Richard stared at the man in the doorway. Dr. Allen didn't look like a scientist from a high-tech lab; he looked like a man who hadn't slept in a week. His lab coat was wrinkled, and his pockets were stuffed with crumpled notes.
"I just need some sugar," Allen said, his voice dropping to a weary rasp.
Richard relaxed slightly, though the request was odd for midnight. He reached for the small hospitality tray near the television and grabbed a handful of sugar packets left over from their coffee order. While Richard was busy, James leaned against the bedframe, his curiosity piqued.
"Hi, sir. I'm James. What's your occupation?"
"I'm a researcher," Allen replied, his eyes darting to the hallway behind him. "I study the cellular degeneration of the 'Z' virus. Most people call them zombies."
Gwen let out a short, sharp laugh. "Zombies? Doctor, I've spent years in medical wards. I've seen trauma, infection, and death. But walking corpses? That's purely imaginary."
Allen's smile was thin and cold. "If you ever see them, you'll realize they're not. And when you do, don't look for a heartbeat. Look for the hunger."
Richard returned and pressed the sugar packets into the doctor's hand. In exchange, Allen slid a small, embossed business card into Richard's palm.
"Thanks," Allen said. "If you ever need help—real help—give me a call. I'm right next door."
As the door clicked shut, the room felt colder. James shook his head. "Well, that was strange. I guess we found the local eccentric." From that night on, the group began to refer to him simply as Dr. Sugar.
The Morning of the Nightmare
The next day passed in a blur of exhaustion. The team spent most of the time resting, the weight of their long journey finally catching up to them. In the evening, Dr. Sugar knocked again, asking for more packets.
"Doctor," Richard laughed, "you really love sugar, don't you?"
Allen chuckled softly, clutching the white packets. "Seems like I do. It keeps the mind sharp when the world starts to rot."
The second morning in Sydney arrived with a pale, grey light filtering through the curtains. Richard was standing before the mirror, adjusting his tie for a job interview, when a sudden, violent thud struck their door. It wasn't a polite knock; it was a heavy, mindless slamming.
Gwen, curious and annoyed, walked to the door. She leaned forward, pressing her eye to the brass peephole. A second later, she stumbled backward, her face turning a ghostly shade of white. Her hands flew to her mouth to stifle a scream.
"Zombie!" she gasped, her voice trembling with a terror she had never known in a hospital wing.
James rushed over, his protective instincts taking over. "Okay, wait! I'll look." He peered through the hole. His breath hitched. Outside, a man in a tattered business suit was clawing at the wood. His skin was the color of wet ash, his jaw hung at an impossible angle, and his eyes were clouded with a milky, dead film.
"There really is one," James whispered, his voice cracking. "He's... he's trying to get in."
"Don't panic!" Richard barked, his IT brain switching into crisis mode. "We need to save ourselves. If this is happening in a hotel hallway, the city is already in trouble."
Lucy clutched a pillow to her chest, her eyes wide. "But why us? We don't even know what's happening!"
"There's no other way," Richard insisted. "If we run now without a plan, we're just meat. We need a professional."
He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out the business card. With shaking fingers, he dialed the number.
"Help!" Richard shouted into the receiver as the door groaned under another impact. "There's a zombie outside our door! Room 324! Please come quickly, but be careful!"
On the other end, Allen's voice was no longer weary. It was sharp, cold, and ready for war.
"You only know the sweet side of Sugar," the doctor said, the sound of a heavy metal slide clicking into place echoing through the phone. "But there's a spicy side, too. Tell your friends to stand back. Sugar is on fire!"