Manhattan, New York. Around 7:15 AM.

  The quiet streets were suddenly filled with the sound of hurried footsteps, followed by the growls of zombies and the screams of men and women.

  Vincent, who had barely slept due to the pain in his lip, woke with a start. He rolled off the couch, grabbed his gun, and hurried to the window. The noise had also roused the other two in the living room. Jason rubbed his eyes and leapt up from the other couch, vaulting over the backrest. "What's going on?" he asked.

  Robbie, who had been sleeping on a makeshift bed of two pushed-together armchairs by the window, kicked one aside and stood up, peering outside. "Someone's on the street," he said, frowning.

  "Survivors?" Jason asked, walking over.

  "Not anymore," Vincent replied, his voice slightly muffled. He frowned as he looked out the window. "What happened last night? Why are there so many zombies now?"

  Jason looked down and saw at least two to three hundred zombies shuffling around the street, gathered in small groups. Each group was clustered around something on the ground—likely the remains of the unfortunate survivors who had been caught and devoured.

  "God, help me!" A woman's scream pierced the air. She had been hiding in the corner formed by a wrecked car and a wall, but as she tried to make a run for it, a zombie emerged from a nearby building and dragged her down. The other zombies quickly swarmed her, and her screams were soon drowned out by the sound of tearing flesh and gnashing teeth.

  Vincent, Robbie, and Jason watched the gruesome scene from the twelfth-floor window of their hotel suite. Despite having seen similar horrors before, their faces were pale. Jason even felt a chill run through him, imagining that this could be his fate one day.

  Jason stepped back from the window, not wanting to watch anymore. As he turned, he caught a glimpse of Vincent's profile and froze, his expression turning strange.

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  Robbie noticed Jason's stare and followed his gaze to Vincent. His lips twitched as if he wanted to laugh but held back.

  Vincent, sensing their eyes on him, turned and saw their expressions. "Go ahead, laugh. Don't hold it in," he said with a resigned sigh, touching his swollen lip. He then walked to the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

  Robbie chuckled softly while Jason burst out laughing, clutching the back of the couch for support. "Vincent, I'm sorry, but your lip... It's just too much!" he managed between laughs.

  Vincent ignored him, turning on the bathroom light and examining his reflection in the mirror. His lower lip was badly swollen, resembling a small sausage. The wound, stitched up the night before without anesthesia, had become infected in the dirty air.

  When Vincent emerged from the bathroom, the rest of the group—except for Christine—had gathered in the living room. They had all been awakened by the screams and had watched the scene from their windows before coming out.

  Breakfast was a quiet affair. Christine, hesitant to face Vincent, was finally coaxed out by Manuela. She kept stealing glances at Vincent, but he barely acknowledged her, leaving her feeling even more dejected.

  "John, what are your plans?" Vincent asked after a few bites of bread, sipping from a carton of milk.

  John, who had been eating a can of fish, looked at his daughter and then at Vincent. "We might stick with you. It's easier to take care of my daughter with your help. And... you're capable," he said, nodding at Vincent.

  "Thanks," Vincent replied noncommittally. He handed a piece of beef jerky to Manuela and turned back to John. "Why don't you introduce yourself? It's our custom—everyone's done it."

  John nodded and sat up straight. "John, born April 1965 in San Francisco. Graduated from Yale in 1987. Wanted to be an NBA star but joined the Marines instead. Served in several wars, got wounded four times, and retired as an Army Major General in 2015. Moved to New York last year with my daughter, Kaitlyn. She was a high school student here, loved music, and had a schnauzer named Chi-Chi. She was planning to attend the Manhattan School of Music, but now..." He trailed off, looking at Kaitlyn with sadness.

  Vincent clapped his hands. "Welcome to the group."

  After breakfast, the group gathered in the living room to discuss their next steps. But Vincent, still nursing his swollen lip, surprised everyone by saying, "Let's take a few days off. No need to rush. Just stay inside and rest."

  Jason, always quick to speak up, stood up. "But today we were supposed to—"

  Vincent gave him a look that clearly said, "Do you need to ask?" Jason glanced at Christine, then quickly looked away, muttering, "Never mind," before retreating to another room.

  As Jason hurried off, he accidentally knocked over the only intact vase in the room, shattering it on the floor. "Damn it!" he exclaimed, jumping back. "I'll clean it up!"

  But before anyone could respond, Vincent raised a finger to his lips, silencing the room. He had heard something.

  Boom! Boom! Boom!

  The suite's front door shook violently as someone—or something—pounded on it from the other side.

  The room fell dead silent.