As the banging on the gate grew louder, more people from the neighborhood emerged from their homes, their faces etched with horror at the sight before them. The undead horde pressed against the barricade, their guttural groans and lifeless eyes sending shivers down the spines of the living.
Among the gathering crowd was Remmy, standing close to her grandparents. Her grandmother, Mrs. Smith, clutched her husband's arm tightly, her expression a mix of fear and disbelief. The weight of the situation was beginning to dawn on everyone, and with it came the first signs of panic. Whispered voices turned into frantic murmurs, and murmurs threatened to escalate into outright hysteria.
Before the situation could spiral further out of control, Maarg's father stepped forward. His usually calm demeanor now carried an air of authority as he raised his voice to address the terrified residents.
"There is no need to panic!" His voice cut through the growing chaos, commanding attention. "Fear will only cloud our judgment. We need to think clearly and act wisely if we are to survive this."
The crowd quieted slightly, some turning their attention to him, desperate for guidance.
"This is a crisis, yes, but it is not the time to turn against each other," he continued. "We are all in this together, and our best chance at survival is by staying united. We need to work together, help each other, and remain vigilant."
A heavy silence followed, the weight of his words sinking in. The frightened faces in the crowd slowly started showing traces of determination. They weren't helpless. They weren't alone. If they stood together, they had a chance.
Maarg's father took a deep breath before speaking again. "We need to secure our homes, ration our supplies, and establish a plan. There is no telling how long this will last, but if we act wisely, we can get through this."
The panic in the air started to dissipate, replaced by a newfound sense of resolve. People nodded, exchanging uncertain but hopeful glances. It wasn't much, but it was a start.
Jack exhaled in relief beside Maarg. "Your dad knows how to keep people from losing it."
Maarg watched the crowd, his jaw tightening as he looked at the barricaded gate. The undead continued their relentless assault, trying to break through. The sound of one of the neighbour's dog growling could be heard faintly through the groans of the undead
The afternoon sun cast a dull, orange glow over the neighborhood, but the thick tension in the air made it feel colder than it should have been. The streets below were filled with scattered, wandering corpses pressing aimlessly against the barricaded gate. The steady banging had become background noise, a grim reminder of their new reality.
Sammy, exhausted from spending hours helping Maarg's mother prepare food, stepped onto the balcony, hoping for a moment of peace. But as soon as she did, her gaze landed on Maarg, perched precariously on the edge of the balcony, tossing small rocks down towards the zombies.
Her breath hitched. "What the hell are you doing?" she asked, her voice sharp but laced with caution.
Maarg, not even turning his head, flicked another pebble. It bounced off the pavement near a zombie's foot, and the creature twitched, turning its head sharply in that direction. "Testing a theory," he muttered.
Sammy hesitated, stepping closer but keeping a safe distance from the railing. "A theory?"
Maarg nodded, finally glancing at her with an amused smirk. "I noticed something earlier. When Mr Robert's dog barked at them, the zombies all reacted at once, like they were startled. But the weird thing? They all looked towards the dog— and flinched as the dog barking again."
Sammy frowned. "So, they're… sensitive to sound?"
"Exactly." Maarg flicked another rock, this time hitting the pavement a little further. Instantly, three zombies jerked their heads toward the noise, shuffling in its direction. "They don't see well. Maybe not at all. But their hearing is ridiculously sharp."
Sammy leaned on the railing, watching closely. "That could be useful."
"Oh, it is." Maarg sat back, balancing with unnatural ease on the balcony's edge. "I tried other things too. Banging metal together, whispering, even shifting the gravel with my foot—they respond instantly."
Sammy processed the information quickly, thinking of how they could use this to their advantage. "So, if they hear everything, we need to be quiet when we move."
Maarg smirked. "Or we use sound to our advantage. A distraction."
Sammy exhaled, impressed despite herself. "That's actually smart."
Maarg shrugged. "Oh, and one more thing."
Sammy raised an eyebrow. "There's more?"
A slow grin spread across Maarg's face. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a matchbox. Before Sammy could protest, he struck a match and tossed it over the railing. The small flame flickered as it tumbled down, landing near a scattered pile of dry leaves.
The reaction was immediate. The zombies recoiled, some stepping back as if the tiny flame was a source of absolute terror.
Sammy's eyes widened. "They're afraid of fire."
"Bingo." Maarg leaned back, his tone almost playful, but there was a dark glint in his eyes. "Now we just have to figure out how to use this to our advantage."
***
Remmy was curled up on her bed, staring at the ceiling, when she heard a light tap on her window. She stiffened, but when she turned, she saw Maarg sitting there, legs dangling over the edge.
"Hey," he said casually. "You doing alright?"
She hesitated. "I guess."
Maarg didn't look convinced, but he didn't push. He just sat there, looking out into the night.
After a long silence, Remmy sighed. "I'm sorry."
Maarg raised an eyebrow. "For what?"
She swallowed, looking away. "For back then. For… everything."
Maarg blinked, then, to her surprise, he smiled.
"You don't have to worry about that," he said, his voice calm. "I took care of it."
Something about the way he said it made her shiver.
Remmy had never really thought about what happened after "that" day. She only knew that Maarg was different when he came back.
He never talked about it. Nobody did. But things changed.
The ones who used to mess with him stopped. Some avoided him. Some… just weren't there anymore.
And Maarg? He never said a word about any of it.
She studied him now, sitting there like nothing in the world could touch him. The same Maarg who, just hours ago, had picked up a concrete bench like it was nothing.
She had always assumed he just moved on.
But maybe he hadn't. Maybe he did take care of it.
Maarg stretched, yawning. "Anyway, get some sleep. Tomorrow's gonna be worse."
And just like that, he was gone.
Remmy sat there for a long time, staring at the empty window.
The Maarg she had known before wasn't the one sitting outside her window tonight.
And she wasn't sure when that change had really happened. Or how.
But one thing was clear—whoever he was now, she didn't know him at all.
Lying on his bed, Maarg stared at the ceiling, his mind drifting back to "that day".
The cold rain. The taste of blood in his mouth. The laughter ringing in his ears.
He could still feel it—the weight of the kicks, the sting of his own helplessness. His fingers curled into fists as the memory clawed its way back.
Back then, he had been weak. Small. Powerless.
He remembered the way his body refused to move, the way his vision blurred, how he had screamed—not out of pain, but out of something deeper. Something worse.
Despair.
That night, as he lay there in the rain, barely able to breathe, he made himself a promise.
Never again.
Never again would he be the one lying on the ground.
Never again would he let himself suffer like that.
Maarg exhaled, forcing his hands to unclench.
That was a long time ago. And yet…
Some things never really left.
Shaking off the thought, he closed his eyes. Tomorrow would be worse. He needed to be ready.