The barricade held.
Which was impressive, considering it had been assembled primarily out of regret and IKEA.
Ollie stood halfway up the staircase, spear angled downward, listening to the slow, persistent pressure on the door. The zombies outside were not aggressive in the cinematic sense. They were… insistent.
Like damp salespeople.
The bookcase creaked again.
A chair leg snapped with a brittle crack.
Ollie flinched.
"Right," he whispered. "Escalation."
The System appeared, as though summoned by the word.
HOSTILE DENSITY: MODERATE.
RECOMMENDED ACTION: REDUCE EXTERNAL PRESSURE.
"That sounds like a euphemism."
No clarification was offered.
Another shove.
The bookcase shifted a visible inch.
Ollie's brain began doing the thing it did when overwhelmed: scenario modelling.
Scenario A: Barricade fails. Zombies flood stairs. Bitey end of world.
Scenario B: Controlled breach. Thrust, retreat, repeat. Manageable.
Scenario C: Hide in bathroom and hope for diplomatic resolution.
Scenario C had emotional appeal but poor survivability metrics.
He adjusted his grip on the spear.
It felt more natural now.
That was unsettling.
He moved down the stairs slowly, stopping three steps above the door. From here he could reach through any gap while maintaining elevation advantage.
Elevation advantage.
He had never used that phrase in his life.
The barricade buckled again.
A pale hand forced through the splintered panel, fingers clawing uselessly at air.
Ollie swallowed.
"Maintain distance," he muttered to himself.
He stepped forward and thrust.
The spear slid between chair rungs and through the broken panel with surgical straightness. It struck with less hesitation this time.
There was resistance.
A wet sound.
The hand spasmed and dropped.
HOSTILE NEUTRALISED.
XP GAINED: 14.
The numbers barely registered now.
The pressure outside did not lessen.
If anything, the shifting body weight caused the remaining zombies to lean harder against the barricade.
The bookcase groaned like an exhausted civil servant.
Ollie exhaled sharply.
"Okay. Fine. Controlled breach it is."
He stepped fully down to the bottom stair and pulled one of the chairs away just enough to create a narrow gap between the bookcase and the wall.
Light spilled through.
Along with a greyish hand.
Ollie recoiled instinctively, then forced himself forward again.
He stabbed through the gap.
Missed.
The spear scraped stone.
The zombie moaned louder, shoving harder.
The gap widened half an inch.
The bookcase tipped.
"Bugger."
He planted one foot against the lower stair for leverage and thrust again.
This time the blade connected cleanly.
The zombie sagged, weight collapsing sideways against the others.
The pressure on the barricade reduced slightly.
Not gone.
But redistributed.
HOSTILE NEUTRALISED.
XP GAINED: 17.
Ollie yanked the spear back and quickly shoved the chair into place again.
Silence.
Then—
A soft dragging noise from further down the lane.
He risked a glance through the crack in the panel.
Mrs Dalrymple and the newly fallen body lay awkwardly tangled.
Beyond them, two more figures shuffled into view.
Drawn by noise.
Drawn by impact.
Drawn by the sound of furniture losing structural confidence.
Ollie stared.
"Oh, come on."
The System flickered again.
NOISE ATTRACTANT LEVEL: ELEVATED.
ADVISORY: MINIMISE IMPACT SOUNDS.
"I'm not clapping," Ollie hissed.
The new arrivals bumped gently into the pile, creating a sort of low-effort undead traffic jam.
They did not attempt strategy.
They simply pressed.
Relentless.
Ollie stepped back up the stairs again, breathing hard.
His arms were starting to ache.
His hands trembled slightly.
The spear felt heavier now.
He glanced at the floating corner of his vision—somewhere between perception and imagination.
A subtle bar.
Not empty.
Not full.
Just… progressing.
He had killed four neighbours.
He had barricaded his flat.
He was holding a reinforced mop handle like it was a career choice.
And outside, the lane of Kenn was slowly filling with politely ambulatory deceased persons.
He exhaled slowly.
"Right," he said aloud.
The word steadied him.
He looked around the hallway.
Narrow.
Defensible.
Low ceiling beams.
He lifted the spear and practised a small forward thrust.
Then a controlled sweep.
The motion was smoother than it had any right to be.
The System pulsed faintly.
STANCE CORRECTION APPLIED.
He blinked.
"You're adjusting me?"
OPTIMISING USER FOR SURVIVAL.
"That feels invasive."
No denial.
A sudden, heavier slam hit the barricade.
Ollie jumped.
One of the newer zombies had tripped over the fallen bodies and collided full-weight into the bookcase.
The entire structure shuddered.
The IKEA unit emitted a noise that sounded like existential despair.
Ollie made a decision.
A rare and beautiful thing.
He darted down the stairs again, ripped the remaining chair aside, and kicked the bookcase outward just enough to create a wider opening.
The sudden shift caused one zombie to stumble forward through the gap.
Its balance was terrible.
Its coordination worse.
It pitched half-inside, half-outside the doorway.
Ollie stepped sideways, maintaining distance, and thrust cleanly into its skull at near point-blank range.
The blade slid in.
He felt the impact vibrate through the shaft into his palms.
The zombie went still.
Its body sagged fully inside the threshold.
The remaining undead outside leaned forward again, but the pile of fallen bodies now acted as a partial obstruction.
A grim, damp buffer zone.
Ollie dragged the neutralised corpse fully inside and shoved the barricade back into place.
It was crude.
It was unstable.
But it held.
Silence settled again.
Not true silence.
There were groans outside.
Shuffling.
Occasional thuds as someone tripped over someone else.
But immediate pressure had eased.
Ollie leaned against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting halfway up the stairs, spear across his knees.
His arms shook now.
Adrenaline tapering.
Reality reasserting itself.
He stared at the broken door.
At the crude barricade.
At the bodies.
"This," he said quietly, "is not how today was meant to go."
The System responded, because of course it did.
SURVIVAL PROTOCOL ACTIVE.
He laughed once.
A thin, slightly hysterical sound.
"Is it?"
USER PERFORMANCE: WITHIN ACCEPTABLE PARAMETERS.
He scrubbed a hand down his face.
"I killed Mr Pritchard."
HOSTILE ENTITY NEUTRALISED.
"That's not the same thing."
The System offered no commentary.
Outside, the zombies resumed their slow, patient pressing.
Not enough to break through immediately.
Enough to remind him that this was not over.
Not for the day.
Not for the week.
Not for however long the world had decided to become damp and bitey.
Ollie stood slowly.
He adjusted his grip on the spear again.
It felt… correct.
Balanced.
Necessary.
He moved to the kitchen window one more time and lifted the blind carefully.
The lane beyond was dotted with slow-moving figures.
They bumped into each other.
They turned toward noise.
They formed loose, accidental clusters.
They were not sprinting.
Not evolving.
Not roaring.
They were just—
Persisting.
He swallowed.
"This is going to get worse," he murmured.
The System flickered once more.
CIVIL DESTABILISATION TREND: INCREASING.
RECOMMENDED ACTION: SECURE STRATEGIC RESOURCE NODE.
He stared at the text.
"What strategic resource?"
A pause.
Then:
TEA.
Ollie blinked.
He looked at the cupboard.
Three teabags remained.
He exhaled slowly.
"Right," he said.
He looked at the spear.
Then at the broken door.
Then at the lane beyond.
"Well."
He squared his shoulders.
Adjusted his stance.
Felt the subtle correction in his posture settle into place.
"If we're going to defend civilisation."
The barricade creaked ominously.
A groan echoed from outside.
He tightened his grip on the reinforced mop handle.
"We're going to need more teabags."
He made tea first.
This was not denial.
This was prioritisation.
The kettle clicked off with a calm domestic certainty that felt aggressively inappropriate. Ollie poured the water into his chipped mug—the one that said World's Okayest Human—and watched the teabag swirl like it was reconsidering existence.
The System flickered faintly in his peripheral vision.
HYDRATION: ADVISED.
"I'm not hydrating," Ollie muttered. "I'm emotionally fortifying."
He added milk.
Stirred.
Took a sip.
Outside, something thudded against the barricade again.
He flinched and nearly inhaled tea.
Right.
Strategic resource node.
He looked toward the window again, but this time he didn't lift the blind fully. Just enough to assess.
The lane had become… moderately peopled.
Six visible.
Possibly more further down.
They drifted slowly, bumping into hedges, into bins, into each other. One had become temporarily wedged against a low stone wall, attempting to advance through it by mild persistence alone.
Kenn was not exploding into chaos.
Kenn was… accumulating inconvenience.
The barricade downstairs creaked again.
He finished his tea in three determined gulps and set the mug down.
"Right," he said, for perhaps the fifth time that morning.
He needed information.
And information required elevation.
He moved into the bedroom and pushed open the window carefully.
Cold morning air drifted in.
The roof of the lower extension sloped just outside. From there, he could see further down the lane and toward the bend that led to the main road.
He hesitated.
Climbing onto his own roof during an undead event felt like the sort of thing people later described as "ill-advised but understandable."
He grabbed the spear.
Tested its balance.
Then swung one leg out of the window.
He shuffled carefully onto the sloped tiles, sitting down immediately because gravity had opinions.
From here, the view widened.
Kenn's lane curved gently between stone cottages and hedges. Normally it was picturesque.
Now it was dotted with the recently inconvenient.
He counted.
Eight.
No—ten.
Two further down near the junction.
All slow.
All shambling.
No sprinting.
No coordinated swarming.
Just steady, accumulating pressure.
He exhaled.
"This is manageable," he whispered.
The System appeared as if summoned by optimism.
HOSTILE DENSITY: LOW–MODERATE.
LOCAL POPULATION ESTIMATE: ~1,000.
REANIMATION RATE: SIGNIFICANT.
He swallowed.
"How significant?"
PROJECTION: ESCALATING OVER 24–72 HOURS.
"Well that's unpleasantly specific."
Further down the lane, Mrs Dalrymple's husband shuffled out of his gate and immediately tripped over her.
He did not get up.
He simply lay there, groaning softly at the hedge.
Ollie stared.
The apocalypse, it seemed, had all the urgency of a badly organised parish meeting.
He shifted his weight carefully on the tiles and glanced toward the main road.
In the distance, faintly, he could hear a car alarm.
Then another.
Not close.
But not reassuringly far.
The System pulsed again.
QUEST UPDATED: SECURE STRATEGIC RESOURCE NODE.
LOCATION: TESCO – 1.2 MILES.
He blinked.
"You want me to go outside."
OBJECTIVE: ACQUIRE FOOD, WATER, MEDICAL SUPPLIES, TEA.
"That's not a quest. That's shopping."
INFRASTRUCTURE STABILISATION REQUIRES SUPPLY ACQUISITION.
Ollie looked at the spear.
Then at the lane.
Then at the barricaded door below him.
He was Level 2.
Which sounded impressive until you realised it meant he had killed four pensioners and slightly improved his posture.
He imagined walking 1.2 miles through increasing zombie density armed with a reinforced mop.
His stomach tightened.
"I could stay here," he muttered.
The System did not respond.
But in the distance, another groan rose.
And another.
The lane was slowly thickening.
If they accumulated long enough, the barricade would fail.
Not dramatically.
Just through persistence.
He glanced back into his bedroom.
He had:
Three teabags left.
Half a loaf of bread.
Beans.
Some pasta.
A tin of peaches he'd been saving for a day that now felt absurdly relevant.
Two days.
Maybe three.
After that—
Tesco.
He sighed heavily.
"Of course it's Tesco."
The System flickered.
HIGH PRIORITY NODE.
"Why?"
A pause.
Then:
GREGGS: 1.3 MILES.
He stared.
"You're weighting bakeries."
BAKED GOODS ACCESS STABILITY: 1.8 MULTIPLIER.
He let out a short, disbelieving laugh.
"You've gamified civilisation."
No denial.
A sudden movement below caught his eye.
Two zombies collided and fell sideways into the hedge. Their combined weight bent the branches inward, trapping them momentarily.
Ollie tilted his head.
The hedge held.
They struggled.
Slowly.
Inefficiently.
An idea formed.
Not a good idea.
But an idea.
He slid back through the window carefully and returned to the hallway.
The barricade thudded again, but more weakly now.
The pile outside had grown awkward enough to create friction.
He descended the stairs cautiously and peered through the gap.
Three immediately at the door.
Several further back.
But the lane was narrow.
The hedges were dense.
The stone walls were high.
This was not a motorway.
This was a funnel.
He looked at the spear.
Then at the extension cable hanging by the cupboard.
Then at the ironing board.
He blinked.
"No," he said to himself.
The System pulsed faintly.
USER ANALYTICAL ACTIVITY: INCREASED.
"Don't encourage me."
He dragged the ironing board into the hallway and stared at it.
It was long.
Flat.
Metal frame.
Potentially wedge-capable.
He wedged it at an angle behind the bookcase, reinforcing the lower half of the door.
It was inelegant.
But the pressure redistributed slightly.
The barricade groaned less dramatically.
STRUCTURAL INTEGRITY: IMPROVED.
He exhaled.
"Right."
He was not leaving immediately.
He was not charging Tesco like a medieval idiot.
He would:
Clear the immediate lane section.
Reduce accumulation pressure.
Establish manageable perimeter.
Then consider supply run.
He nodded to himself.
That sounded almost… competent.
The System appeared again.
OBJECTIVE REFINED: REDUCE LOCAL HOSTILE DENSITY.
BONUS: PRECISION + CONTROL.
"Of course there's a bonus."
He adjusted his grip on the spear.
He shifted the barricade just enough to create a controlled opening.
Outside, the nearest zombie leaned forward eagerly, as though invited to tea.
Ollie stepped into stance.
Distance.
Angle.
Measured breath.
He thrust.
Cleaner now.
More efficient.
The blade slid in and out with minimal hesitation.
The zombie dropped.
He pulled back immediately, maintaining spacing.
The second lunged—slow, predictable.
He sidestepped.
Thrust again.
Another collapse.
The System pulsed.
CONTROL BONUS +5 XP.
He barely registered the number.
He was counting bodies instead.
Counting distance.
Counting angles.
He closed the barricade again and stepped back.
Silence settled for a moment.
Not permanent.
Not safe.
But quieter.
He climbed back up to the roof once more to reassess.
The lane now had gaps where bodies lay tangled against stone and hedge.
The density near his flat had reduced.
Further down, zombies still drifted toward noise, but slower now.
Ollie sat on the tiles again, breathing hard but steady.
His arms ached.
His legs trembled slightly.
But his mind—
His mind felt… structured.
There were categories.
Objectives.
Multipliers.
He was not a hero.
He was not brave.
He was simply—
Optimising.
In the distance, beyond the bend toward the main road, he noticed something else.
Movement.
Not shambling.
Not uneven.
Deliberate.
A figure with something long in their hands.
It moved with distance in mind.
Kept space.
Maintained reach.
Ollie squinted.
The figure paused briefly, then turned down a side lane out of sight.
He stared at the empty road.
His heart thudded.
"That," he whispered, "looked suspiciously like a spear."
The System flickered faintly, almost imperceptibly.
But it did not explain.
And for the first time that morning, Ollie felt something other than fear.
Not comfort.
Not confidence.
But—
Curiosity.
Somewhere within 50 kilometres of Kenn, statistically speaking, he was not alone.
He tightened his grip on the reinforced mop handle and looked back toward Tesco's distant direction.
"Right," he murmured.
"Let's try not to die before we meet whoever else has apparently decided to weaponise cleaning equipment."