The Endgame Chronicles (by Hugh White) novel Chapter 26

Chapter 26
It was the tenth day since the apocalypse hit-and this was nothing like the first few days.
Rescue broadcasts on the radio haad stopped. National announcements were paused. People’s fear had hit an all-time high, and most homes were running out of food.
Over the past few days, more and more residents had rushed out to find supplies.
Either they starved or got bitten. Once pushed to the edge, zombies weren’t even the scariest thing anymore.
But with this wave, the city’s zombie population exploded. Very few people managed to come back alive from the horde. Out of ten people who went out searching for food, nine didn’t make it—no joke.
Early on, people’s fear of zombies and lack of experience kept them from facing the creatures directly. Zombies lurked everywhere, and if you were unlucky enough to run into a cluster while searching for food, you became their meal.
With humans starving for days and zombies just as hungry, the undead started invading residential areas in droves.
Take the following, for example.
[Damn! My door’s not gonna hold! The zombies outside have been banging louder and louder the past few days. I’ve barricaded everything I can and locked myself in the innermost room. Why can they still find me? I’ve got plenty of food at home! Can someone save me? I’ll trade my supplies for rescue!]
Hayley saw a young man on a livestream, asking for help. He looked decent, a food blogger by profession. That made sense-he had tons of food from sponsors and his own reviews. He had a serious stockpile.
And he was a homebody, rarely leaving the house, which made him one of the lucky ones in the early apocalypse.
The only unlucky part? He rented an apartment full of youths. Almost everyone on his floor had turned into zombies.
Zombies roamed outside his apartment all day. After panicking for days, the blogger took advice from viewers: he reinforced his front door hid in the innermost unit, and tried to mask his scent.
But now, all he could hear was the pounding getting louder and louder, as if every zombie in the building was pressing against his door.
After sending out his distress call, he got a reply from a fitness trainer living in the same building.
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[I can come save you-but I get half your food.]
[No problem!] The blogger ryped back quickly. [How will you get here?]
[I live directly above you. I’ll lower a rope from my window. Grab it, and I’ll pull you up.]
[Okay!]
He started packing, strapping a camera to his head to stream everything live. Instant noodles, jerky, self-heating meals, water-he laid it all out. His neighbor told him to hoist the food up first so he could climb after.
He grumbled to the camera, “I’m not stupid. If I lift all the food and don’t go, how’s that fair?”
He tied as many supplies as he could to himself.
That was when he heard the sound of his door breaking.
Crash!
“Move faster!”
“Coming!”
He glanced over. His front door had indeed been smashed in, and zombies poured inside.
Every one of them was gray-black, with exposed, rotten guts like tangled black ropes spilling from tom bellies. Their dark brown skin clung to their faces, and some had no recognizable features left—just raw, bloody flesh, with black holes where bones showed through.
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