The humidity in Antipolo City was stifling. Inside the gates of Antipolo National High School, the atmosphere shifted from the usual afternoon boredom to a chilling sense of dread.
Mina stood by the window of her third-floor classroom. Below, the school grounds were a chaotic mess. The security guards were frantically ushering everyone inside—both the morning shift students who were supposed to be heading home and the afternoon shift who had just arrived.
"Lock the gates! Don't let them in!" a guard screamed, his voice cracking.
Outside the iron bars, the streets of Antipolo were a nightmare of screaming civilians and stumbling, blood-stained figures. The school felt like a fortress, but Mina knew a fortress could easily become a cage. She clutched her phone, her thumb hovering over one name: Ray.
The Awakening
Miles away, in a quiet residential pocket of the city, Ray woke up to the sound of breaking glass. His body felt like lead. For days, a mysterious fever had pinned him to his bed, rendering him helpless while the world outside fell apart.
"Ray! You have to get up!" his mother cried, rushing into his room.
He tried to sit up, but his muscles failed him. He watched in a daze as his family tried to barricade the door. The growls from the hallway were getting louder—inhuman, hungry sounds.
"I can't... I can't move," Ray rasped.
His mother looked at him, tears streaming down her face. She remembered the papers she had signed for him just weeks ago—his voluntary enlistment into the military reserve. She grabbed a heavy, locked duffel bag from under his bed.
"If you survive this," she whispered, kissing his forehead, "you fight. You stay alive."
Five Days Later
Ray opened his eyes. The fever was gone, replaced by a cold, sharpened clarity. The house was silent. On the bedside table lay an arm mass (military insignia) and a crumpled note from his mother.
We had to leave to draw them away from the house. You were still sleeping. Use what's in the bag. Survive, Ray. We will find you.
Ray opened the duffel bag. Inside was a full military kit: a pristine uniform, a tactical vest, a satellite phone, and a walkie-talkie. But most importantly—a standard-issue rifle.
He stepped outside, the Antipolo sun stinging his eyes. The street was a graveyard. He saw several fallen soldiers near his gate, their uniforms torn, their bodies lifeless. They had died defending this perimeter.
Ray knelt beside them, his face grim. He began scavenging.
Tactical Bags: 5 looted from the fallen.
Ammo Boxes: 50 boxes of assorted rounds.
Magazines: 50 fully loaded mags.
He spotted a military-grade motorcycle leaning against a post, the keys still in the ignition. He hopped on, the engine roaring to life. He had one destination in mind: the nearby supermarket for supplies.
The Hunger at School
Switch: Back to the High School
Inside the school, the initial safety had turned into a slow death. Food was running out. The canteen had been emptied days ago, and the hundreds of students trapped inside were growing desperate.
Mina sat in the corner of the darkened library, her phone battery at 4%. She kept dialling Ray's number, her hand trembling.
Ring... ring...
"Please, Ray... pick up," she whispered to the dead air. "We're starving. If you can hear me... please, bring us food. Bring us anything."
She looked out at the hallway. Some students were already eyeing the exit, driven mad by hunger. In the distance, the sound of a motorcycle echoed through the hills of Antipolo.
Ray kicked the starter of the rugged Kawasaki Barako. On the third try, the engine roared to life, a mechanical growl that felt like a heartbeat in a graveyard. He didn't have the luxury of silence. In the stillness of post-apocalyptic Antipolo, the sound was a dinner bell for the damned.
He gripped the handlebars, his knuckles white against the black rubber. The weight of the M16 slung across his back was a heavy reminder of his new reality. He wasn't just a sick kid anymore; he was a soldier by circumstance, a survivor by sheer will.
"Mina, hold on," he whispered into the wind.
He revved the engine and sped out of the gate, swerving past the bloated, motionless bodies of the two soldiers he had found earlier. He didn't look back. As he hit the main road, the scale of the devastation became clear. The vibrant, bustling streets of the "Pilgrimage Capital" were now a labyrinth of stalled jeepneys, abandoned tricycles, and the wreckage of a civilization that had collapsed in less than a week.
The Supermarket Run
The nearest supermarket was a Savemore branch a few kilometers away. As Ray sped down the highway, he saw them—the undead. They weren't like the slow, bumbling creatures from old movies. These were "Shamblers" that turned into "Sprinters" the moment they caught a scent. They were grey-skinned, their eyes clouded with cataracts, their mouths stained with dried, dark gore.
A group of them noticed the motorcycle. They let out a guttural, screeching howl—a sound that vibrated in Ray's very bones—and began to give chase. Ray leaned into the turn, his heart hammering against his ribs. He couldn't afford to waste ammunition yet. He used the bike's speed to weave through the gridlock, the wind whipping past his tactical vest.
He reached the supermarket parking lot. It was a scene of carnage. Shattered glass littered the pavement, and the smell of rot was overpowering. He killed the engine and let the bike coast into a dark corner behind a delivery truck, hoping the silence would hide him.
He unslung the M16, checked the chamber—brass in the hole—and clicked the safety to semi-auto. His training, though brief and interrupted by illness, began to kick in. Scan the perimeter. Check your corners.
The sliding doors of the supermarket were partially off their tracks. Inside, the emergency lights flickered, casting long, dancing shadows over the aisles. Ray stepped inside, the soles of his combat boots crunching on spilled cornflakes and broken jars of jam.
He moved toward the canned goods section. The shelves were raided, but not empty. Most people had panicked, grabbing bread and perishables that were now moldy piles of filth. He found what he needed: canned sardines, corned beef, and large sacks of rice that had been overlooked in the initial chaos.
He pulled a large trekking bag from a nearby display and began stuffing it with high-calorie items.
Clang.
Ray froze. The sound came from the back of the store, near the meat cold storage. It was the sound of metal hitting metal.
He raised his rifle, peering through the iron sights. A figure emerged from the shadows. It wasn't a zombie. It was a man, thin and haggard, holding a blood-stained meat cleaver. He was dragging a crate of bottled water.
"Don't shoot!" the man hissed, his eyes wide with terror. "I'm just trying to feed my kids!"
Ray lowered the barrel slightly but didn't engage the safety. "Are there more of you?"
"Just me and my two girls in the back office. Please... there's enough for everyone."
Before Ray could respond, a window at the front of the store shattered. The noise of the motorcycle had drawn a "Hordelet." Three zombies burst through the glass, their limbs twitching with unnatural speed.
"Run!" Ray shouted.
He raised the M16 and squeezed the trigger. Pop-pop-pop! The recoil felt familiar, a rhythmic kick against his shoulder. The first zombie's head blossomed in a spray of grey matter. The second took two rounds to the chest before a third bullet found its mark in the temple.
The man with the cleaver didn't run to the back; he froze in fear. The third zombie, a former security guard still wearing a tattered uniform, lunged at him.
"Move!" Ray yelled, but it was too late. The creature tackled the man, teeth sinking into his neck. A fountain of crimson sprayed the white floor tiles.
Ray fired, ending the creature's life, but the damage was done. The man lay gurgling, his life's blood pooling around the water bottles. Ray felt a cold shiver. In this new world, hesitation was a death sentence.
He grabbed the man's crate of water, added it to his haul, and retreated. He couldn't help the man's children—he didn't even know where the "back office" was, and the screams from the street suggested hundreds more were coming. He had to prioritize. He had to get to Mina.
The Siege of Antipolo National High School
Back at the school, the situation had turned from desperate to catastrophic.
The cafeteria was a pressure cooker of teenage hormones and primal fear. Teachers were trying to maintain order, but their voices were drowned out by the cries of hungry children. The "Morning Shift" and "Afternoon Shift" students—nearly three thousand of them—were packed into the main building.
Mina sat on the floor of the Science Lab, the satellite phone clutched to her chest. Beside her was Sarah, her best friend, who was shivering despite the tropical heat.
"He's not coming, Mina," Sarah whispered. "Nobody is coming. Did you see the news before the internet went down? It's everywhere. Manila is gone. The government is in Cebu, or maybe they're gone too."
"Ray is different," Mina said, though her voice lacked conviction. "He promised."
Suddenly, a loud boom shook the building. The students screamed in unison.
"They're through the North Gate!" someone shouted from the hallway.
The dambuhalang gate, the one the guard had tried so hard to bolt, had finally buckled under the sheer mass of the thousands of undead pressing against it. They weren't just walkers; they were a tide of rotting flesh, driven by a single, mindless hunger.
Mina ran to the window. Below, she saw the sea of grey heads pouring into the courtyard. The security guards tried to hold them back with shotguns, but for every one they downed, ten more took its place. The guards were swamped in seconds. Their screams were mercifully short.
"Barricade the doors!" a teacher yelled. "Use the desks! Everything!"
Mina watched as the zombies began to scale the walls, climbing over each other like ants to reach the second-floor windows. She grabbed a lab stool, her hands shaking. This wasn't a school anymore. It was a slaughterhouse.
She pressed the button on the satellite phone again. "Ray! If you can hear me... the North Gate is down! We're in the Science Building, second floor! Ray, please!"
The Road to the School
Ray heard the crackle of the satellite phone over the roar of the engine. Mina's voice was distorted by static and terror, but the message was clear.
North Gate is down.
He was currently flying down Sumulong Highway. He had looted a tactical helmet from a police cruiser, and the visor helped keep the wind and the blood spray out of his eyes. He saw the school in the distance, perched on the hillside. It looked like a fortress under siege.
Smoke rose from several points in the city. The beautiful view of the Manila skyline, usually a point of pride for Antipolo residents, was now obscured by a thick, black haze of burning buildings.
As he approached the school perimeter, he realized the main entrance was impassable. Thousands of zombies blocked the road. He needed a different way in.
He remembered a small service road used by delivery trucks that led to the back of the gym. It was steep and narrow, bordering a ravine.
He swerved the bike onto the dirt path, the tires sliding on loose gravel. He had to go full throttle to make the incline. A few "lurkers" jumped from the bushes, but he kicked them away, the heavy bike acting like a battering ram.
He reached the back fence of the school. It was chain-link, topped with barbed wire. He didn't have wire cutters.
"Damn it!" he cursed.
He looked at the bike, then at the fence. He backed up, revved the engine until it screamed, and drove straight at a section of the fence where a tree had partially fallen, creating a makeshift ramp.
The bike took flight.
For a split second, Ray was airborne, the world falling silent. Then, a bone-jarring impact. The bike cleared the fence, landing hard on the asphalt of the school's basketball court. He skidded, the bike laying low on its side, sparks flying as it slid into a stack of plastic chairs.
Ray rolled, coming to his feet with the M16 already leveled.
He was inside. But he wasn't alone.
The basketball court was littered with bodies in blue and white uniforms. Some were still moving—slowly, painfully.
"Mina!" he roared, his voice echoing through the open-air gym.
A group of "students"—their faces torn, their eyes glowing with a feral hunger—turned toward the sound. They began to sprint.
Ray planted his feet. He had 50 magazines. He had thousands of rounds. And he had a promise to keep.
"Come on then," he growled, pulling the charging handle. "Let's see who's ready for graduation."
The M16 began to bark, the muzzle flashes lighting up the darkening gym. One by one, the monsters fell. Ray moved with a cold, surgical precision. Every bullet was a life saved, or a soul put to rest.
He fought his way toward the Science Building, a lone soldier in a sea of ghosts, determined to turn the "Hour of Reckoning" into an hour of survival.
The M16 bucked against Ray's shoulder, the report sharp and deafening inside the open gym. Brass casings clattered against the concrete like rain. The sprinting figures dropped one by one—some collapsing mid-stride, others skidding across the blood-slick floor.
But there were too many.
The gym's floodlights flickered, one dying completely, plunging half the court into shadow. The zombies didn't slow. They didn't hesitate. They climbed over fallen bodies, slipping in gore, scrambling forward with broken fingers and twisted legs that somehow still carried them at full speed.
Ray transitioned targets without thinking. Head. Head. Head.
Click.
He ducked behind the overturned scorer's table as the bolt locked back. Muscle memory took over—mag out, new mag in, slap, rack. The motion was smooth, practiced, almost calm.
Almost.
A shrill scream cut through the gunfire.
"MAY KUMAKAGAT SA HALLWAY!"
Ray peeked out. Through the glass doors leading into the main building, he saw silhouettes moving—students running, tripping over each other, pursued by grey shapes that burst through the doors like water through a cracked dam.
"Science Building," he muttered. "I'm close. Just—hold on."
He popped a smoke grenade from his vest and tossed it toward the center of the gym.
White smoke bloomed, thick and choking.
The zombies faltered, confused, slamming into each other.
Ray sprinted.
Second Floor – Science Building
The hallway reeked of blood and ammonia. Fire alarms wailed overhead, their red lights flashing like a heartbeat. Broken glass crunched under Ray's boots as he cleared each corner, rifle up, finger indexed.
A student burst from a classroom and slammed into him.
"Sir! SIR—!"
Ray grabbed him by the collar and shoved him behind a pillar.
"Quiet," he snapped. "Where's the Science Lab?"
"D-Down there—second room left—"
A zombie lunged from behind the boy.
Ray fired once.
The body dropped at their feet, twitching.
The boy stared at the corpse, then at Ray, shaking violently.
"Barricade," Ray said, already moving. "Hide. Don't open for anyone."
He didn't wait for a reply.
The Reunion
The Science Lab door shook violently as something slammed into it from the outside.
Inside, desks were stacked chest-high. Beakers and burners littered the floor. Students huddled in corners, crying silently, clutching makeshift weapons—stools, broken broom handles, even a fire axe pulled from its case.
Mina stood near the door.
Her eyes widened.
"Ray?"
The word barely escaped her lips before the door burst inward.
Three zombies poured through.
Ray didn't slow down.
Three shots.
Three bodies.
Silence followed, broken only by ragged breathing and the distant screams from elsewhere in the school.
Mina stared at him like he was something unreal.
He lowered the rifle.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
Then she ran.
She slammed into him, arms tight around his waist, face buried against his chest. He staggered back a step, then wrapped one arm around her, the other still holding the rifle, scanning.
"I thought—you were—" her voice broke.
"I know," he said quietly. "I'm here now."
Sarah started crying openly.
A teacher whispered, "Thank God."
Ray pulled back, just enough to look at Mina. She was thinner. Her eyes were sunken. There was dried blood on her sleeve that wasn't hers.
"We don't have long," he said. "How many?"
"Thirty-two," the teacher answered. "Including us."
Ray nodded. "We're leaving."
A murmur rippled through the room—fear, hope, disbelief.
"The gym is compromised," Ray continued. "North Gate's gone. But there's a breach at the back fence. We move now, or we don't move at all."
"What about the others?" someone asked.
Ray didn't answer immediately.
Then: "If they can walk, they come."
The silence that followed was heavier than gunfire.
The Breakout
They moved as a column, Ray in front, Mina directly behind him, gripping the strap of his vest like a lifeline. He handed the fire axe to a trembling male teacher.
"You swing only if I tell you," Ray said. "Not before."
They descended the stairs.
The first floor hallway was a killing ground.
Bodies everywhere—students, guards, teachers. Some were still moving.
Ray didn't fire unless he had to. Ammunition, no matter how much he carried, was still finite.
A zombie burst from a faculty room, knocking a girl down.
Ray shot it point-blank.
"UP!" he barked, hauling the girl to her feet. "MOVE!"
They reached the gym just as the smoke thinned.
The horde turned.
Dozens of heads snapped toward them.
"Oh God," Sarah whispered.
Ray stepped forward.
"Stay behind me," he said. "No matter what."
He opened fire.
Crossing the Court
The gym became hell.
Zombies poured in from every entrance—locker rooms, hallways, even climbing down from the bleachers. Ray advanced backward, firing controlled bursts, carving a path through flesh.
The teacher with the axe screamed as a zombie grabbed his arm.
Ray shot it.
Another latched onto his leg.
Ray kicked it down and put a round through its skull.
They were halfway across when the ammo counter in his head screamed low.
He threw another smoke grenade.
"RUN!"
They ran.
Two didn't make it.
One tripped and disappeared under a pile of bodies.
Another was dragged screaming into the locker room.
Mina didn't look back.
She couldn't.
The Fence
The hole Ray had made earlier was barely holding.
Outside, the city burned.
Sirens wailed somewhere far away, then cut off abruptly.
Ray fired his last rounds covering the group as they squeezed through the breach.
When the bolt locked back again, he didn't reload.
He drew his sidearm.
Three shots. Three kills.
They spilled onto the dirt service road.
Ray turned and fired the last round into the skull of a zombie reaching through the fence.
Silence.
For now.
Aftermath
They didn't stop running until their lungs burned and their legs shook.
They collapsed behind an abandoned delivery truck, gasping.
Thirty-two had entered the lab.
Twenty-seven stood now.
Ray leaned against the truck, finally letting the rifle hang. His hands were shaking—not from fear, but from the sudden absence of it.
Mina sat beside him, still gripping his vest.
"You came back," she said.
He nodded once. "I said I would."
In the distance, Antipolo National High School burned.
The fortress had fallen.
And the war had just begun.