The Endgame Chronicles (by Hugh White) novel Chapter 640

Chapter 840

Chapter 640

When the swarm of flies finally drifted away, everyone got a clear look at the floor.

The corpses were smeared across the hallway. White clusters of fly eggs covered the rotting flesh.

Several people immediately bent over and threw up.

Hayley looked down at the body propped against the elevator doors.

Compared to the others, this man had died the most intact. Still, flies had laid eggs all over his scalp, and the dried remains of his brain had hardened into a crust.

Beside his body lay a staff badge.

“Griffin. Pick that up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Griffin stepped forward immediately and retrieved it. He wiped it clean with a piece of paper and handed it to her.

The badge read, [Project Manager. Osbert Greene.]

Hayley studied the name for a moment, one eyebrow lifting slightly.

She scanned the entire floor.

Aside from the faint buzzing of distant flies, the place was silent.

Then, she turned and continued downstairs with the group.

The next floor down was locked. The one below that was locked, too.

There were no zombies or people.

Just locked doors.

They kept descending, floor after floor.

By the time they reached the eighth floor, every level had been the same, locked and empty.

It felt wrong

If ordinary people had been trying to escape the building, they wouldn’t have locked every single floge Sphind them.

When people run for their lives, panic takes over.

Half the time, they don’t even bother closing doors. They just run.

Locking every floor carefully could only mean one thing someone had done it later,

“Holly,” Liam said quietly, “someone’s living here”

Hayley nodded.

Exactly.

Only someone staying in the building would have the time to clear cach thoor and lock the doors afterward

And since the floors above the 15th hadn’t been locked, she sessed the people here had stopped getting fughes,

They probably ran into the zombies on that level and decided per to risk it

Cho

+15 Bo

A moment later, that theory proved correct.

“Who the hell are you?

A voice suddenly echoed from below.

The staircase between the seventh and eighth floors had been smashed apart. A group of people stood on the other side, staring up at them with hard, wary expressions.

There were men and women.

Behind the glass stairwell door, even more people crowded together, about 18 in total.

All of them were painfully thin. Their faces were dull and hollow, their clothes filthy, their hair greasy and unwashed.

It was summer now. Most of the men were shirtless, wearing nothing but shorts.

The whole group watched Hayley’s team like cornered animals.

“Where’d you come from?” the leader demanded.

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