Frustration welled up within Harley as he clenched his grip on the axe, cursing his misfortune despite his careful actions. In a moment of self-directed anger, he found himself silently asking the question: "How in the hell did they get here? Is my bad luck never going to end, no matter how cautious I've been?" (well seriously this is the second time the guy ever spoke till now , even though in his mind -_-)With a mix of anger and determination, Harley pushed those thoughts aside, focusing his attention on the immediate threat.

He tightened his grip on the axe, the cold metal a familiar and reassuring presence in his hand. There was no time for self-pity or despair. The undead were upon him, and survival depended on his ability to fight back and find a way out of this predicament.

With a surge of determination, Harley swung his axe with purpose, the blade slicing through the air and connecting with the approaching zombies. Each strike was precise and powerful, the sharp edge of the axe cleaving through flesh and bone. He fought back with all his might, pushing through the fear and the exhaustion, his gaze fixed on the undead horde before him.

The adrenaline coursed through his veins, fueling his every move as he continued his unwavering assault. The sound of metal meeting undead flesh echoed in his ears, a gruesome symphony of pain and resistance. Every swing of the axe was a testament to his resilience and his refusal to surrender to the relentless onslaught.

Harley fought desperately against the seemingly endless onslaught, his movements a blur of sweat, blood, and determination. The axe in his hand was a weapon of death, slicing through the air and meeting undead flesh with relentless fury. Blood spattered as he continued to fight, the battle taking its toll on his exhausted body.

Startled by the sudden call from his colleagues inside the office building, Harley's ears perked up, detecting the familiar voice shouting for him. "Team leader!" the voices called out urgently, beckoning him to approach the main doors. Without a moment's hesitation, Harley altered his course, redirecting his focus towards the voices beckoning from within.

With a last burst of energy, Harley fought his way through the horde, carving a path towards the main gate and the slightly open doors that allowed a narrow passage into the building. His muscles screamed in protest, every movement an effort, but his determination to reach safety overpowered the exhaustion that threatened to overtake him.

Harley stumbled through the open doors, his body exhausted and bruised from the intense fight with the undead. He collapsed onto the ground, gasping for breath and covered in blood and sweat. The other office employees, equally harrowed and disheveled, surrounded him, their eyes filled with a mix of relief and concern. Despite his ragged appearance and the state of his suit, he was miraculously unscathed by any zombie bites.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

As Harley slowly regained consciousness, he found himself lying on a bench. His eyes fluttered open as he gradually became aware of his surroundings. The other surviving employees were scattered around him, their appearances a testimony to the ordeal they had endured. They were all worn down, their faces etched with exhaustion and stress, the aftermath of the zombie attack still palpable in the air. Harley felt groggy and disoriented, his mind slowly piecing together the events that had led him to this moment.

Harley recognized the voice as belonging to a female colleague from his team, a familiar presence he had worked closely with before. As she approached, her face etched with concern, Harley gathered his strength and tried to sit up on the bench, struggling against the lingering fatigue. Their eyes met, and there was a moment of silent understanding between them, a shared recognition of the ordeal they had just been through.

Anna, a charismatic and caring member of the group, knelt down next to Harley, her eyes filled with worry. Her gentle presence was a stark contrast to the chaos they had just survived. She gently placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, her touch grounding him in the present moment.

Harley managed a weak smile, his voice hoarse as he replied, "I'm alright, Anna. Just a bit shaken up." He tried to sit up straighter, pushing through the exhaustion that still weighed on him.

Anna chuckled softly, her eyes filled with warmth. "You're stubborn as ever, team leader. Even in the face of all that chaos, you managed to find your way back to us." She shook her head, a fond expression on her face. "You really need to take better care of yourself.

"Harley smiled apologetically, knowing full well that he had a tendency to push himself to the limit. "I'll try, Anna. But you know I can't just sit idly by when things get rough.

"Harley stumbled to his feet, brushing off Anna's concerned look as he excused himself. "I'll be right back, just need to freshen up a bit," he reassured her, his voice betraying the fatigue he was feeling. He made his way to the washroom, his footsteps shaky and unsteady. The light nausea and nagging headache pressed on his senses, adding to the overall sense of fatigue that threatened to overwhelm him.

As Harley removed his coat, he caught sight of a scratch on his chest that stood out against his now exposed skin. Recognition dawned on him as he realized it must have come from an encounter with a zombie during the recent battle. The implications of the wound sent a chill down his spine, a sense of dread washing over him as he contemplated the possibility of an infection.

The realization of the potential infection coupled with the intensifying headache sent a wave of anxiety through Harley. He leaned against the wall, his strength faltering further. His vision began to swim as his consciousness started to fade, the room spinning around him as he struggled to stayed upright.

end of fifth chapter-