Billy sat on a bucket, sighing wearily as fatigue washed over him. The cramped room was cluttered with detergents, mops, bags, and other cleaning supplies. Letting his handgun rest in his lap, he lifted his sweat-soaked muscle shirt to inspect his ribcage where a massive yellowish bruise marred his tanned skin.

"Great," he muttered under his breath.

The metallic clang of a locker door snapped Billy to attention. His fingers curled around the grip of his gun as his eyes darted around the room.

"Who's there?" Billy's voice was steel. "Don't make me shoot you."

Only silence answered his demand. Billy's jaw tightened.

"I'm not going to say it a second time, fucko."

With practiced ease, Billy cocked his pistol.

"Okay, okay, all right!" The locker door creaked open slowly to reveal two disheveled men in tattered cleaning uniforms. "We're coming out, don't shoot."

Billy kept his gun trained on them. "Slow and easy."

The two men raised their hands in the air as they crept out. One was tall and lanky with messy brown hair, while the other had a stockier build with blond stubble on his cheeks.

"Are you armed?" Billy's glare bore into them.

"Do you think we'd be locked in a locker if we had guns, buddy?" The stocky man's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"I agree," said the lanky one, his eyes fixed on Billy's gun.

"Hands up."

They complied as Billy frisked them roughly, checking for any weapons. He found nothing.

The lanky man exhaled in relief. "Happy? We're empty."

In one swift motion, Billy pressed the muzzle of the gun against the man's chest and pulled the trigger.

The startling click of the empty chamber echoed in the small space. The two men jolted in momentary horror before realization dawned on their faces.

Billy slid the useless gun back into his waistband. "Me too."

"What the fuck?!" The color drained from the lanky man's face. "You could have killed me!"

"Relax. I knew it was empty," Billy said.

The stocky man looked incensed. "Not funny, dude. Not at all."

A sly grin spread across Billy's face. "I managed to break the ice, didn't I? Who are you guys?"

The lanky man took a deep breath to compose himself. "I'm Sam. This is Danny." He jerked his thumb at the stocky blond man. "And the guy in the locker is George."

At the mention of his name, the locker door banged open. "You son of a bitch!" A disgruntled older man with gray hair stumbled out, muttering curses at Billy.

"Come on, man. We're all in this together," Sam said in a conciliatory tone.

Billy turned his attention to the old man. "And what are you doing locked in a locker?"

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George's lip curled in a sneer. "I was hiding. Those two were groping each other."

Danny threw up his hands defensively. "We were just finishing our shift, putting things away to leave, and then it all went to shit within minutes."

"Screams, gunshots, the siren blaring nonstop," Sam chimed in, mimicking the wail of the alarm. "With red lights flashing and everything, dude. We panicked and locked ourselves in here waiting for help."

George let out a derisive snort. "Which clearly didn't come."

Billy's eyes narrowed as he focused on the task at hand. "How long ago was this?"

"A day, two days tops," George said.

Danny looked confused. "How do you know that, man? We don't have clocks in here."

"Because of the times we sleep, retard," George shot back scornfully.

Sam nodded in understanding. "Makes sense."

George turned his scrutiny on Billy. "You didn't tell us your name, muscle boy, or what you're doing here. I don't recognize your face."

"Billy Coen. I was transferring a prisoner, but we were attacked in the woods. Ended up here." Billy kept his answers short and to the point.

"So you're a cop?" George asked pointedly.

Billy shook his head. "Armed forces. I was with a special forces girl, but we got separated. She lost contact with the rest of her team."

George huffed cynically. "So they're dead."

Billy ignored the jab. "Do you guys know if anyone else is alive?"

Danny shook his head grimly. "We heard some screams after the initial commotion, but we couldn't tell you."

"We were here the whole time," Sam added quietly.

Billy unfurled a map across the table, his eyes quickly scanning the layout. "I'm trying to get to the parking lot. Point me to the safest path."

Sam leaned in to study the map. "Safe? Hmm..."

Danny tapped his finger on the page. "The dining room should be empty."

George pointed out the route. "Cafeteria, warehouse, cages, parking lot. What's the plan?"

"Do you have a key?" Billy asked.

George pulled a set of keys from his pocket and dangled them in front of Billy's face.

Sam furrowed his brow worriedly. "What's going on out there, buddy?"

"Grab a vehicle and get the hell out of here. Fast as I can." Billy's voice was hard and determined.

George's eyes widened hopefully. "All of us, right?"

"Sure," Billy said dismissively as he folded up the map.

"Please, man. What happened to the task force out there?" Danny pressed anxiously. "Terrorists?"

A grim smile tugged at Billy's mouth. "You're gonna wish it was terrorists."

The acrid stench of chemicals burned Rebecca's nostrils even through her protective mask. Her hands trembled as she filled the third container, watching the iridescent liquid cascade into the glass vessel. The rhythmic thudding against the door made her pulse quicken - the leech zombies were growing more aggressive.

She secured the containers' lids with methodical precision, each click of metal against plastic punctuated by another thunderous impact. The towel went into her pocket, a security blanket she hoped she wouldn't need. Outside, the creatures' relentless assault continued.

Rebecca positioned the first container atop a metal shelf near the door, its contents sloshing ominously. The glass vessel, precious cargo glowing with an otherworldly shimmer, found its place in the room's center. Working swiftly, she distributed the final mixture across the floor, creating a trail from the doorway to where the shelving units ended.

Metal groaned as the door's lock began to give way. Rebecca's breath caught in her throat as she emptied the last drops, tossing the empty container aside. The familiar weight of her handgun provided little comfort as she verified its ammunition, barrel trained on the plastic container perched above.

"You can do it, you can do it," she whispered, her voice wavering.

The door burst inward with a deafening crash. Three leech zombies lurched through the opening, their grotesque forms silhouetted against the hallway light. Rebecca squeezed the trigger. The shot rang true, puncturing the elevated container. Liquid rained down on the advancing monstrosities, soaking their corrupted flesh.

As they shambled over the glass vessel, Rebecca lined up her second shot. "Here goes nothing!" The canister exploded in a shower of crystalline shards. The mysterious liquid within sprayed outward, meeting its counterpart on the floor. For one heartbeat, the mixture bubbled and frothed. In the next, flames erupted across the entire surface, racing upward to engulf the creatures.

Their screams - inhuman, guttural sounds - filled the chamber as fire consumed them. Rebecca pressed herself into the far corner, chest heaving as she watched her plan unfold. The leeches detached from their hosts in a frenzied dance, bouncing off walls before shriveling into char. One whizzed past her head, drawing a startled cry from her lips.

The zombies collapsed with a sickening thud, their bodies rigid in death. Through their charred flesh, Rebecca could see the remaining leeches writhing in their final moments. She gulped air into her burning lungs, the acrid smoke mixing with the chemical stench as victory and horror warred within her.