CHAPTER 54: I’M PISSED!

"Murata must’ve sealed it after we left," Miko said tightly"He said if you weren’t back by midnight. But it’s not even midnight!"

Riku didn’t let her finish. "Hana, eyes closed," he snapped, then put another burst into the apron’s face as it lunged and slapped both hands against the van’s hood. The thing slid down the bumper with a screech of enamel on metal.

The pile grew at the base of the ramp as they fell. Riku shifted his angle to keep a clean line, conscious of the sight picture and the way the bodies could become a trip hazard for the next wave. He could feel the heat of the barrel through the guard, the thrum of the bolt through the stock into his shoulder.

"Looks like we got sabotaged. I don’t know why but they turned their back on us," Riku said.

"Then how are we going to get out here? We are trapped!" Ichika chimed with a panicked tone.

"Calm down. Pull out your pistols and do what you can to hold the zombies, I’ll breach it," Riku said, turning towards the door.

Miko, Ichika, and Suzune hold their Glock 17 steady and aim at the approaching zombies.

Riku must break into this door no matter what. It’s their only hope of survival. He was almost out of ammunition too.

Riku lined the M4’s barrel with the knob, squeezing off a single shot. The steel exploded with a sharp crack, shards of metal pinging against the walls. The door rattled, but it didn’t swing inward. He frowned, slammed a boot into the panel, and felt resistance that wasn’t structural. Something heavy was braced on the other side. Furniture. Barricade.

"They stacked it," Riku hissed.

"What?!" Ichika’s voice cracked, panic threatening to take over.

"Murata must’ve blocked it completely," Miko said, teeth grit as she fired two quick rounds into the closest biter. "They don’t want us back in."

"Then they’ve killed us!" Ichika shouted, fumbling to reload.

"Not yet," Riku snapped. He slung the rifle across his chest, drew his tomahawk, and wedged it into the splintered frame. "Keep firing. Buy me time."

Suzune’s Glock barked beside Miko’s, the sharp pops blending into the guttural moans filling the yard. Hana buried her face in Suzune’s coat, trembling but silent.

Riku yanked hard. The wood groaned, cracks spiderwebbing around the ruined knob, but the barricade inside held. Another kick dented the panel, but it rebounded with a thud, as if pressed by a dresser or shelving unit. Sweat ran down his temple.

"Come on!" he growled, ramming his shoulder into it. Pain shot down his arm, but the door only shifted an inch. He heard the scrape of wood against tile inside—proof there was something big pressed against it.

Behind him, the chorus of moans thickened. The infected had surged forward, their hands slamming against the van, their feet trampling the bodies already strewn on the ground. One managed to climb halfway onto the hood, clawing toward the windshield before Miko’s shot took its head clean off.

"We can’t hold them like this forever!" Suzune cried, her shots wild but desperate.

"You don’t have to," Riku barked, drawing back for another slam. The tomahawk punched deeper into the frame, wood splintering. He braced his boots, gritted his teeth, and hauled with everything he had.

The door cracked wider, the barricade groaning against the pressure. A sliver of dim light from inside winked through the gap.

"There!" Riku shouted.

But the barricade didn’t fall. Whoever had blocked it had done so with precision, layering weight to prevent exactly this breach.

The infected shrieked louder now, bodies piling at the base of the ramp. One stumbled past, crawling on ruined knees toward Hana and Suzune. Riku twisted mid-yank, drew his Glock, and put two rounds into its skull before it could reach them. He holstered and turned back instantly.

"We’re not done yet," he snarled, setting his shoulder once more.

Another slam. Another groan. The barricade shifted another inch, but still held.

Behind him, the dead kept coming, filling the yard with their rotten weight. Miko and Suzune reloaded in unison, brass clattering at their feet, their barrels glowing faint red from the heat.

"Riku!" Ichika shouted, pointing with her free hand. More shadows were spilling from the alley mouth—dozens, maybe more.

Time was running out.

Riku slammed the tomahawk deeper, twisting savagely until wood splinters rained across his boots. He kicked again, the panel bending inward. He heard furniture scrape violently inside—something shifting at last.

"One more push!" he growled, stepping back. He raised the M4 like a battering ram, the stock braced against his forearm, and charged forward.

The door boomed under the impact, frame splintering. For a heartbeat, the barricade inside shifted just enough to promise hope.

Riku charged again, the M4 slamming into the wood with a bone-rattling crack. This time the panel caved inward, the hinges shrieking. The barricade inside shifted violently—the screech of metal against tile echoed as whatever furniture had been pressed against the frame scraped out of place. With a final heave of his shoulder, the door gave way.

The survivors rushed forward at his signal. Suzune practically dragged Hana through, Ichika at their heels, while Miko fired two last rounds before slipping inside. Riku was the last to enter, shoving the splintered door back into its frame.

The infected hurled themselves against it instantly, fists and claws drumming against the wood. Riku grabbed the nearest shelf—iron legs bent, still half-covered in dust—and dragged it with a grunt across the entrance. Miko joined him, then Suzune, the three of them slamming the barricade back into place. A cabinet, a desk, even loose crates—all shoved until the door was sealed again.

The pounding outside grew louder, guttural cries muffled but relentless. Yet the barricade held, the vibrations dulled to a steady thrum. For now, they were safe.

Riku’s chest heaved as he lowered his weapon, sweat dripping into his eyes. He turned his glare down the hall, his jaw locked tight.

"Murata," he muttered, voice low but seething. "You’re going to explain this. And it better be good."

The others glanced at him nervously, but no one dared speak. The barricade had kept them out as much as it had kept the dead out. And that betrayal burned hotter in Riku’s veins than the fight itself.

He adjusted the M4 across his chest, eyes hard as steel. "Next time," he growled, "it won’t be zombies I’m shooting at."