C4 Mutation!

Willett effortlessly made his way over the rooftop and stealthily onto Tucker's balcony. There, he spotted a large jar covered by a sturdy wooden board. Seizing the moment, he grabbed the board. It resembled the kind used to cover rice jars, about four or five centimeters thick, complete with a small handle. With a grin, Willett thought to himself, "I was just wondering how I'd defend myself if a zombie got too close, and here's the perfect shield. It's like the universe handed me a pillow just as I was about to nod off."

After a moment's contemplation, he cautiously opened the rooftop door and began his descent. Despite his extensive preparations, the reality of confronting a flesh-eating monster was unnerving. Willett made his way down, his heart pounding, silently praying that the zombies were confined to the first floor. He was familiar with Tucker's house, knowing that the bottled water was stored on the second floor. His plan was straightforward: descend from the rooftop to the second floor, grab the water, and get out. Yet, he was acutely aware that Tucker might be lurking on any floor. Willett's strategy was to avoid confrontation at all costs—after all, there was no point in challenging the dead when he was very much alive. With this in mind, he tiptoed even more quietly, barely making a sound as he rounded a corner and reached the fifth floor.

Willett had considered making a beeline for the second floor to retrieve the water and leave, but his extensive knowledge of horror films reminded him that carelessness could be fatal. The last thing he wanted was to be sandwiched between zombies, becoming the juicy center of a deadly burger. He was too young to end up as someone's dinner. So, he meticulously checked each room on the fifth floor. Thankfully, all was clear, and he even stumbled upon some snacks. However, his priority remained the water, so without further ado, he proceeded to the fourth floor, methodically clearing each level.

The fourth floor was just as silent and appeared to be safe. But as he descended to the third floor, a faint noise caught his attention. A soft clinking sound echoed from one of the rooms, reminiscent of someone kicking a soda can. This was not a promising sign; anyone kicking around objects in such times was unlikely to be human.

Willett made his way to the innermost room on the third floor, step by step. Truth be told, he really didn't want to enter, but he had no other option. He needed to ensure his escape route was secure. As he neared the door, the sounds from within grew increasingly distinct. Cautiously, he opened a sliver of the door and peered inside. A woman was seated on the bed, idly swinging her feet with a small can at her side that she was absently nudging with her foot. He ventured a call, "Patricia?"

The woman remained silent. A sense of dread washed over him. Though he had an inkling of her condition, he couldn't let go of a sliver of hope and called out once more, "Patricia, if you don't respond, I'll have to assume you're a zombie!"

To his relief, it seemed Patricia was alright after all. Just as he was about to greet her, he noticed something at her feet. Standing on tiptoe for a better look, he was horrified to discover a bloodied man lying there—it was Welborn. Suddenly, Patricia reacted violently. With a low growl, she staggered to her feet and turned to charge at Willett. The sight of Patricia's mutilated face made him nauseous. She had been like an older sister to him, beautiful and once the object of his secret affections. Now, her face was a grotesque mask; her torn face and lips revealed her teeth, one eye dangled from its socket, and the blood had nearly stopped flowing. The flesh on her face was a sickly purple-black, oozing with some white fluid. It was revolting. Though Willett had seen zombies through his binoculars, facing one in person was a whole different ordeal. His training and courage evaporated in an instant. Like a frightened child, he clutched a wooden board and slowly backed away, his voice trembling as he stammered, "You... don't... don't come any closer!"

But Patricia, now a predator devoid of reason, lunged at him, knocking Willett to the ground and snapping her jaws at his face. Fear can indeed summon immense strength, and in his terror, Willett exploded into action. He howled and shoved his shield with all his might. Patricia, once a petite woman now diminished by the zombies' feasting, was surprisingly light. If not for Willett's fear-induced weakness, she would never have overpowered him. With a burst of adrenaline, he sent her crashing into the wall. In his panic, Willett lost all sense of reason, grabbed his short spear, and plunged it repeatedly into Patricia's head—one, two, three times—until he was utterly spent. After what felt like an eternity, he slowly came back to his senses, slumped on the ground, staring at what was left of Patricia, and succumbed to a fit of violent retching.

Just then, another sound emerged from nearby. Willett quickly looked up to see Welborn's body shifting on the ground, as if it were trying to rise. Some things become less terrifying once you've faced them. He sprang to his feet, grabbed his short spear, and without a second thought, plunged it into Welborn's decaying brain. The zombie collapsed and twitched slowly before becoming still.

Suddenly, Willett sensed something was amiss. A blue liquid began to ooze from the two pierced zombies, seeping over his feet. An icy chill shot from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head, and his mind was engulfed in a thunderous roar, followed by a searing pain. "What's happening? What's going on? I wasn't bitten! Ah! My head! It's so painful!"

Meanwhile, a smattering of noises drifted up from downstairs. Clutching his throbbing head, Willett made his way to the stairwell and peered down. "Oh my god!" he exclaimed in terror. His loud shouts while fighting the zombies had drawn the attention of more outside, and now at least a dozen were gathering. Drained of energy and with his head pounding, he knew he stood no chance against the horde. He couldn't wait any longer. Pushing through the excruciating pain, Willett began to run for the rooftop.

In his previous frenzy, he had recklessly expended his energy, slashing wildly at the zombies. Now, hampered by his debilitating headache, his ascent was barely faster than the zombies'. Left with no other option, he discarded his shield and, clutching his makeshift spear, staggered towards the rooftop. Eventually, he reached the top and hastily locked the door behind him before starting the climb to his own rooftop. His brain felt as if it were being eaten away by acid, the pain intensifying by the second, making it nearly impossible to focus. Just then, the sound of banging on the door signaled the arrival of the zombies. His instinct to survive momentarily overpowered the pain, and he began to climb the ladder with great difficulty. As he reached the midpoint, the door burst open, and the zombies poured in, quickly scaling the ladder behind him. Reaching the edge of his own rooftop, Willett saw the zombies close behind. With every ounce of strength left in him, he flipped the ladder, sending the zombies and the ladder crashing to the ground below with a loud thud.

With a muffled thud, the zombies were smashed to bits beneath the ladder, while those on Welborn's balcony could only glare at Willett, sprawled across the balcony floor opposite them, howling in frustration. Meanwhile, Willett lay on the ground, waves of excruciating pain washing over him, growing more intense by the second.

"Am I going to die?"

The thought flickered through Willett's mind before his consciousness began to blur and dim...