Zavier's Guide to Not Being Eaten

Chapter 8: The Floor is Actually Teeth

"Don’t look down! Zavier, I swear to God, if you look down and faint, I’m using your corpse as a literal bridge!"

Maine’s scream was barely audible over the mechanical wail of the black sports car’s alarm and the unified, wet roar of four hundred waking Sleepers. The bridge groaned beneath them, a rhythmic, swaying vibration that suggested the concrete was tired of holding up the apocalypse.

"I’m not looking! I’m focusing on the neon-green footprints!" Zavier bellowed back, his boots slamming onto the roof of a stalled Toyota Camry. "App! You call this a 'Safe Route'? This is just Parkour with extra steps and a high probability of becoming a human kebab!"

[ Calculated Path: 'The Urban Frogger'. ] the app chirped from his arm. [ Probability of survival if you stay on the asphalt: 0.04%. Probability of survival if you keep jumping: 12%. Choice is yours, User. ]

"Twelve percent? Those are Gacha game odds! I never win on those!" Zavier leaped from the Camry to the hood of a delivery van, his tactical backpack nearly throwing him off balance. "Maine! Jump to the FedEx truck! It’s higher ground!"

Maine didn't respond with words; she responded with a grunt of pure effort. She vaulted onto the trunk of a Corolla and then used the roof of a Jeep as a stepping stone, her cleaver gleaming in the strobe-light flashes of the car alarms. Below them, a sea of gray hands clawed at the tires, their fingernails screeching against the metal rims like a thousand possessed chalkboard scrapers.

"Zavier, the bridge is swaying too much!" Maine yelled, skidding as she landed on the white roof of the FedEx truck. "Every time they move in sync, the whole structure tips! We’re going to slide right into the mosh pit!"

"The app says we’re fifty yards from the end! Just fifty yards of high-stakes jumping!" Zavier panted, his chest burning. He looked at his screen. "Wait, it’s giving me a 'Combo Bonus' for consecutive successful landings. I just earned... a digital sticker of a gold star? Seriously?!"

"I will give you a gold star on your forehead with my cleaver if you don't move!" Maine lunged for the next vehicle, a massive black SUV.

Zavier followed, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. "Okay, okay! Next jump: the silver Volvo. It looks sturdy! Volvos are known for their safety ratings!"

"Safety ratings don't count when there’s a mailman-zombie trying to chew through the gas tank!" Maine countered, her boots hitting the Volvo’s roof with a heavy thud.

They were halfway across the gap when the bridge gave a sickening, metallic screech. One of the suspension cables snapped with a sound like a gunshot, whipping through the air and slicing through the roof of a nearby convertible. The entire section of the bridge tilted five degrees to the left.

"Whoa! Gravity! Gravity is happening!" Zavier shrieked, sliding down the slanted roof of the Volvo. He grabbed the luggage rack just in time, his legs dangling over the edge.

A dozen Sprinters immediately lunged for his boots, their teeth snapping inches from his soles.

"Zay! Get up! Now!" Maine reached back, grabbing his collar and hauling him upward with a snarl of effort.

"I’m up! I’m tactical! I’m—wait, Maine, the SUVs!"

The tilt of the bridge had caused the heavier vehicles to shift. A massive Cadillac Escalade was sliding slowly toward a Land Rover, the two heavy frames groaning as they converged. Maine was standing right in the gap, her foot caught in the tangled mess of a discarded bike rack attached to the Volvo’s rear.

"Maine! Move!"

"I’m stuck! My boot is wedged in the frame!" Maine yanked her leg, but the metal was bent tight.

The Cadillac continued its slow, inevitable slide. In ten seconds, she would be crushed between two tons of luxury steel.

Zavier’s phone vibrated violently.

[ ALERT: Critical Decision Point. ]

[ Option A: Follow the 'Optimized Safe Route' (100% chance of personal survival). ]

[ Option B: Attempt 'High-Risk Rescue' (Estimated success: 3.2%). ]

[ Note: Option A grants the 'Cold-Blooded Winner' Title. ]

"Option A leads to the finish line, Zavier!" the app’s voice was cold and analytical. "The path is glowing. Run now and you live. Stay, and the math says you both die."

"Shut up! Just shut up for one second!" Zavier screamed at his arm.

"Zavier, go!" Maine’s voice was surprisingly calm, though her hands were shaking as she tried to pry the metal rack open with her cleaver. "The bridge is going. If you stay, you’re just another body in the pile. Get to the hospital. Tell them... tell them I was the best damn chef in the city."

"I’m not leaving you to be a sandwich filling for two SUVs, Maine!" Zavier scrambled back toward her, his boots slipping on the blood-slicked roof. "And your risotto was way too salty! You can’t die until you fix it!"

"You're an idiot! The app is right, look at the math!"

"I’ve spent my whole life looking at screens and math! I’m sick of it!" Zavier dove off the Volvo, landing in the narrow, narrowing gap between the two vehicles.

"What are you doing? You’re going to get crushed!" Maine shrieked.

"Tactical application of leverage!" Zavier shoved his folding shovel—the 'Versatile Soul of Survival'—into the space between the Cadillac’s bumper and the Volvo’s frame. He used the handle as a pry bar, the steel groaning under the pressure. "Come on... you overpriced piece of junk... move!"

"Zavier, it's not working! The Cadillac is too heavy!"

"Push! Maine, push against the Volvo! Give me an inch!" Zavier’s face turned a deep, alarming purple. His muscles, already screaming from the 'Adrenaline Lie' debt, felt like they were about to snap.

[ Warning: Muscle fiber integrity at 40%. ]

[ Advice: You are being suboptimal. ]

"I’ll show you suboptimal!" Zavier roared, putting his entire body weight into the shovel handle.

CRACK.

The bike rack’s metal frame snapped. Maine’s leg flew free just as the Cadillac slammed into the Volvo with a bone-jarring CRASH. The sound of crumpling metal echoed across the bridge.

Zavier felt the wind of the impact graze his chest as he rolled backward onto the hood of the Cadillac, Maine falling on top of him.

"You... you actually did it," Maine breathed, her eyes wide as she stared at the crushed metal where her leg had been seconds ago.

"Of course I did," Zavier wheezed, his lungs feeling like they were full of broken glass. "I’m an... optimizer. I just optimized... your life expectancy."

Maine looked at him for a long beat. The sarcasm was gone from her expression. She reached out, gripping his shoulder with a hand that was finally steady. "Zavier?"

"Yeah?"

"That was... actually pretty cool. For a guy who uses tinsel as a weapon."

Zavier grinned, though it looked more like a grimace. "Does this mean I’m not a 'Professional Coward' anymore?"

Before Maine could answer, the app chimed with a series of frantic, high-pitched beeps.

[ Notification: Social Standing Updated. ]

[ Status: 'Meat Shield' has recognized your value. ]

[ Relationship Rank: 'Unlikely Allies'. ]

[ Reward: 100 Survival Points (The 'True Grit' Bonus). ]

"See? Even the app is impressed," Zavier muttered, checking the HUD. "But we’re not out of the woods yet. The bridge exit is right there."

They scrambled to their feet, jumping from the hood of the Cadillac to the top of a city bus that had stalled at the very edge of the bridge. The asphalt of the city street was only ten feet away. The sprinting horde was still behind them, but the bridge’s collapse had slowed them down, creating a massive gap of twisted metal and falling cars that the undead couldn't easily cross.

"We made it," Maine panted, jumping down from the bus onto the solid ground of the intersection. "Five miles to go, but we’re off that deathtrap."

Zavier landed beside her, his knees buckling. He checked his phone. "The signal is stronger. We’re on the right track. We just need to—"

He stopped.

The silence of the city street was different from the bridge. It wasn't the silence of a vacuum; it was the silence of a predator holding its breath.

"Zavier? Why did you stop?" Maine asked, her cleaver already back in her hand.

Zavier didn't answer. He just pointed upward.

In the center of the road, clinging to the side of a half-collapsed traffic light pole, was something that wasn't a Shambler or a Sprinter. It was thin, far too long, its limbs articulated like a spider’s. Its skin was a translucent, bruised purple, stretched tight over a skeletal frame. It didn't have eyes—just a massive, vertical slit of a mouth that ran from its forehead to its chest, lined with rows of needle-like teeth.

It moved with a sickening, liquid grace, its long fingers tapping against the metal pole with a rhythmic tink... tink... tink...

"App," Zavier whispered, his voice trembling. "Tell me that’s a hallucination caused by low blood sugar."

[ Analysis: Class-4 Mutation (The 'Wall-Crawler'). ]

[ Behavior: Ambush Predator. ]

[ Speed: Extremely High. ]

[ Advice: Remember when I said 'Run'? I’d like to upgrade that to 'Ascend to a higher plane of existence', because your current physical form is about to be processed into a liquid. ]

The Wall-Crawler’s head—if you could call it that—tilted to the side. The massive vertical mouth twitched, releasing a sound like a violin string snapping in slow motion.

"Maine?" Zavier squeaked, backing away slowly.

"Yeah, Zay?"

"You know how I said I’m the leader now?"

"Yeah?"

"I’m officially resigning," Zavier whispered. "Back to being a coward. On three?"

"On three."

The Wall-Crawler lunged, dropping from the pole with a speed that bypassed the human eye.

"ONE! TWO! THREE! RUN!"

The two survivors bolted into the dark canyons of the city, their screams echoed by the chattering hunger of the thing behind them.

[TO BE CONTINUED]