When Clay was 6, he dressed up as a hero for Halloween. He couldn't remember which one.

There was a vague recollection of a conversation between him and one of his friends from around that time. He couldn't remember his face or his name.

There was talk of why the subject of their respective costumes was better than the other. He couldn't remember what exactly he'd been asked.

However, Clay did remember his answer. Mostly.

"[######] is the best because he never gets scared! Real heroes don't get scared or cry or anything! Also, he's the strongest!"

The other boy said something about it being unfair.

"It's because you're stupid!" Clay told him. This stuck out in his memory because it was associated with pain, the pain of being struck by another person for the first time. It turned out wearing the costume didn't give him the strength to keep from crying. It was just a character, after all.

The memory crossed his mind in a moment of lucidity. It sparked a funny thought.

If he were a character, would anyone ever dress up as him? He didn't think he'd like that.

His thoughts were allowed to turn negative again. He was sinking, but it was a good thing.

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When Clay's vision cleared, he found that his body was already running. Not just running. Sprinting. The dilapidated alleyways zoomed past before he was throwing himself into a nearby building through its already broken window.

From what little Clay's mind could pick up on amid this all-consuming panic was that this was an apartment building in the middle of a city. His sudden turn had landed him in the overturned living room of one of these apartments. The state of the place made it clear that whoever lived here had long since gone. Unfortunately, so had anything that might have been worth taking or using as a weapon.

Keeping quiet, he looked through the window to check on the status of his pursuers.

Just as he did, the two zombies that had been following behind had already shambled close enough that their reckless grasps might have reached him if he hadn't instinctively shot backwards and started scrambling his way towards the front door of the apartment.

Despite being corpses, they could still run just fine. It was hard to create meaningful distance when all he was doing was running in straight lines or diving over short obstacles.

He turned the knob and sent the door slamming against the wall next to the doorframe. Clay barreled out into a hallway with similar doors, nearly falling over after unnecessarily putting most of his body weight into exiting the apartment. Clay’s pale fingers pressed hard against the opposite wall and shoved him deeper into the apartment complex.

Sounds behind him already told Clay that the creatures weren't too far behind. He ran up a flight of stairs, two steps at a time until he was on the second floor. An array of doors down a hallway matched its cousin below, and flew by just as quickly as he fled up to the third floor as well.

At this rate, Clay was going to end up caught or cornered. He couldn't just keep running like this.

Was there time to check if a different apartment had its door unlocked? He didn't want to look over his shoulder to check; the harsh thudding of their feet trailing behind on the stairs was enough to tell him that if he was going to try opening doors, he was going to have to be quick about it.

Mid-run, Clay's hand whipped to the side to jostle a doorknob.

Locked.

He tried again on the next door.

Locked.

The amount that this slowed him down had felt negligible. However, even just trying those two doors caused him to lose too much ground for him to justify trying another. For the first time since they'd clawed at him from the window, he spared them a glance.

As far as walking cadavers go, only one of them had the look of a stereotypical, rotting zombie. Tight grey skin against a skeletal frame. Off-white eyes that should have lost their function a long time ago. What few strands of hair remained flew loose in the air when it moved too aggressively. A man, most likely.

The other was immaculate by comparison. Its eyes still retained their natural color, even if the look it gave him was just as vacant. Torn clothing revealed gashes that started to fester, but what caught his eye was a telling bite mark on the shoulder that its ruined shirt was showing off. A woman.

The chase was taken to the fourth floor, but he left it behind without shaking any doorknobs.

He couldn't find the courage to slow down and check another door until he was on the fifth and final floor. Clay threw himself against the closest one he could find when he reached the top of the stairs.

Sure enough, it opened for him.

Clay didn't waste any time invading the apartment, but had the inclination to deny further guests by slamming the door shut behind him and locking it. It even had a convenient secondary latch that felt strangely satisfying to slide into place.

He took a few steps back and just stared at the door, feeling a sense of relief that made his knees buckle.

Sweet, dangerous relief.

Clay's legs were about to give out completely when the zombies started pounding against the door. That sudden noise after the moment of serenity, as well as the not-so-reassuring sight of the door's wood starting to warp from the ferocity of their strikes, did just fine in putting Clay back on the move. The apartment was a lot like the first one, with the only thing distinguishing it being the novel (but still equally run down and turned over) furniture it had.

He had to find a means of escape from this apartment, or at least some way to fight them off. His body was already quick at work rifling through cupboards in the kitchen with panicked desperation. Obviously helpful things like knives and the like were replaced with empty holders and dust outlines inside of mostly vacant drawers. All there was to find that had passing usefulness was a fire extinguisher under the sink.

Better than nothing.

That's where the good news ended, however, as the sounds of more footsteps pounding up the stairs towards the apartment overpowered the pounding on the front door. All the noise he made during that pursuit had attracted more of them. A lot more. Enough that the door, which was already reaching its limit with two determined zombies, would easily crumble if Clay did nothing.

Newfound strength lit up his muscles alongside newfound survival instincts. The roughed-up couch in the center of the living room was pushed hard towards the door and used as a makeshift barricade that would, hopefully, buy him a little bit of time. It seemed like such an obvious thing to do now that he looked at it. Why hadn't he done this first thing after locking the door? The short-lived security he'd gotten from sliding the latch was probably to blame. Complacency was dangerous.

No time to ponder over that now.

Clay sprinted to one of the bedrooms and shut himself inside. Picked clean like the rest of the home. Not even a mattress, just an empty bedframe. From the looks of a poster on the wall (for something called Mavoin's Day Out, an animitated movie that Clay had never heard of), this room had once belonged to a little girl.

There was a window! It didn't seem too hard to open, either!

However, there was the problem of what he was going to do once he got out the window. There wasn't a fire escape, and five stories was way too high for him to just tank…though it might at least be better than getting ripped apart by the flesh-hungry beasts beating at the door.

On them, Clay heard a dreadfully loud slam as the front door was finally brought off its hinges. It was hard to tell what was going on outside the room beyond that, but something told him that this bedroom was much less durable.

All of the furniture here was too big and awkward for him to try and move them in front of the door. They'd be on him before it would make a difference.

With no time to waste, Clay ripped open the closet doors and rifled through drawers for anything that might expand his options. He was left disappointed, save for a spare bundle of moderately fresh sheets. Was there enough time for him to tie this off somewhere and climb down the side of the building?

His instincts told him no. Not only did he expect the hoard would be upon him before he could securely tie one end of the bedsheet to something, but the amount of length he could get from just one bedsheet wouldn't be enough to save him from a painful drop.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

With a fire extinguisher in one hand and a bedsheet over his shoulder, Clay had no choice to but to hurry over to the window.

They'd be on him in just a moment. Clay couldn't think straight. He didn't want to die like this.

Fuck it!

He'd have to make the drop. Who cares if he died from it? Maybe he should angle himself so his head would hit the pavement first just to make sure he at least went quickly. Ending up vulnerable from two broken legs and getting eaten alive anyway sounded like a sour deal.

A grunt from him and some squeaky sounds from the window later, he had it open and was halfway outside when there came another crash. The zombies were filing into the room now, pushing and shoving as if the bodies of their brethren were just more inanimate obstacles between them and their meal.

He found purchase on a ledge outside the window, barely wide enough for him to place his foot on when he turned it sideways. If it weren't for that, Clay would have likely fallen down the side of the building completely when he started spraying the incoming zombies with the fire extinguisher. It had a little more kickback than he was expecting. It wasn't so strong that he couldn't keep it under control, he was just caught off guard for a second.

There were at least ten of them in the room before everything was obscured in a cloud of white. At the same time, Clay angled himself to the side and planted both feet on the ledge. He stopped the fire extinguisher from spewing its contents and used one of his hands to start pulling himself along the wall and away from the window at the same time that one of the zombies appeared from the vapor and lunged towards him.

If it weren't for the fact that its vision had been distracted by the fire extinguisher, it probably would have latched onto him and sent them both falling. Instead, it brainlessly grabbed at the first thing it could and 'hugged' his fire extinguisher. Clay immediately let it go, the zombie’s momentum causing it to fall headfirst down to the sidewalk below with its new toy.

>+10 XP

Worked for Clay just fine. With both hands free, he was able to start moving along the side of the building. The ledge was too thin for him to do anything except carefully move sideways along its path, and not even a second passed before more of the zombies were poking their head out and trying to claw at him. A fire extinguisher's emissions only last a few seconds at most, so they weren't going to stupidly fall out because they couldn't see him properly anymore.

Instead, they were going to stupidly fall out because they'd overextend and get shoved over the edge by their equally ravenous peers.

In the time afforded to him, he was at least able to get outside their reach. Barely.

He couldn't move too fast and risk slipping, but moving too slowly would have gotten him caught. All one of them had to do was get a solid grip on him and this whole thing would be over, and their filthy fingers always seemed to get too close for comfort. Luckily, they didn't have the brain capacity or the coordination to follow Clay's lead along the ledge properly.

He was so focused on the zombies that he only noticed now how hard he'd been panting, cheek pressed tight against cool brick. Everything besides them had fallen beneath his notice.

Clay earned himself some breathing room, but he didn't dare let himself become complacent once more. Even after it became clear they wouldn't be able to follow him, he still kept his eyes on the window they emerged from while he created more distance. Just the idea of taking his eyes off them for a moment made him feel uneasy.

But eventually, he turned his head to look at the direction he'd been moving in and felt even worse.

The window ahead of him had zombies trying to reach him as well. Not as many as the first, but enough still that it made shimmying to safety impossible.

He was stuck here.

Clay couldn't even rest his body properly; just keeping his balance and pressing himself against the wall meant there was no relaxing. Unable to relax his body, the stress on his mind would just keep building. He knew he had to chill out and try to think of something, but…

Hadn't he resolved to take the spill and die? Finding a ledge with his foot must have subconsciously given him enough hope to keep dragging this out. Clay should've known better - his luck was dogshit.

Clay adjusted his head and looked up, chin tucked against the wall.

The roof was above him, but the overhang extended out too far for him to just reach for it. He'd have to jump backwards a bit and catch the ledge like he was some kind of rock climber.

Clay was no rock climber. In fact, the only thing that had gotten him this far was pure adrenaline. With things winding down enough for him to catch his breath, he was being reminded of how unathletic he really was. His limbs ached something fierce. The bottom of his feet hurt. In all that commotion, he'd forgotten he was barefoot.

He was wearing a pair of slippers at the beginning of the chase, but he'd inadvertently flung them off once it intensified.

If there had been anyone else around, the sight of him might have been either amusing or worrying under normal circumstances. A thin, lanky man clinging to the side of a building in his pajamas, his bathrobe and some bedsheets drifting idly in the wind.

His body felt close to giving out. If he didn't do something soon, he wouldn't have the energy to do anything.

Going down wasn't an option if he was serious about surviving. The zombies that have been following him would just chase him down, especially with this fatigue. There'd be no more running through alleyways for him, not until he could rest.

Right and left were suicide.

So that only left…

Tired eyes narrowed at the overhang above him. The same daunting overhang, likely built as part of a system for draining rainwater; it hadn't been made specifically to keep people from climbing up. The jump required was intimidating, but nothing that a normal adult couldn't handle. It was doable. 

But still intimidating. 

He was running on fumes, and there was a lingering doubt in his mind that he could make it even in top condition. On top of that, the mental image of himself trying to jump for it made his already wobbly knees feel like jelly.

Clay tried to psyche himself up for the task.

He'd jump! He'd jump! He’d go for it!

If he didn't make it, he could at least die from the fall.

For some reason, the simple thought that failure would lead to a comparatively painless death made him feel better.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Clay was already jumping from the ledge and pushing off the wall to give himself as much horizontal movement as possible. His long fingers managed to wrap onto the lip of the overhang enough that he didn't plummet, but his grip was nowhere near good enough to start pulling himself up.

Clay had expected as much, though. He'd already known how he wanted to do this before he jumped, predicting his lack of athleticism. An unassisted pull-up in his condition would be too much for him, and there was no way he'd be able to hang for very long. The second he stopped, he'd be worn out. Clay continued moving without skipping a beat.

He swung his legs forward enough to press his feet against the wall, pressing himself upwards while his arms pulled with all their might to assist them. After a few seconds, he was able to get a final kick-off that gave him the final push he needed to throw himself above the overhang and hook his arm over the top of a small wall.

Before much longer, Clay was laying on his back on an unfamiliar rooftop while trying to catch his breath. He couldn't move his arms or legs, his lungs burned, and his hair annoyingly clung to his face after soaking in sweat.

He let out a sound that momentarily disturbed his heavy breathing. A weak approximation of a laugh.

But he'd made it.

CLANG!

Something metallic fell to the ground off to his side.

Clay limply turned his head.

In the rush of the moment, his mind had only noted some sort of chain on the rooftop's door during his climb. Looking at it now, it had been looped through the heavy door handle and around a piece of rebar that had been hammered into the wall next to the door, likely for this exact purpose. Even those zombies would have a hard time making it up here.

But that's not where his attention was right now.

Clay could only watch as a single zombie started limping towards him from the other side of the rooftop.

His luck was dogshit.