Chapter 3:

The group had managed to exit the campus via the gate that leads directly to C.P. Garcia Avenue. The road was filled with stranded cars. Visible from the gate was a tall pyre where a pile of cars had crashed. An explosion could happen at any moment, shooting shrapnel at every direction. Luckily, it was not in the direction the group had to take.

"Shit..." muttered Robert as he looked around. "This is fucked up."

"The cities in the Left 4 Dead series or even Resident Evil definitely looked much better than this.", muttered Charlie.

"I can name a hundred zombie novels and games that forgot to include this part of the apocalypse.", said Wesley.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck.", muttered Robert once more.

The zombies could run—or rather the drunk equivalent of speedwalking—but alone they didn't pose any immediate threat. Being undead and having lost any limiting factors like pain or fear gave them the advantage of being stronger than living people. But, when in small numbers, it was easy to outrun them or simply shove them away. The zombies' numbers grew quickly but panic grew much faster.

They moved on, taking the slightly elevated sidewalk that was built over a small hill. It overlooked the road and was high enough to prevent any attacks from below. They huddled closely together, walking as fast as they could. Apprehension tightened their grips on their weapons. Adrenaline pushed their limbs to their limits. Fear stretched time to such an extent that seconds that felt like minutes felt like hours.

"The... the Math building's full of zombies.", said Mayca in a soft voice.

"There's usually more zombies there on a normal finals week." Robert jokingly said.

A tall metal net fence surrounded the perimeter of the university. It was all that separated them from a dozen or so zombies that struggled to reach them through the fence's holes. Chunks of flesh were missing from all of them. A few even had objects sticking out of their bodies like knives, forks and pens. Behind the zombies, the group could see several people still alive. Through the open windows on the upper floors peeked scared eyes, gawking dumbfounded as the world around them collapsed.

Near the entrance, a student shot at attacking zombies as he tried to lead a group of people out of the building. He must have taken the gun from a dead security guard. With each shot he took, they backed slowly into the building instead of moving forward as what must have been the plan. The noise attracted the zombies enough to stop even those that were already feeding. After just three shots, he had run out of bullets. All of them ran back inside screaming while a horde of zombies came after them in a frenzy.

Sight after sight brought further fear. The group had not noticed that in the few seconds that they watched from behind the fence, they had moved closer together. Their pace showed confusion; uncertain of whether to move faster to get away or move slower to defend better.

"Dude, gate!" exclaimed Ric from behind Wesley.

They were nearing an open gate. Not far from it were nearly a dozen zombies feeding on a man. He still screamed as they ripped him apart piece by piece.

"Oh fuck. What now?" asked Robert in one breath.

Wesley's guts tightened as he wracked his mind for an idea. It was hard to think when your mind was buzzing with adrenaline, thoughts and fears. Robert breathed in and out deeply, trying to calm himself down. Charlie adjusted his grip on his mop-spear. His face was stern and his jaw clenched. He surveyed his surroundings quietly. Ric was running on adrenaline. He bit his lip as he maintained watch of their side and rear.

"What if we cross the road here?" muttered Charlie. The tension in how he spoke made his voice break. He grit his teeth in exasperation. He wasn't so keen about dying but at that moment, surrounded by death, he felt powerless.

Wesley looked at the road beside them. They were already in a position low enough that it was almost the same level as the road. Cars and trucks were already stuck in traffic. Most of them had been abandoned. A few visible from where they were standing still had people in them who chose to take refuge inside their own cars rather than take their chances outside. Many people still ran and weaved through the mess of cars.

Wesley considered the risks. Their problems would be, first, if there were zombies that had been run over and were waiting underneath the cars. Second, zombies inside the cars that somehow aren't moving yet can easily break through the windows and reach for any of them. Third, there's always the chance of the number of people running around suddenly increasing significantly enough to cause a small stampede. Still, any of those were better than having to fend off a dozen zombies at once.

"Let's cross. We'll have to cross at one point or another anyway.", said Wesley, "Mayca, get down on the ground and check under the cars we'll have to pass by. We'll cover you."

Mayca quietly followed. "Nothing."

"Right. Robert, you take point. I'll tap the car doors with my axe if we get close enough." said Wesley, "If there's a zombie inside and it breaks the window, Ric, I want you to kill it. Charlie, you watch our back."

Robert took the lead. He weaved through the front of a blue Honda Civic. The windshield wasn't tinted. No one was inside. The next car was a taxi, with its passenger still inside. He was alive but he seemed almost catatonic. He sat in the middle of the rear passenger seat, hugging himself. They ignored him and continued on.

"So far so good..." said Robert as they reached the center island. A group of people passed them by, carrying backpacks and plastic bags full of their belongings. A small child lagged behind them, crying as he clung onto his mother's shirt. Wesley looked at the boy and heaved a sigh.

Robert walked on and scouted around as he went. Wesley tapped the cars with his axe. Nothing moved. With a sigh of relief, they were able to continue on the other side of the road and into Katipunan Avenue.

"Oh damn.", muttered Wesley. Monkeys did a backflip in his stomach. "En's apartment is all the way down this road. Let's hope things aren't that bad yet." Behind him, he heard Ric breathe deeply and curse under his breath. Mayca clung tightly onto the fire extinguisher and Charlie did his best to stay close.

"No heroics, okay?" said Wesley. "I don't care if it's a pretty girl or an old woman, heck, it doesn't even matter if it's a kid. We keep this formation and we keep going. We'll only TRY to help people if they're directly in our way." No one objected.

With a largely devout Christian country, even when protected by an understaffed and ill-equipped police and military force, crime rates were relatively low. Crimes were concentrated in areas where the desperately poor squatted and thrived on outsmarting other people. They lived in a harsh and unforgiving world that the lot of us never get to see. When the shit hit the fan, the norms of human society had a nervous breakdown. No one had anything to their name except the clothes on their backs and whatever they could carry.

Katipunan Avenue seemed to stretch infinitely in the growing darkness. Night was swiftly approaching. In place of its usual silence were still the screams, the gunshots and the myriad noises that chase away sleep. Somewhere in the distance, Pachelbel's Canon boomed loudly—mocking the panicked mind with the sounds of ease.

23 year old Gerald Salazar was on his way home from a friends' house after a whole night of partying. He woke up an hour past noon with a splitting headache. The taxi ride home was torture; the car was filled with the chatter of a radio show DJ and the driver was blabbing incessantly about his opinions on how the current government should run the country. He was ten minutes from the luxurious comforts of his condo unit but as his luck would have it, the traffic was at a standstill. Impatient, Gerald handed the driver a two hundred peso bill and exited the taxi without waiting for change. Not seconds after he had left the vehicle, a man about Gerald's age began tapping at the taxi's passenger seat window. Gerald impulsively turned, partly from curiosity but mostly from boredom. The driver rolled down the windows swiftly, barely looking at his would-be passenger. The passenger just stood there, bent slightly over, gazing at the driver. By then Gerald was already standing a few feet away from the taxi. All of a sudden the man launched himself inside the car, flailing and clawing at the driver. Panicked, the taxi driver stepped on the gas pedal and rocketed the car forward. It only managed to move two meters before hitting a nearby parked car. The man's feet hung out of the taxi's window. Suddenly blood spurted onto the taxi's windshield. Gerald watched in shock as the driver hopelessly pushed and shoved while his assailant gnawed at his arm. All around him similar screams for help ensued.

Roman had been a jeepney driver for more than 20 years until an unfortunate accident forced him to stop. With a permanently damaged leg, Roman spent his remaining days selling Japanese sweet corn along Katipunan Avenue. There were nights when he cried himself to sleep, feeling weak and useless because of his inability to find a better way of providing for his family. He wished he had a better life, a chance at a better education or at the very least some luck. Despite all the hardships, he stayed strong. He may only have the simple things in life, he thought to himself, but he has everything he needs to be happy. With him everyday in his corn stand was his wife and his only daughter, giving him every reason he has to strive to make the most out of life.

Business had been slow and the day was nothing but dull. But, when a taxi parked across the street from where his sweet corn stand was, Roman wished the day had remained dull, instead.

"Inside! Get into Music 22!" bellowed Roman at the top his lungs. The city was in a state of panic. Clutching a wooden cane, he pointed towards a nearby high rise where a small karaoke joint was located. Roman knew the security guard, being a frequent buyer of his, and all it took from Roman was a nod for the guard to understand the situation and what needs to be done. The shop had overhead doors should it become necessary.

"Goddammit kid, move your ass away from there!" yelled Roman. Gerald stood still, staring at the bloodied windshield. It took him a couple of seconds before he snapped out of it. Baffled but now conscious of his surroundings, Gerald cautiously crossed the street towards the screaming old man.

Roman looked around him and caught sight of a fellow shopkeeper getting mauled and eaten by a group of zombies. He wanted so much to run towards him to help, but he knew it was too late. All he could do was watch as an old friend screamed in agony. Roman gripped his cane tightly and fought the urge to cry. He made the sign of the cross and silently asked God for guidance. If the world was about to end, he was determined to stay by his family's side and see it through.

"Go on, hurry, get inside. I'll be right behind you." he told his wife. She looked at him, anxiety etched on her face, and shook her head. "Go on, damn it, go!" he said as he urged her on. She picked up their daughter and ran for Music 22. The security guard wanted to help Roman but he also had to guard the people inside and the crowd still coming.

"Come on, kid! Hurry up!" beckoned Roman towards Gerald. Gerald felt as if his legs were made of lead. His head throbbed violently. He wanted to run but his legs won't listen. He walked slowly towards Roman with his gaze fixed onto the ground.

"Sonuva—run, kid, run!" roared a nervous Roman. Zombies were gaining on Gerald, coming from different directions. Gerald, as if he didn't hear Roman, kept his gaze to the ground and walked slowly. Gerald's head throbbed harder still. A loud ringing in his head was all that he could hear. His heart pounded so hard that it hurt. He could hear his erratic breath. He could feel his hands going numb.

"They're behind you! RUN!" roared Roman. Gerald turned his head and saw them behind him. Two zombies—no, three—scuttled towards him. Gerald sprinted. He ran like he's never ran before. He ran towards Roman... then towards the armed security guard not far behind the old man.

*THUD!*

Gerald was overcome with fear. He had pushed Roman aside, with the sudden instinct of leaving the old man as bait so that the zombies won't reach him. The old man lost his balance and fell to the ground. The zombies came after the easier prey.

"NOOOOO! ROMAN! My husband...!" screamed his wife from behind the security guard. Her daughter looked at her curiously as she was too innocent to understand what was happening. Gerald reached the door and pushed people aside so that he could get inside Music 22. The guard's nostrils flared in anger. He hit Gerald unconscious with the butt of his shotgun then hurried back outside.

"Sons of bitches... Get away from me!" yelled Roman. He was on the ground, kicking at the zombies and hitting them with his cane. The security guard couldn't get a clear shot. Roman hit one of them square in the jaw and it fell down. Only moments later, it was already trying to get up.

"WRAAAAAAAH!"

Wesley had charged with his axe and swung hard at the zombie on its knees. Its head caved in with a juicy squelch and the zombie fell limply back to the ground. Robert shoved at the other zombie and pivoted before swinging at its head. He was always inclined to do things with a flair. Ric had stabbed the remaining zombie's eye with the mop-spear and was already busy yanking it out.

Mayca put down the extinguisher beside her for a moment and helped Roman up.

"Got scratched, bit or anything?" asked Wesley. He had a big grin on his face.

"I... uh... no, I don't think so.", replied Roman. Wesley wasn't listening.

"Can you make it on your own, sir?" said Robert politely. Robert looked around to make sure there weren't anymore zombies nearby. Roman fixed himself up and tested his cane before nodding. The group left off immediately, back in their makeshift schiltrom formation.

"Thanks!" exclaimed Roman, before going into Music 22 with the others.

The group was quiet for a while. They kept a rather quick pace, paying little heed to the looters and zombies that weren't within reach.

"Your smile's starting to get creepy.", said Ric to Wesley who was still grinning.

"He's like that too when we have a go at martial arts.", replied Robert. "It's either the adrenaline or he twistedly enjoys the carnage. My money's on twisted."

"Dude, you don't have money.", replied Wesley. Robert facepalmed and Charlie chuckled. Mayca gave Robert a pat on the back. Ric laughed hard but it appeared as if it was about something else.

"Amp. GG. Robert said "martial arts", dude, not marital arts.", said Wesley as he half realized and half guessed what Ric was thinking.

"What?" said Ric in a how-can-you-blame-me kind of joking tone, "He said you had a go at it." The group laughed while shaking their heads.

"Oh god I feel violated.", said Robert while jokingly covering his chest with his arms.

"That's not what you said that time.", teased Wesley. The group facepalmed, laughed and shook their heads. Around them, Canon played on, glasses shattered, people screamed, zombies groaned and humanity crumbled.