ZAK
A week changed everything.
Not because things got better.
Because nothing did.
The building had settled into a kind of uneasy truce with the web. The strands holding the east side sagged more every day, thick cords stretched tight like tendons under too much strain. The crack where the wasp and spider had torn through never closed. It widened slowly and patiently, as if something out there was testing how much the structure could take.
Zak noticed it every morning.
He made it a habit to check the same spots, count the same fractures, and watch the same shadows. It helped keep his thoughts from drifting too far ahead. Looking ahead was dangerous. That was where mistakes lived.
Behind him, the apartment was awake.
Craig sat at the table with a map spread out. Its corners were weighted down by mismatched tools. The paper was smudged now, creased and torn in places, but Craig still treated it as if it mattered. As if planning still mattered.
Hassan paced. Always pacing now. Three steps forward, two back, hands flexing as if he was ready to throw something at nothing.
Chris checked the straps on a duffel bag, tightening them again, even though he'd already done it twice. Selma watched from the couch, quiet, her eyes following everyone without settling on anyone for long.
And Abdi stood near the center of the room, feet planted, shoulders squared.
Ready.
Zak didn't say it out loud, but everything they were about to do relied on him.
The supermarket run had changed the group's mood. Before it, survival felt theoretical—something you planned for, something you discussed. Afterward, it was personal, concrete, and bloody.
They didn't talk about the man on the street anymore. They didn't need to. The image lingered in the pauses between words, in the way no one joked anymore, and in how Selma flinched at sudden movements.
Zak understood that fear.
He just refused to let it decide for them.
"We move today," Craig said, tapping the map. "The weather's clear. No major activity outside since yesterday."
Hassan snorted. "That we've seen."
Zak stepped closer, leaning over the table. "We don't get a perfect window. We get a window and we take it."
Craig looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. "Alright."
They packed quickly. Food went first—lightweight and sealed. Water next. Tools. Flashlights. A single pistol with limited ammunition passed carefully from hand to hand like it was something sacred.
Zak felt the familiar weight in his chest as they prepared. Not fear. Responsibility.
The boat waited out there. A promise he hadn't earned yet. A backup plan that had turned into their only real chance.
"You ready?" he asked Abdi quietly.
Abdi met his eyes. "As ready as I'll ever be."
They moved toward the east side of the apartment together. The floor creaked under their steps, a reminder that the building knew what they were doing.
The hole in the web was worse up close.
Strands hung loose, snapped and frayed, drifting slightly in the breeze. Through the gap, the street below looked farther away than it should have. Too open. Too exposed.
Craig dragged the first mattress into position, wedging it against the wall beneath the opening. Chris and Hassan followed, stacking couches on top, then more mattresses, creating a crude but deliberate landing zone.
Zak tested it with his foot. Soft. Uneven. Better than concrete.
Abdi rolled his shoulders and stepped closer to the opening.
"I'll take Hassan first," he said.
Hassan froze. "What?"
"You're light enough," Abdi continued. "And you won't panic."
Hassan opened his mouth, then closed it. Finally, he nodded. "Fine."
Zak watched as Abdi placed a hand on Hassan's arm. The air around them felt… off. Not charged. Just wrong in a way Zak couldn't explain.
Then they were gone.
Not falling.
Descending.
Zak's breath caught despite himself. Abdi moved smoothly and controlled, his body angled just enough to guide them through the gap. Hassan clung tight, jaw clenched, eyes wide.
They dropped out of sight.
Seconds stretched.
Then a dull thump.
Zak leaned forward, peering down. Hassan rolled off the mattress below, scrambled to his feet, and looked up.
He raised a hand.
Alive.
The tension eased just enough for Zak to breathe again.
They worked fast after that.
Chris went next. Then Selma.
Zak watched Selma carefully as Abdi guided her down. She didn't scream. Didn't freeze. She trusted him completely, arms locked around his shoulders, eyes closed like she was stepping off a ledge into darkness on purpose.
When she landed, she stood for a moment longer than necessary, steadying herself before moving away.
Craig followed, grunting as Abdi adjusted for the extra weight. The web creaked ominously as they passed through the gap, strands shifting as if they were aware of the movement.
Zak waited.
Last.
He slung his pack over one shoulder and stepped toward Abdi. "You good?"
Abdi nodded, breathing a little harder now. "Yeah. Let's go."
Zak placed a hand on his shoulder.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the floor fell away.
The sensation wasn't like falling. It was like the world had loosened its grip. Wind rushed past Zak's ears, cool and sharp, his stomach flipping despite himself.
He focused on the sound of Abdi's breathing. Steady. Controlled.
They passed the torn web, sunlight flashing across Zak's vision. Then—
Impact.
The mattress absorbed most of it, but Zak still felt the jolt up his spine. He rolled off immediately, instincts kicking in, scanning the street.
Nothing moved.
The building loomed above them, wrapped in silk and shadow. From below, it looked even more fragile. Like something waiting to be plucked from the sky.
They gathered quickly, packs tight and voices low.
Craig took one last look up at the apartment. Then he turned away.
They moved.
Away from the building.
Away from the web.
Toward whatever waited next.