file."
Paul observed Chika for a brief moment, then offered a subtle nod before facing the hallway,his knife ready...
The room erupted into action.
Abuchi crept up to Chika, lowering his voice. "Yo, Mr. Chancellor. That was... actually kind of impressive."
Chika glanced at his friend, his hands slightly trembling now that the tension had eased. "Just shut it, Abuchi."
"Just saying," Abuchi shot back, a grin forming despite the fear in his eyes. "We're following you, boss."
Chika turned to the window. The sun was sinking lower. The shadows were elongating.
They were now an army. A terrified, disheveled, untrained army.
And they had to march it through hell.