Novels by Narash NZ

Chapter 7: The Silent Symphony of Car Alarms"Five miles. Five miles is basically a marathon, Maine. Do I look like a marathon runner to you? I have the lung capacity of a Victorian child with a chimney-sweeping habit."Zavier adjusted the strap of his tactical backpack, his boots crunching over shattered glass as they stepped off the porch of the blue suburban house. The morning air was crisp, smelling of distant smoke and the faint, metallic tang of blood that seemed to have permanently stained the world."You’ve been complaining for exactly four minutes, Zavier," Maine muttered, her cleaver gripped tightly in her right hand as she scanned the empty street. "At this rate, we’ll reach the hospital right around the time you run out of oxygen and finally, mercifully, stop talking.""I’m pacing my anxiety! It’s a recognized survival technique!" Zavier hissed, checking the screen of his arm-mounted phone. "Besides, the app says my 'Whining Quotient' is currently at sixty-eight percent. I

"GET IT OFF! MAINE, IT’S TASTING MY WARRANTY! IT’S LITERALLY BITING THE FIVE-YEAR EXTENDED WARRANTY ON MY TACTICAL GEAR!"Zavier’s scream was muffled by the concrete floor as the attic-dweller—a man whose moth-eaten sweater smelled like a damp basement and failure—gnawed furiously on the reinforced nylon strap of his backpack. Zavier thrashed like a beetle flipped onto its shell, his legs kicking uselessly at the air."I’m a little busy, Zavier!" Maine’s voice cracked over the roar of the garage door’s failing motor. She was currently shoulder-deep in a shoving match with a tinsel-covered mailman and a jogger who had way too much cardio for a dead person. "The front door is turning into a mosh pit! Handle your own backpack buddy!""He’s heavy! Why are zombies so dense? Is it the lack of a soul? Does a soul provide buoyancy?!" Zavier rolled hard to the left, slamming his back—and the zombie—against the leg of the heavy wooden workbench.THUMP.The zombie let out a wet, rattling grunt b

Chapter 5: Deck the Halls with Brains and Terror"Zavier! The shovel! It’s slipping!" Maine’s voice was a jagged rasp of panic and effort."I’m trying! My hands are made of butter! Everything is butter!" Zavier shrieked, his fingers white-knuckled as he gripped the handle of his folding spade.The garage door groaned—a deep, metallic protest as the motor fought against the weight of the bodies outside. Beneath the two-inch gap, those gray, twitching fingers were no longer just searching; they were hooking into the lip of the door, pulling with a strength that defied biology."The sensor! It’s still trying to go up!" Maine yelled, her boots skidding on the smooth concrete as she tried to put her weight on the metal handle. "If this thing opens, we’re a two-for-one special!""The app said the interest was due!" Zavier’s voice hit a frequency only dogs and terrified nerds could reach. "The 'Adrenaline Lie' is over! My muscles are currently on strike! I feel like a soggy piece of bread, M

Chapter 4: The Great Suburban Cardio Trial"Fair," Zavier whispered. "Totally fair.""Less talking, more running! Now!" Maine’s voice cracked like a whip.She didn't wait for a reply. She grabbed the back of Zavier’s tactical vest and hauled him toward the loading bay door. Behind them, the hum of a thousand throats unified into a singular, bone-chilling roar. The shadows at the back of the warehouse didn't just move; they surged forward like a tide of rotten meat and broken limbs."The side door! The side door is a bottleneck!" Zavier shrieked, his legs pumping with a sudden, terror-fueled burst of energy. "The app says if we hit the residential street, we can lose them in the alleys!""If we make it to the street!" Maine yelled back, her cleaver held tight as they burst through the exit and into the blinding morning light. "Why are they so fast? Zavier, why are they sprinting?!""I don't know! Maybe they’re the 'New Year, New Me' crowd!" Zavier wheezed, his heavy backpack thumping a

"Three! Four! Five! I’m coming for you, Optimizer!" Maine’s voice echoed off the rooftop vents, sounding far more athletic than Zavier felt."Wait! Wait! Truce! Tactical truce!" Zavier screamed, his boots skidding on the gravel as he reached the half-broken door of the Bistro. He didn't go inside. Instead, he spun around, holding his phone up like a white flag. "I have a mini-map! Maine, I have a literal HUD! You can’t kill the only guy with GPS!"Maine skidded to a halt five feet away, her cleaver held in a professional low-guard. Her face was flushed, a bead of sweat tracing a path through the dried blood on her forehead. "A map? You expect me to believe your phone suddenly turned into a satellite array?""Look! Just look!" Zavier thrust the screen forward, keeping his arm fully extended so she couldn't reach his throat. "See those red dots? Those are the 'Shufflers' in the parking lot. See that blue blinking thing? That’s us! And look at the alleyway behind the Bistro—it’s clear. M

"I HATE THIS APP!" Zavier screamed, his voice cracking as the rotting neighbor lunged for his throat.He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the sensation of teeth meeting jugular. Instead, a heavy thud vibrated through the floor tiles, followed by a sound like a wet sack of flour being slapped against a sidewalk."Move your head if you want to keep it attached to your neck, kid."The voice was low, sharp, and definitely not Mrs. Gable's. Zavier opened one eye. A heavy, stainless-steel cleaver was embedded deep into the side of the woman’s neck, pinning her to the linoleum like a macabre butterfly specimen.Standing over them was a woman who looked like she’d just walked out of a high-end kitchen and into a war zone. She was wearing a blood-splattered apron over a black tank top, her dark hair pulled into a messy knot. She didn't look scared. She looked profoundly annoyed."Are you going to keep laying there like a decorative rug, or are you going to get up?" she asked, putting a boot