Sam wakes up in an abandoned supermarket with only 17 minutes left before something finds him. Desperate, he runs into Luna and, in an act of urgency, they have brutal sex. The arrival of Luna's boyfriend, Damián, complicates the situation, but together they try to survive while time runs out...
Cold sweat trickled down the back of Sam's neck as he opened his eyes. There was no transition, no blurring of sleep and wakefulness. Just the weight of a stopwatch in his palm, his trembling fingers closing around the slick plastic as the red numbers blinked in the darkness: 00:17:43. Seventeen minutes. That was all he had left before they found him.
The air smelled of rotten meat and burnt plastic, a stench that clung to his throat like tar. He sat up with a groan, his muscles rigid, as if he hadn't moved for days. The floor beneath his hands was cold, damp, covered in a black dust that clung to his fingers. When he looked up, the supermarket stretched out before him, a maze of empty shelves and fluorescent lights that flickered like dying breaths. Some had already gone out, leaving entire areas plunged in thick darkness, where shadows moved on their own.
Sam ran his tongue over his chapped lips and tasted blood metallically. The shopping cart beside him creaked as he grabbed it, the rusted metal groaning beneath his fingers. The wheels squealed as he dragged it along, leaving a wet trail on the sticky linoleum. He didn't remember how he got there. He didn't remember anything before the stopwatch. He only knew that if he stopped, if he stopped moving, they'd catch him. And he didn't want to know what would happen then.
She made her way through the aisles, her heart hammering against her ribs. The products on the shelves were covered in a grayish coating, as if time had rotted them from within. Bulging cans, burst cereal boxes, bottles with black liquid inside. As she turned into the dairy aisle, the smell became unbearable: sour milk, rotten cheese, something else she couldn't identify. She stopped in front of the refrigerators, their doors ajar, the cold steam escaping like phantom breaths. Inside, only darkness.
That's when he saw her.
She was crouching between two shelves, her fingers digging into a bag of bread that wasn't bread anymore, but a shapeless, slimy mass. She was wearing a baggy band T-shirt he didn't recognize, so dirty the logo had become a blur, and ripped jeans that exposed the pale curve of her thighs. Her hair, brown and tangled, fell across her face like curtains, but Sam could see the flash of her eyes when she looked at him. There was no fear in them. Just a kind of hungry resignation.
There were no words.
Sam let go of the cart and moved toward her. They were both in danger of falling asleep. They needed their bodies to be activated with sex or movement. In this world of terror, they can only sleep at other times. For now, they must endure and not lose calories or physical strength with an urgency he couldn't explain. The girl didn't move, not even when he grabbed her wrist, tortured by the dream of being awake, and dragged her toward him. His fingers were cold, almost cadaverous, but beneath them throbbed a faint pulse, like a bird trapped in a cage of bones. He pushed her against the nearest shelf, the yogurt containers falling to the floor with a thud. She gasped but didn't resist. Her lips parted, pink and wet, and Sam felt his own body respond with an urgency that both embarrassed and excited him. As they both relieved themselves,
"We don't have time," she murmured, but her hands were already on his belt, clumsily unbuckling it.
Sam didn't expect tenderness. He didn't want it. He needed to feel, even if it was pain, even the rough brush of sweaty skin against his own. He took a condom out of his pocket—he couldn't remember when he'd put it there—and unrolled it over his cock with hands that kept shaking. He was hard, painfully hard, blood pumping through his veins as if he were about to burst. The girl leisurely pulled up her shirt, revealing small but firm breasts, their nipples dark and erect. She wasn't wearing a bra.
When Sam entered her, it was without warning, without foreplay. A brutal thrust that pinned her against the cold metal of the shelf. She screamed, her nails digging into his shoulders, but it wasn't a cry of pain, but of relief. As if that, that dirty, desperate act, was the only thing keeping them anchored to some semblance of reality.
"Harder," she gasped, her legs wrapping around his waist. "Break me."
Sam obeyed.
Each thrust was a blow, an attempt to drown out the ticking of the timer in her ears. The sound of their bodies colliding mingled with the crunch of the containers beneath their feet, with the distant moan of the dying lights. The girl smelled of sweat and something sweet, like melted candy, and every time Sam sank into her, her pussy squeezed him with an almost painful force, as if she didn't want to let go.
"Do you like it like this?" he growled, gripping her hips so tightly he knew it would leave bruises. "Do you like me fucking you like a whore in the middle of this hellhole?"
She laughed, a broken, joyless sound.
—Yes. Because if we stop, they'll find us.
Sam didn't want to think about them. He didn't want to remember the tall, thin figures he'd seen moving through the halls, their faces—if they had faces—distorted, as if someone had stretched skin over bones that didn't fit together. Creatures that whispered in languages that weren't languages, that left behind a trail of burning cold.
He focused on her warmth, on how her breathing grew faster, shallower, each time he filled her completely. He could feel her swollen clit rubbing against his base with every movement, sweat trickling down her back. She arched, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling hard.
"Cum inside me," she begged. "Now."
But then, a voice interrupted them.
—It's not enough.
Sam looked up.
A boy stood a few feet away, arms crossed, jaw set. He wore a hoodie that obscured part of his face, but his eyes—dark, almost black—saw with an intensity that made Sam's skin crawl. He didn't seem angry. Just… observant.
"Touch helps," the boy said, taking a step forward. "But it's not the only thing that keeps us awake. The basic needs, Sam. Hunger. Thirst. Sex. It all counts."
The girl moaned beneath him, her pussy muscles contracting around his cock as if trying to hold him back.
"This is my boyfriend," she gasped, as if that explained anything.
Sam didn't stop. He couldn't. The stopwatch read 00:12:58.
"Then join me," he spat, still moving inside her. "If it keeps us alive, do it."
The boy needed no further invitation.
He approached, calmly unbuttoning his pants, as if they were at a party and not a rotten supermarket on the verge of collapse. His cock was thick, longer than Sam's, and when he pulled it out, it was already semi-erect, the head glistening with precum. The girl reached out a hand toward him, her fingers trembling, but he pushed her away.
"No," he said, his smile not reaching his eyes. "You first."
Before Sam could react, the boy knelt in front of them, grabbing the girl's hips and burying his face between her thighs. His tongue went straight to her clit, licking in quick, precise circles as Sam continued to fuck her mercilessly. The girl cried out, her body jerking between them, her breasts swaying with every movement.
—God, yes! Like that! Don't stop, please!
The boy thrust two fingers inside her at the same time Sam plunged himself balls deep, stretching her in a way that made her walls clench like a fist around Sam's cock. The pleasure was so intense that for a second, Sam forgot about the timer. Forgot about the fear.
There was only that. The heat. The humidity. The obscene sound of their bodies colliding.
When he came, it was with a roar. He came inside her with violent spasms, his hot semen filling the condom as the girl came too, her inner muscles strangling him, her body jerking as if she were being electrocuted. The boy didn't stop, continuing to lick and suck until she pulled away with a pitiful moan.
—Enough… I can't take it anymore…
Sam slumped against the shelf, panting, sweat dripping from his forehead. The stopwatch now read 00:09:17. Less than ten minutes.
The girl slid down, thighs trembling, and leaned against her boyfriend, who hugged her with a casualness that Sam found odd. As if this were normal. As if fucking in the middle of the apocalypse was just another thing on his to-do list.
"Thank you," she murmured, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand.
Sam nodded, still breathless. He removed the used condom—full to the brim—and threw it on the ground without looking at it. There were no trash cans. It didn't matter.
"What's your name?" he asked, taking his phone out of his pocket. The screen was cracked, but it still worked.
"Luna," she replied, while her boyfriend, Damian, put an arm around her shoulders.
Sam typed their names into his contacts. He didn't know why. Maybe because, in a world where everything was fading away, phone numbers were the closest thing to a promise.
"Save it," he said, showing the screen. "If we get separated..."
"We won't separate," Damian interrupted, but his voice didn't sound convinced.
The lights flickered.
A metallic sound echoed in the distance, as if something heavy had fallen. The air grew colder, the steam from their breaths condensing in front of their faces.
"We have to block the doors," Luna said, straightening with effort. "If they get in..."
He didn't finish the sentence. There was no need to.
Sam nodded. He grabbed the now-empty cart and pushed it toward the main entrance, where the glass doors revealed the parking lot outside, plunged in a darkness so thick it seemed solid. Damián and Luna followed, dragging metal shelves and crates of drinks. They piled up everything they could find: sacks of rotten rice, glass bottles, broken furniture. Nothing would be enough, but it was better than nothing.
When they finished, Sam stared at the stopwatch. 00:05:42.
"Do you think we'll wake up?" Luna asked, snuggling up to Damian.
Sam didn't respond. In the reflection in the glass, his face looked like a stranger's. Sunken eyes, gaunt cheeks, cracked lips. Behind him, the supermarket faded into shadows, as if the building itself were being devoured.
Outside, the darkness was endless.
And the clock kept ticking.