I was enjoying a nice day off, watching tokusatsu shows and building model kits, when my internet cut out. The power was still on, but the video I was streaming had stopped and resetting my router hadn’t done anything. I tried calling the maintenance person for my dorm. No one picked up. 

This was nothing unusual, because frankly my dorm sucked ass, and the maintenance personnel were pretty much always missing when you wanted them. I briefly considered using my phone as a hotspot for my laptop, but that would just chew through my data plan. 

The only thing to do then was to head downstairs and complain at the office. Not that I relished the thought, mind you, because that meant that at the very least I would have to put on pants. I had seen other people walk around the building with nothing but their pj’s or a bathrobe on, but I was not so brazen. 

I’d been really hoping to be able to just keep my ass planted in my chair all day. 

Complaining the whole time, I threw on a pair of slacks and my flip flops. A partially completed plastic model of a robot stared at me from my desk as I did so. I’d hopefully get back to working on it in just a bit. 

I exited my little abode in the four room unit, locking the door behind me as I left. My roommates were fine, for the most part, but I had nearly a grand’s worth of mecha merch in that room, and I felt it was better safe than sorry. As I walked past the pile of dirty dishes that filled the sink and the overflowing garbage can, I wondered who’s turn it was for both of those tasks. It wasn’t mine, that’s for sure. I made sure that I did all my chores before my off days so that I could spend them in relative peace. 

A problem for later. 

I exited my apartment, and as I walked down the hall I checked the time on my phone. Half past 11 in the morning. It was oddly quiet, even for a tuesday. Most students would be attending classes about now, sure, but even so there were a number of students such as myself who worked or had the majority of their classes on the weekends. 

Maybe there was an event going on somewhere, and that had cleared all of the halls. 

When I got to the elevator, I touched my magnetic keycard to a panel beside it, and stood there for about a minute as nothing happened. 

It was busted. I checked the other one and it was unresponsive too. Now that was odd, if the elevators were busted, there should have at least been an out of order sign. Plus, having both of them broken was incredibly rare. There were laws here stating that the building was required to meet a certain level of wheelchair accessibility, and having both elevators busted was enough to get the people who owned the building in some serious hot water. 

The only reason I knew anything about that was because I had a friend in the building who this sort of thing pertained to. I’d have to text them about it later. 

Meanwhile I had to take the stairs. Six whole flights of them. 

Not that I had any right to complain. Whenever my wheelchair-using friend had to take the stairs, she did this whole thing where she went down them backwards, steadying herself with the railing. It was actually pretty impressive to watch. She was kind of like a bmx-centaur. Not that I thought bmx-centaur was a politically correct term. I’d have to ask her the next time I saw her though, she’d probably get a laugh out of it.  

I chuckled as I made my way down the last of the steps and exited out of the stairwell and into the lobby. 

I checked my mail at the PO box first, I was hoping to get a package soon. I’d recently splurged on a pretty expensive kit, and I’d spent each day in anticipation of its arrival. 

Nothing. 

Darn. 

Today was just not turning out to be my day. I continued on to the office. You’d never find the actual manager of the building there, or in her other office on the third floor. 

Instead there would be students who were paid to man the office. It was supposedly a well paying gig, but having to take the complaints of every resident in the building in the place of the person who was actually in charge of it must have sucked. Especially because you just knew the manager was goofing off somewhere while essentially getting passive income from the job they were supposed to be doing. 

My hatred of the upper classes aside, the office was empty. 

It shouldn't have been, though. 

I mean granted, the job had kind of a high turnover rate, but all three of the staff walking out at once seemed odd. 

Maybe the entire building’s staff was on strike. 

Good for them if so, fuck the bourgeoisie. 

That left me entirely screwed though. Ah well, if people were finally revolting against the landowners then who was I to complain? Sacrifices would have to be made in the name of the cause, and I could bear with my small, pitiable burdens. Thankfully my friend lived on the second floor, so she wouldn't have to travel too far. I’d offer my help if they asked, too. 

I turned to head back the way I came, but caught a glance of something out a window from the lobby. 

Was that fire? 

***

I looked at the flames dumbly for a while. I didn’t know how long. It wasn’t a whole lot of fire, all things told. Just a single flaming vehicle. The doors appeared to have been torn off. 

Were people rioting in the streets? That didn’t seem right, because there were no. . . people. At all. It was actually quite a busy thoroughfare, normally, but there were no people in sight at all. 

Maybe the street was cordoned off? I checked the other windows in the lobby, and there were a lot of them so I had a decent view of a couple other streets. Nobody was there either. No police, no ambulances, no traces of people, other than some cars stopped in the middle of the road. One van had its sliding side door open and belongings could be seen spilling out the side. Given the mattress and blankets, It looked like someone had been living in it, but its inhabitant was gone. 

A neighboring building had its windows shattered and a huge chunk of wall missing. It looked like a truck had been driven into it at full speed, but I didn’t see the truck in question. 

Everywhere I looked it just got worse. What the hell was happening? 

I should call somebody, I thought. I took my phone out of my pocket, and l dialed emergency services. There was a calm, synthetic voice that told me not to panic, and that the lines were full. It proceeded to tell me what I should do in the case of an emergency. I hung up halfway through its spiel. I redialed. Same result. 

Where was everybody? Was there already an evacuation? I didn’t get an alert or anything. There was a system in place for that, I knew, like amber alerts-

-I saw movement. There was a humanoid figure, and. . . what looked like a large dog? Like a really big husky or maybe a wolfhound of some sort. Looking closer, the person was limping, and they had a pretty nasty head wound. I called out to them and they turned. The dog didn’t seem to like me though, I could see its hackles rising, and it lowered into an aggressive posture. 

The poor thing was probably scared. 

I didn’t blame it, so was I, frankly. 

I called out again. “Hey, do you need help!?” It didn’t seem the person could hear me, because they didn’t react. I jogged towards the door. It was barred shut with a broomhandle, and a voice in my head whispered that there was probably a reason for that, but I didn’t have the time to pay it any attention. I removed the broom and called out again. 

“Over here! You look like you're hurt! I can help!” My assertion on the help front was mostly baseless, but I didn’t want to just leave somebody in need. I’d figure something out. 

At this point I noticed something, the person’s clothes were. . . off. 

Like, who wears mongol style helmets and studded leather armor? Cosplayers maybe? I hadn’t heard about any conventions, though, and I was pretty well tapped into that scene. 

Also, the guy was missing an eye, and a decent part of his face, and his empty eye socket glowed with an otherworldly flame, and- 

-oh god I think I’m in trouble. 

***

The man raised his arm and the large dog charged. I was slow to react, but there was enough distance between us that even my dumb ass had time to turn around and start running. Shutting the door and barring it again may have been the better course of action, but by the time I realized that I was halfway across the lobby, and turning back at that point was no longer a viable course of action.

I heard the scrambling of claws slipping on linoleum tiling, and turned my head to look back over my shoulder. The dog had charged in just before the doors automatically shut, but its momentum had left it sliding across the waxed tiling of the lobby, and it was just now getting back on its feet. That was probably the only reason I wasn’t being mauled to death. 

I made it to the stairs, and used the keycard on my lanyard to open the door. The one decent thing about this overpriced dorm was that it came with some decent security. No access to the elevators or the stairwell without a key issued only to the residents and staff. The doors to the building locked themselves automatically after certain hours, too. That may seem paranoid to people living in safer places, but in the words of one childish gambino, This is America, and in my city that kind of security was more necessary than anyone would like. 

I slammed the door to the stairwell shut and heard the lock click into place. I heard a loud thump, and the dog started clawing at the door. Through the small shatter resistant window I could see the thing was literally foaming at the mouth. Not only that, but there was blood mixed in the froth, and there was a huge gash along the side of the thing’s torso. I could see the glistening white of a rib underneath the fur and the meat. 

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

Jesus fucking christ. 

I took a moment to calm my gasping breaths. I then noticed the distinctly sweet smelling foulness of rotten meat. 

I think at that point I got the hint. Not that I liked it. If I was right then- 

I heard the sound of a door opening. Not the one to the stairwell, but maybe. . . the front door?

I peered out the small window of the stairwell door, trying to see past the rabid undead animal still trying to get access to my soft flesh. 

 A single glowing eye stared back. 

I booked it up the stairs as fast as my undertrained cardio-pulmonary system could muster. 

I sprinted back to my room and locked the door, shoving a chair under the doorknob for good measure. I was panting and gasping hard. I took a moment to control my ragged breathing.

Ok. Breathe. In and out. You’re fine. Probably. You should check for bites, just in case. 

I’d hate to go through the old trope of being bitten without realizing it. I checked for any wounds or suspiciously teeth shaped markings. Nothing. I was unblemished, aside from a single skin tag that I'd been meaning to do something about for a couple months now. 

We’re good!

Though I did notice I lost a flip flop on my way back. 

I changed into a clean pair of socks and put on my shoes. I wasn’t much of a sneaker-head, but they were a decently nice pair of marathon shoes. Not that I ran much, but I did work retail, and standing on concrete for long periods can be killer on your feet. 

Footwear secured, I needed to call my mom. 

I whipped out my phone, flipped to my contacts, scrolled down, and hit call. 

The line was dead. I didn’t have any service. 

Why was I even surprised? Literally everything was already going wrong. 

Ok. I can’t call my mom but I can still check on the people around me. Make sure they’re safe. 

I started knocking on my roommates' doors. Nobody responded. I shouted that it was an emergency, but I got nothing back. 

Wait shit, they all had classes today. Two of them took basically all the same classes together. The other one, known only to me as fucking Jacob, had this course on economics that he would literally not shut up about. 

You’re smarter than your professor because you trade crypto, I get it. Now leave me alone!

God he was an asshole. 

The other two were pretty all right though. Watching them flirt was a little unbearable, but other than that I quite liked them. 

If I couldn’t take care of them though, that meant I needed to check on my friend on the second floor. I got that she could probably handle herself just fine, but that wouldn’t stop me from worrying. 

Plus, if I’m honest, the isolation was getting to me. At this point I wasn’t unconvinced that I was the only person left on earth. I couldn’t text or call anybody and I hadn’t seen a living human being in person since yesterday. 

I needed to fix that or I’d start spiraling. 

If I was going back out though, I needed a weapon. While in theory the trip from my dwelling to the stairs and to room 215 should be uneventful, I could just as well run into something awful. 

I looked around my room. Frankly there wasn’t much to use. I mean I had all of my lovely plastic models of course. About 50 or so completed and posed on acrylic floating shelves. 

I scanned my collection. I had all sorts of miniature, fake-robots at my disposal. They ranged in size, scale, and manufacturer pretty widely. I didn’t have a whole lot of brand loyalty because A: fuck the corpos, and B: I mostly sought out novelty. 

Any kit with an interesting gimmick or a particularly involved construction process I’d buy in a heartbeat. Actually building them was my happy place. 

A happy place I wasn’t sure I’d get to return to, given the current state of affairs. God, and I had no way to transport my collection either. They were just too fragile to just stuff in a backpack and hope nothing broke. The thought made me tear up a little.

Blaug! Not right now! I needed to focus. I needed to find my friend and I needed to keep looking for a weapon of some sort. I could worry about the end of the world and what that meant for my favorite hobby later.

On my desk was my exacto blade. I didn’t really feel like I could use that to reliably put a walking corpse back into the ground, but It was better than nothing, I guessed. I slid it into the back pocket of my pants. I also had some other modeling tools, but none of them were really all that capable of harm. 

Uhh. . .

Oh yeah duh, I had kitchen knives. They just weren’t in my room. I walked back out to the living room with the adjoined kitchenette and located the novelty knife rack. It was shaped like a stick-figure, and the knives rested in its sternum. Only one knife was clean and available. It was stabbed directly into his heart. 

I yoinked it. 

Armor of some sort would be next. Stealing an Idea from Hollywood, I strapped couch cushions to myself with duct tape. I considered putting a pot on my head to complete the picture, but they were all dirty and right now just did not seem like the time for doing dishes. Man, there wasn't even a clean frying pan to use as a shield/blunt-weapon. I could probably get away with using a dirty one for that purpose, but I decided against it. 

I’d just use the single chef’s knife as my primary armament. Off-handing any sort of improvised shield while attempting to stab was probably too much to expect from me anyway. 

Time to go. I creeped out into the hallway. 

***

I made it about ten steps before things went wrong. Ten whole steps! 

Just as I was gearing up for step number eleven, the door to the stairwell creaked open. I saw the nose of a familiar undead canine peak just past the door frame. I stood there frozen, mostly just hoping the incoming problem would go away. 

It did not.

Instead, the snoot of the hellhound waved in the air for a while as it sniffed before it froze in place. It then stalked into the corridor, turned, and barked. Though it sounded like less of a bark and more of a strangled cough. 

It didn’t charge me though. It just stood there and hacked at me with an unsettling fervor. 

I backed up a couple steps and almost made it within reach of my dorm room before thing number two made its appearance. He was still missing half a face, and his empty eye socket shone with an aquamarine flame. He also had a keycard, his rigor-mortised grasp on its lanyard. 

Just as before, he raised his arm, and the well disciplined canine charged. It covered the distance in a flash. I raised one couch cushioned arm in front of me in defense. The dog leaped at me and bit me in the arm I’d raised to defend myself. 

Its momentum threw me into a spin and I fell to the ground. I tried to retaliate, but I had dropped my knife. 

The beast had my arm still, and was yanking it around violently. I had been told once that when a dog has your arm, you're not supposed to pull it away, but push into it. 

I got half to my feet and did just that. It let go, surprised. 

I then tripped over my own feet and stumbled back to the floor. 

The dog bit me again. It grabbed my other arm this time, so that was something. 

In the corner of my vision I saw the mongolian revenant stumble towards me.

I remembered the hobby knife in my back pocket and grabbed it. I pulled and it caught on something. I pulled again and it yielded. 

The safety cap had apparently been what snagged, so that was already removed. 

I stabbed the exposed blade into the undead animal’s eye. It didn’t let go this time. It just bit me harder, and this time I felt it through the cushion. I pressed the blade deeper, and the slender aluminum handle sunk right in. I felt it shake and judder.  It still continued to clamp its jaws on me. I then stirred the blade around some, it shook one last time, and it went limp. 

It then dissolved into fragments of luminescent glass, gone without a trace. Thankfully, the thinking part of me had pretty much shut down at that point, so I didn’t stop to wonder why or how. 

Good thing too, because the great khan’s undead offspring was pretty much right in front of me. 

He was clawing at a knife on his waist. Not good. Very bad. 

I grabbed the kitchen knife I had dropped and stabbed it into his throat. I was aiming for his head, but I missed. 

He was pretty much unfazed, regardless. 

He finally managed to get his blade from his sheath and he promptly stabbed me in the side. 

I’m pretty sure I screamed. I’m not sure though. I do know I fell over, and for whatever reason the revenant fell on top of me. 

He raised his knife to stab me again, and I squirmed and bucked enough that when the knife came down it missed me. I still had the hobby knife in my left, so I jabbed it in his face. 

It landed in his exposed nasal cavity. 

He stabbed at me again, but it only grazed me. While he didn’t seem to feel the blade in his nose, I was pushing on it the whole time and that threw him off balance. 

After some flailing on his part, and some more screaming on mine, something in that zombified noggin of his gave way, and my hobby knife made its way into his inner cranium. 

 He shook, but did not re-decease. I twisted my grasp on the blade, and got to scrambling his brains. He twitched and flailed the whole time, but eventually his arms fell to his sides and he too dissolved into glass and light. 

I dragged myself to my feet. That was enough adventure for now. 

I was going back to my room.

***

Limping back to my den took a surprising amount of time given the short distances involved. All I can say is that being in incredible agony will really slow you down. I mean the stab wound burned. I don’t know what I expected being stabbed to feel like, but burning wasn’t it chief. That plus the fact that it hurt whenever I breathed, just meant that enduring the most pain I’d ever felt in my life was an all occupying experience. 

Once I got to my room, I tore the couch cushions off of my arms and my torso. I was gonna grab the ones off my legs too, but bending over hurt too much. 

Sure enough, the cadaverous animal had gotten my arm pretty bad. Plus the very much still bleeding wound in my side wasn’t great. I was more worried about the bitemarks though. 

Being in pain and mortal peril sucked for sure, but being a zombie seemed like it would suck worse. I mean bad stuff happening to me was one thing, but the Idea that I would unwillingly cause harm to others was way worse! Literally a fate worse than death!

Not that suicide was a solution here. I refused on principle. I’d been there before and a case of zombie-itis wasn’t going to get me back to that fucking pit. 

It still sucked though, and at this point I was tearing up. The shock had worn off apparently, and now I was full on ugly crying. I was hacking out coughing sobs, every muscle in my face was tightening, and my eyes and cheeks burned with tears. A total meltdown. 

Not that you could really blame me. I think I had every right to a bit of a meltdown at that point. 

Still, I felt like I should be doing something. I didn’t know what, but the swirl of emotions that were overpowering every part of my faculties urged me to be productive in some manner. 

Not being blinded by tears seemed like a good start. I raised my good arm on my not stabbed side to wipe away at my eyes. 

As I did so I noticed there was something stuck to my hand. I couldn’t tell what though, my eyes were too watery. 

I used the back of my wrist to dab my eyes and examined it further. It was a black rectangle with rounded edges just slightly larger than my hand. It looked like some sort of smartphone.

It also really was stuck to my hand. I wasn’t holding it, it was just stuck to my palm. 

I tried shaking it off, but it wouldn’t budge. It was also light. Like, It didn’t really feel like it had mass at all sort of light. 

A single white square was spinning on the surface of it. The square would spin a couple times before decelerating to almost a halt, and then it would spin up again. 

I stared at it blankly for a bit before the rectangle stopped, and collapsed in on itself, before expanding to a window with some text in the center. 

You Are Eligible To Receive Foreign Aid.

Do You Accept It?

I Accept

I Decline