The twenty-first floor was filled with vectors, more than those on the twentieth—the same thing for the twenty-second and the twenty-third. If we had done the bottleneck plan right away, we'd probably have dozens of vectors on top of us in less than a minute with only Logan's ax and my ten shells to stop them.

We lucked out on the twenty-fourth floor, and Apartment 2422 was not empty.

Right at the front door, a leg propped the door from closing fully. It was a girl, maybe about nine or ten, her face and neck half-eaten and mangled, covered with maggots and other slithering insects. Her flesh already started to petrify, and she might have died when it first started. The sight alone almost made me puke.

"Keep an eye out," I said to Logan.

The rotten stench choked the room. I covered my nose as we stepped into the apartment, saw another body, a bloodied woman in a silky silver-white nightgown, had her head smashed through the television screen, the flesh now bloated and green. There was another little girl, younger and smaller than the other, a knife sticking out of her head. On the kitchen island, plates of rotting food were on display. I glanced at the hallway, and there, a man in a black robe, half parted to show his hairy chest and frontal privates, had a bullet hole on his head. On his hand was a large bite mark while the other was a revolver—surmised it was a self-inflicted gunshot. Beside him were two boys about my age, also dead, eyes up on the ceiling. I walked closer and saw they had the vector's unmistakable two pupils on each eye.

The chaos around me painted the full picture of what happened. The family got ready to settle for the night, and possibly the oldest daughter heard a noise, opened the door, and let two vectors into their home. Logan and I checked each room and found them empty.

"What a shitty way to go," Logan said, the collar of his shirt covering his nose like a mask. "I mean, just like that. Boom. An entire family, gone like nothing."

"Let's not think about it," I said.

"It's hard not to."

"Come. Help me with the bedsheets," I said, changing the subject. I grabbed the father's revolver and checked the chamber. I handed the gun to Logan. "Three shots left."

Grabbing it, he smirked as he felt the weight. "Make it count, right?"

The TV in the bedroom was still on and operational when Logan and I entered the room. I didn't expect the Emergency Alert System plastered on the screen. Emblazoned on the screen's top-center was the Great Seal of the United States, and flanked by the logos of FEMA and the CDC.

On the screen, it said: An emergency action notification for the City of New York. This is not a drill.

"The following message is transmitted at the request of the New York Police Department, in cooperation with the Centers for Disease Control and the Federal government of the United States of America.

"Federal and military authorities have issued the following: An unknown, highly contagious virus is spreading throughout the surrounding metropolitan areas. Midtown and downtown areas of Manhattan, Staten Island, Brooklyn, Queens, western suburban areas of Long Island, and downtown Harlem are heavily affected. Be advised: Do not enter the said areas.

"Symptoms include but are not limited to: nausea, vomiting, fever, flu-like symptoms, external bleeding, erratic behavior, and coma. Avoid contact with the infected. Avoid transporting said infected. Avoid local hospitals, care facilities, and transportation hubs. Infected persons are highly contagious, prone to violence, and homicidal tendencies.

"As of 4 AM today, martial law has been declared in the State of Connecticut, Delaware, New Jersey, Rhode Island, Massachusetts, Eastern regions of Pennsylvania, and the State of New York south of I-88. Henceforth, per Executive Order 10995, The First Amendment will be suspended indefinitely. All communication media, internet, and broadcast must adhere to federal control, effective immediately. Curfew is in effect at 6 PM EST."

"That's almost half of the Northeastern states," I said to Logan.

"It spread that far that fast?"

I didn't answer him right away. It had only been a week since the city of New York was infected and quarantined. I didn't want to imagine that whatever these people had managed to slip through the cracks.

"A precaution," I said, trying to reassure him, wanting to believe it myself. "My dad would say containment is the key to kill a wildfire. They're enforcing the states close to the epicenter, like putting sandbags from an incoming coastal flood."

Logan mulled it over. "Yeah. I guess you're right."

Then, something else came up.

"The majority of the metropolitan population of New York City has been evacuated. Those who remain must head to these following areas..."

"Bullshit," Logan spat. "That's a whole lot of bullshit. They didn't evacuate us!"

What the hell? I couldn't believe what I was hearing, felt like I was going to scream at the TV and shouting at them that all of this wasn't true. We were still alive! A quarter of the city was still burning for christ's sake, and we scarcely saw the army knocking on doors, trying to shuttle people out to the evacuation zones they were listing. They didn't do shit!

Central Park was the only evacuation zone for Manhattan.

"They might still be there," Logan said. He looked out of the bedroom window toward the park's direction. We couldn't see it from where we were, blocked by dozens of skyscrapers.

"The alert says that's where the vectors are going to be concentrated," I said. "And besides, the military might not be there at all. We haven't seen a lot of the army aside from the helicopters, and they don't give a shit even when we had that giant SOS painted on our roof."

"You think it's deliberate? That they're fucking ignoring us? We're American citizens!"

"I don't know, but something smells off."

——

Just don't look down, idiot, I thought, trying to build myself up. You can do this.

"You can't do this," Logan said. "That's a long way. Twenty-four floors down."

"Thanks for reminding me!"

"Seriously. You can't do this."

"I will if you shut up about it," I snapped. 

I secured the rope of bed sheets on the railing, tugging at it hard to make sure it wouldn't unravel midway through. It almost reached down to the eighteenth floor, so if I got in trouble, I'd at least have a few extra lengths to cling on. I noticed most of these apartments shared the same schematics, so I made sure to place the rope on the leftmost side of the balcony. That way, when I am climbing down, I'd be hidden behind a wall, and no one from apartment 2022 would see me from their vantage point.

Logan looked over the railing to the balcony below. He reeled back, paled. "It is forty feet down. At least."

I poked him under his armpit. "Stop scaring me. I know you can carry me easily. You aced gym class for two semesters, especially with climbing those ropes, and you play sports—football! This will be like a cakewalk."

"And for you?"

"I'll have my moments."

Logan huffed. "This is nothing to joke about, Bren. If you fall, that's it. Kaput. Instant death."

"Fine. I'm going first then."

Logan murmured something under his breath, but I ignored it as I secured my shotgun around my shoulders and climbed over the railing; both my feet planted on the ledge on the other side. I gripped tight until my knuckles turned white.

"Shit!" A strong gust of wind blew through the street, almost knocking me out of the ledge before Logan grabbed both my wrists and pulled me back.

"You okay?" Logan asked.

I nodded at a loss for words.

Logan gripped tighter around my wrists. "Moron, you scared me. I thought you were going to fall."

"Thanks for saving me," I finally said.

"Don't do it again."

He gently let go of my wrist, one at a time, as I grasped the railing once again. Then, I took hold of the sheet.

"Careful," Logan said once again.

Adrenaline coursed through my veins at a maddening speed. I felt high, and I had the urge to scratch the nape of my neck; my body was trembling uncontrollably as I scaled down the rope, swatting away the thought of slipping off of it and falling with only concrete to cushion my descent. I tried to suppress the panicked grimace on my face. I didn't want to die. I mean, I'd hate to go out like this, ending up a splattered mess of blood and flesh on the ground.

The rope swung here and there, and sometimes, I'd find a spot where I'd freeze, stuck, found myself unable to proceed. A mild panic took control, and then I'd eye the next balcony, took hold of the railing, and steadied myself. Then, after a minute or two of calm breathing, I grabbed the rope again and continued my way down.

Two more floors to go.

I reached the twenty-second floor's balcony and grabbed hold of the railing. A sigh of relief escaped my lips. At least I was halfway there.

Then, something grabbed my wrist.

I immediately smelled the coppery scent of blood.

I turned, and there, standing on the balcony, was a man half-covered in dried blood, his hands clamped tight around both my wrists.

The vector pulled hard on my left hand, opened its mouth toward my jacket's sleeve, and bit my arm.

Fumbling, I took the knife out of my belt, raised it high, and plunged the blade deep into the man's neck. It sunk with a sickening squelch as it went through the flesh, and the vector let go of his teeth's grip on my arm and tipped over the railing, right on top of me.

I scrambled for the rails, but all I felt was air.

I was falling with nothing to catch me but the concrete twenty floors beneath.