The manhole cover slammed shut, plunging the sewer into darkness.

  *Thud!*

  A heavy impact echoed through the tunnel as someone landed hard on the ground below. The sudden absence of light left everyone momentarily blind, their eyes struggling to adjust even to the faintest glimmer.

  A soft glow flickered to life as Manny tapped her phone screen, keeping it illuminated. In the dim light, Vincent spotted Strong John crouched near the entrance, his body coiled as if he’d rolled to absorb the impact of the jump.

  “You okay?” Vincent asked, stepping forward to help the older man up. Despite his robust physique, John wasn’t as agile as the younger members of the group. The four- to five-meter drop would’ve hit him harder than the rest.

  “I’m fine, thanks,” John replied, brushing off Vincent’s assistance with a grunt. He straightened up, dusting himself off, only to find his hands smeared with dark red liquid—blood.

  “Dad!” Kelly rushed toward him, her voice trembling with worry. It was the first time she’d spoken so loudly in front of the group. But John stopped her with a firm hand on her shoulder. “Wait, Kelly.”

  By now, others had pulled out small flashlights from their emergency kits. The beams of light converged on John, revealing a large pool of blood on the ground.

  The sight sent a chill through the group. They’d all been too focused on escaping to notice the blood earlier. But now, the realization hit them like a punch to the gut. The blood wasn’t dripping from above—the manhole cover had been relatively clean. And the dead-end alley above wouldn’t have been a place where fleeing survivors would’ve gathered.

  No, this blood had come from within the sewer.

  Vincent swept his flashlight beam across the narrow tunnel, barely two meters wide, flanked by a rushing channel of filthy water. The walls were streaked with long, smeared bloodstains. No human would’ve dragged their wounds against the walls like that. Only mindless zombies would leave such marks.

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  The sewer was infested.

  John stood silently, pulling Kelly close. The others exchanged uneasy glances, their flashlights flickering as they scanned the surroundings. One by one, the lights went out, plunging the tunnel back into darkness. Laura clung to Old Mike, Manny gripped Vincent’s arm, and Christine held onto Manny. The group fell silent, the weight of their situation pressing down on them.

  The narrow, enclosed space of the sewer felt like a tomb compared to the open air above. And somewhere in the darkness, zombies lurked.

  A soft click broke the silence as Vincent turned his flashlight back on. “Let’s move,” he said, his voice heavy with resignation. “We need to find an exit before nightfall. Robby, you’re with me.”

  Vincent had anticipated the possibility of zombies in the sewer. With so many access points, it was inevitable that some would find their way down. But he hadn’t expected the signs to be so immediate or so grim.

  The group followed Vincent and Robby, moving slowly and quietly. The sound of rushing water filled the tunnel, masking their footsteps. But the tension was palpable. Every shadow seemed to move, every drip of water sounded like a growl.

  Fifteen minutes later, a low, guttural snarl echoed from up ahead.

  “Stop,” Vincent whispered, raising a hand. He tilted his flashlight downward, listening intently. The growl came again, faint but unmistakable.

  “I’ll check it out,” Robby said, dimming his flashlight and moving forward alone. His footsteps faded as he approached the intersection ahead. Moments later, two muffled *thuds* echoed through the tunnel—Robby’s silenced pistol dispatching the zombies.

  Vincent turned off his light and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes and breathing softly. The others stood frozen, their ears straining for any sound.

  Less than a minute later, a beam of light flickered from the intersection ahead. It flashed twice, then went dark.

  “Let’s go,” Vincent said, turning his flashlight back on. He led the group forward, the beam of light cutting through the darkness as they moved toward Robby’s position.

  ---

  Aboveground, in a crumbling street in Lower Manhattan, the city was a graveyard.

  A faint breeze stirred the air, sending scraps of paper skittering across the pavement. The stench of decay hung heavy, mingling with the coppery tang of dried blood. A half-eaten zombie dragged itself along the sidewalk, leaving a trail of blackened gore in its wake. Nearby, a few more crouched in the shattered remains of a storefront, feasting on rotting flesh.

  Suddenly, the rusted frame of a burned-out car groaned and collapsed, sending a cloud of ash into the air. The zombies paused, their heads snapping toward the noise. For a moment, the street was eerily silent. Then, as the dust settled, the undead returned to their grim routines.

  But in the quiet, another sound went unnoticed—a faint *click* from a manhole cover on the sidewalk.

  “Boss, come quick!” A young black man, no older than Jason, stood at the window of an apartment overlooking the street. He held a pair of binoculars, his voice tinged with excitement as he waved to Brook, who sat on the bed cleaning his gun. “Someone’s coming out of there!”