Chapter 3: The Hood Fights Back

The block had never been quieter. It was the kind of eerie silence that chilled Zeke to the bone. Only an hour ago, the usual hustle and bustle of kids playing, cars cruising, and music blasting from stoops had filled the streets. Now, all that was gone. The entire neighborhood had become a warzone.

Zeke and Julie ran through the streets, yelling at anyone still outside. "Get inside! Lock your doors! Zombies are everywhere!"

People peeked out from behind windows and doors, confused and terrified. Some had already seen the chaos unfolding, but most had no idea what was coming. Zeke and Julie sprinted toward the corner, where a few of the older guys from the block were posted up, smoking and playing dice.

"What y'all trippin' about?" one of the guys, Big Smoke, asked as he flicked his cigarette to the curb.

Zeke, panting and out of breath, stopped in front of them. "Zombies, man. For real. They're all over Jenkins' place, and they're comin' this way."

Big Smoke and his crew exchanged skeptical looks, but Julie backed Zeke up. "We ain't playin'. The whole block is about to be overrun, and we gotta be ready."

"Zombies?" one of the hustlers scoffed. "Man, I ain't got time for that Hollywood BS."

But before Zeke or Julie could argue, a blood-curdling scream cut through the night air. Everyone turned to see a group of zombies shambling up the street—slow at first, but then breaking into a sprint like a pack of wild dogs. Old man Jenkins was at the front, his decayed face twisted in hunger, and behind him were more—neighbors, people they recognized, all turned into rotting corpses.

"Oh, hell no," Big Smoke muttered, eyes wide.

"Believe us now?" Zeke snapped, stepping back. "We gotta fight!"

Big Smoke and his crew didn't need to be told twice. They scattered, running into houses and sheds, grabbing anything they could find. Baseball bats, crowbars, machetes—if it could swing, it was a weapon.

Zeke and Julie sprinted to the middle of the street, where more people were pouring out of their homes. Mothers pulling their kids close, thugs strapping up with what little heat they had. It wasn't long before the entire block was buzzing with the sound of preparations—people were barricading doors, grabbing car tires to build makeshift barricades, and setting up anything they could to defend themselves.

A group of hustlers dragged an old shopping cart out, filled with everything from firecrackers to Molotov cocktails. "If these things wanna fight, we'll give 'em a fight," one of them said, stuffing a rag into a bottle of liquor.

Julie looked around, her nerves on edge. "We don't have much time. Those things are getting closer."

Zeke nodded. "Alright, listen up!" he shouted, climbing on top of an old car so he could be seen. "We need to work together if we're gonna survive this. We got zombies and God knows what else comin' at us. Spread out, make sure all the streets are covered, and if you see somethin', kill it."

Big Smoke stepped up, cracking his knuckles. "We need some firepower. Who got heat?"

A few of the hustlers pulled out their pistols, but there weren't enough guns to go around. "We're gonna have to get creative," Julie said, holding up her homemade squirt gun. "I know it sounds crazy, but bleach works. Melt these things."

One of the hustlers stared at her. "You serious? Bleach?"

"Serious as a heart attack," Zeke replied. "Aim for the head and they go down."

Julie handed out extra squirt guns she'd grabbed from her house, filling them with bleach as fast as she could. "Everyone else, grab anything you can throw or swing. Bricks, bottles, whatever."

A loud roar interrupted them—a chainsaw. From the far end of the block, a massive figure appeared, carrying the saw over his shoulder. His face was covered by a hood, and his body was twisted with muscle and decay. Behind him, more zombies followed, but this guy wasn't like the rest. He was bigger, faster, more dangerous.

"Chainsaw guy!" Zeke shouted. "Everybody get ready!"

The first wave of zombies hit hard. They came fast, moving like they'd been unleashed from some nightmare. Zeke sprayed his squirt gun, hitting two zombies in the face. Their flesh sizzled and bubbled, and they dropped to the ground, writhing in pain. Julie was next to him, blasting another one in the chest with bleach, and it collapsed into a pile of mush.

But for every zombie they took down, more came. The street was crawling with them now, and the barricades were barely holding.

Big Smoke swung a bat with all his might, smashing a zombie's skull in. "These things ain't human no more!" he yelled, dodging another.

Across the street, the hustlers were lighting Molotov cocktails and hurling them at the zombies. Flames erupted, consuming a group of the undead in a fiery blaze, but the smoke and fire only attracted more.

The chainsaw maniac revved his weapon, charging forward. The noise was deafening, and the sight of him tearing through the barricades like they were nothing was terrifying. Zeke fired bleach at him, but it barely slowed him down.

"We need more firepower!" Zeke shouted, watching as the maniac sliced through a fence like it was paper.

Julie pulled out a box of fireworks she'd grabbed from her house. "Cover me!" she yelled, frantically trying to light the fuse.

Zeke stepped in front of her, spraying any zombie that got too close. The horde was relentless, clawing at them with rotting hands, their eyes burning with hunger.

Finally, the fuse caught, and Julie threw the fireworks toward the chainsaw maniac. The explosions went off in rapid succession, sending sparks and flames everywhere. The maniac stumbled back, disoriented, but still standing.

Zeke knew they were running out of time. "We need to hit him with something bigger!"

Just then, one of the hustlers came running over, carrying a makeshift flamethrower—a propane tank strapped to a lighter. "This gon' light his ass up!"

The hustler aimed and fired, a massive burst of flame shooting toward the chainsaw maniac. The fire caught him square in the chest, and he let out an inhuman scream, dropping the chainsaw as the flames engulfed him.

"Burn, you bastard!" the hustler yelled, pumping more flames into the maniac until he collapsed in a heap of charred flesh.

The battle raged on, the neighborhood holding its ground, but the tide was turning against them. For every monster they took down, more appeared—zombies, mutants, even twisted versions of animals. The air was thick with smoke, screams, and the stench of burning flesh.

Zeke and Julie fought side by side, leading the defenses, but the horde seemed endless. The street was filled with bodies, both undead and human, and the survivors were growing tired. The barricades were crumbling, and the monsters kept coming.

"We can't hold them off forever!" Julie shouted, smashing a zombie's head with a baseball bat.

Zeke knew she was right. They were outnumbered, and it wouldn't be long before the block was completely overrun.

"We gotta fall back!" Zeke yelled, his voice hoarse from shouting. "Everybody, get to the center of the block!"

As the survivors began to retreat, Zeke and Julie stayed at the front, doing their best to slow down the advancing horde. But deep down, Zeke knew the truth—if they didn't come up with a new plan soon, the hood was going to fall.

And there was no telling what would be left standing when the dust cleared.

As Zeke and Julie rallied the last few survivors to retreat, the chaos on the block reached a new level of horror. The zombies were everywhere—pouring out of alleyways, clawing through the barricades, tearing down doors. The sound of gunshots, screams, and the guttural groans of the undead filled the night.

"Move, move!" Zeke shouted, waving people toward the middle of the block, where they had set up the final defense around the old basketball court.

Julie stayed close to him, swinging her bat at any zombie that got too close, but the exhaustion was setting in. Every swing was slower, every breath harder to catch. She could see it in the faces of the people around her—the fear, the hopelessness.

Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream echoed from one of the barricades. Zeke spun around just in time to see one of the hustlers—Darnell, a big dude with a heart of gold—get grabbed by a group of zombies. He was fighting them off as best he could, but there were too many. They dragged him to the ground, sinking their teeth into his flesh, ripping him apart as he howled in agony.

"Darnell! No!" Big Smoke yelled, running toward him. He swung his bat wildly, taking out a few zombies, but it was too late. The horde had already overwhelmed Darnell, his body disappearing beneath the swarm of undead.

"Fall back!" Zeke yelled, but Big Smoke was frozen in place, staring in horror as his friend was devoured.

"Darnell, man!" Big Smoke screamed, tears streaming down his face. His voice broke, filled with raw emotion as the gruesome sight unfolded before him. "ZOMBIES ATE MY NIGGA!"

Julie grabbed Big Smoke's arm, pulling him back as the zombies turned their attention toward them. "We gotta go! NOW!"

But it wasn't just Darnell. All around them, more people were falling. A group of kids that had been holed up in an apartment tried to make a run for it, but they were caught in the street, their screams cut short as zombies tore into them. A woman trying to defend her front porch was overwhelmed, her body vanishing under a pile of clawing hands.

The hood was being eaten alive.

Zeke felt a wave of panic rise in his chest as he pulled Julie and Big Smoke toward the court, but every second brought more losses. The zombies were getting faster, more aggressive, as if feeding on the fear and chaos around them.

"We can't stop them!" Julie cried out, her voice shaking. "There's too many!"

Zeke's mind raced, but there was no plan. No escape. They were surrounded on all sides, the neighborhood he grew up in crumbling under the weight of the apocalypse. Bodies were piling up, blood staining the streets, and the few survivors that remained were scattered, barely holding on.

As they reached the court, Zeke slammed the gate shut, barricading it with anything they could find—trash cans, old furniture, anything to keep the undead out for a little longer.

Big Smoke collapsed against the fence, his chest heaving as he wiped the tears from his eyes. "This ain't right, man… This ain't right…"

Zeke knelt beside him, gripping his shoulder. "I know, Smoke. I know. But we gotta keep fighting."

The sound of pounding on the gate grew louder. The zombies were coming, and they weren't stopping.

Julie looked around, her eyes wide with desperation. "We're not gonna make it, are we?"

Zeke didn't answer. He didn't need to. The truth was staring them all in the face—the hood was being overrun, and there was no way out.

The barricade wouldn't hold forever. And when it fell, there would be nothing left but death.

As the last of the survivors huddled together in the court, Zeke stood up, his hands shaking but his resolve hardening. "If we go down, we go down fighting. Ain't no other way."

Julie nodded, tears in her eyes. "Together."

"Together," Big Smoke echoed, standing up and picking up his bat again. The sorrow in his voice was replaced with fury, the kind that only comes from watching the people you love die in front of you.

The zombies were coming, the gate rattling under their weight. It wouldn't be long now.

Zeke gripped his squirt gun, ready for the final stand. They might not make it, but they weren't going to go down easy.

And if this was the end, at least they'd go out fighting for the block they called home.