Chapter 37 — A Gamble With Life
Hank leaned against the freezing steel door, his heavy breaths echoing through the narrow hallway.
Sweat trickled down his temple and splattered onto the brand-new SWAT tactical vest.
Stay calm.
Stay sharp.
His eyes scanned the surroundings with predatory speed, adrenaline pushing his brain into overdrive—
And then—
There.
Right above him.
In the ceiling was an old ventilation duct — sealed with a metal grate.
Held in place by four screws.
A longshot, but it might hold.
There was no time to hesitate.
Hank slung one M590 over his back with a snap of the sling and leaned the other against the wall.
He inhaled sharply, bent his knees, and launched upward—
Not high enough.
His fingers barely scraped the metal.
Even with level-4 agility, jumping nearly three meters straight up while loaded down with gear was borderline impossible.
THOOM!
The door behind him burst open.
Rotting arms and snarling faces poured through the doorway like a tidal wave of decay.
"Shit!"
Hank hit the floor and immediately grabbed the M590 at his side.
BOOM!
The thunderous blast shook the entire hallway.
The 12-gauge spread obliterated the first three or four walkers, ripping them apart mid-charge.
Flesh and bone sprayed backward, their collapsing bodies briefly blocking the rest.
But more walkers climbed over the corpses, shrieking as they surged forward.
Check—BOOM!
A flawless pump—shell ejected—fresh round chambered.
Another roar of buckshot.
Another cluster of bodies exploded into chunks.
A corridor like this was a shotgun's kingdom.
Every shot was a massacre.
But there were too many.
They trampled their fallen like mindless animals, hurling themselves forward without fear or hesitation.
Hank fired while retreating, until his back slammed into the chained iron door.
No room left.
No escape.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The M590 roared again and again.
Each blast sent gore and limbs splashing across the walls.
Shells clattered at his feet like cascading brass rain.
The first shotgun ran dry.
Hank swung it like a club, smashing a walker's skull like a rotten melon—
Then snatched the second M590 from his back and kept firing.
BOOM! BOOM!
Gunfire rolled like death itself screaming.
He didn't know how many rounds he'd spent — but by the time the hallway was piled waist-deep in mangled corpses, something changed.
The incoming rush slowed.
Just barely.
That was all he needed.
Hank seized the opening.
He stepped back two paces — sprinted forward — planted one foot against the hallway wall —
and kicked.
His body shot upward — the other foot struck the opposite wall, bouncing him even higher!
The level-1 parkour skill took over — balance, momentum, and body control became instinct.
Hank ricocheted off the wall in a lightning-quick second jump.
This time he reached high enough—
His left hand shot out, clamping onto the edge of the ventilation grate with iron strength.
His entire weight hung in the air.
Below him, the walkers had already swarmed beneath his boots, howling and clawing at his soles.
Hank released the shotgun with his right hand and yanked the cold hand axe from his belt.
CHAK! CHAK! CHAK! CHAK!
The razor-sharp axe bit into the gap between the grate and its frame, wrenching with brutal force.
The old screws holding the vent grate groaned under the brutal force—
SCREE—KRAK!
The first screw snapped loose.
Then the second.
Then the third.
BOOM!
Another explosion erupted below — secondary ammo detonating in the burning armored truck — shaking the whole building.
Dust rained from the ceiling.
The fourth screw finally gave way.
Hank felt the metal shift — the grate came free in his hand.
He yanked upward with his left arm, shoved the axe back into his belt with his right, then grabbed the edge of the opening with both hands —
And, using the last of his strength, hauled himself and his heavy gear into the cramped, pitch-black ventilation shaft.
Hank collapsed onto the filthy sheet metal, gasping violently, his heart hammering so hard it hurt.
Below the vent, walkers screamed in frustration, scraping at the metal walls with bloodied hands. The sound made his skin crawl — but they couldn't climb up.
For the moment… he was safe.
But there was a new problem.
The shaft was even narrower than expected.
With the plate carrier and assault pack on, he could only crawl inch by inch.
And the duct was pitch black — not even a hint of light. He could only move by feel.
The echoes of the walkers below reminded him he couldn't go back. Forward was the only path.
Hank gritted his teeth and pushed forward in the suffocating crawlspace.
His breathing echoed painfully in the narrow metal tube — every scrape of equipment against steel amplified in the silence.
His elbows, knees, and vest dragged loudly along the duct.
Sweat mixed with dust and smeared across his face.
The air was stale, heavy — every breath felt like sucking in warm sand.
He crawled blindly, relying on touch alone, time losing all meaning as the duct stretched on and on—
His lungs felt like fire.
His arms trembled from exhaustion.
Then — something changed.
A faint thread of light ahead.
And—fresh air.
An exit.
Adrenaline surged through him.
Hank forced every fiber of his body forward toward the sliver of light.
The glow brightened as he approached — filtering through the grate of a second vent.
Peering through the slit, he saw a vehicle maintenance bay below.
Wide floor. Concrete ground. A parked sedan. Tools hanging neatly on the walls.
Most importantly —
No walkers.
Freedom — almost within reach.
The grate was bolted from the inside, and even sturdier than the last.
Hank pressed the axe through the gap — the angle was terrible. He couldn't get any leverage.
He hissed a curse under his breath and forced himself to think.
The vent was high on the wall — about three meters above the concrete floor — directly over a tall tool rack.
If he broke the grate and dropped straight down, the impact could injure him badly with all his gear.
And if there were walkers outside the maintenance bay, the noise from a fall would attract them instantly.
His eyes swept the rack again.
Folded tarps and heavy canvas… stacked on top.
An idea hit him like lightning.
A dangerous one.
But it was the only one that might work.
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