The first thing Naledi remembered about the end of the world was not the screams, or the blood, or the endless running. It was the silence that followed.
Before the Nexferavirus, Cape Town had been alive. The markets of Greenmarket Square buzzed with tourists and traders, the taxis on Adderley Street blared their horns, and children's laughter carried down from the townships. Table Mountain stood tall and eternal, as if nothing could shake it.
But then the virus came. It began in Groote Schuur Hospital—pregnant women burning with fever, craving raw meat. Doctors dismissed it as stress, until the babies came. They were small, fragile, and loud like all newborns—but their cries were not of helplessness. They were cries of hunger.
Naledi had been sixteen when she saw her first womb-born. She had been waiting in the hospital corridor while her mother visited a friend who had just delivered. Then the sound came—nurses screaming, the clang of metal trays, and the tearing of flesh. A nurse burst from the ward, clutching her throat as blood sprayed between her fingers. Behind her crawled the baby, its mouth too wide, its golden eyes shining in the light.
That was the day Naledi learned fear could live in your bones.
Now, years later, she crouched behind the burnt shell of a minibus taxi on Long Street, her machete clutched tight. Beside her, her younger brother Themba trembled, his ribs sharp beneath his skin. Silence stretched over the city's ruins. Cape Town was no longer a place for people. It belonged to them.
From the far side of the street, something moved. At first, it looked human—tall, lean, hunched over a carcass. But when it raised its head, Naledi saw the glow of golden eyes and the smear of flesh dripping from its jaw.
A womb-born.
Themba whimpered. Naledi pressed a finger to her lips, her gaze fixed. Nexfera's children could smell sweat and fear as easily as smoke. She had smeared their bodies with ash earlier to mask the scent, but ash only bought time.
The creature sniffed the air, its head twitching unnaturally. Then, with a sound like a laugh and a growl mixed, it darted into the shadows.
Naledi released her breath slowly. "Come," she whispered, pulling Themba's wrist. "Before it circles back."
They slipped through broken alleys, their destination looming ahead: Groote Schuur Hospital. Once the pride of South Africa, where the world's first heart transplant had been performed, it now stood as a husk. Survivors whispered of hidden supplies still inside—medicine, bandages, food. Others said it was a nest.
Naledi had no choice. Themba had been coughing blood for weeks. Without medicine, he would not last.
Inside, the hospital smelled of rot and mildew. Their footsteps echoed against cracked tiles. Stretchers lay overturned, walls stained dark. The pharmacy wing's door hung loose on rusted hinges. Naledi scanned quickly, finding a box of antibiotics, bandages still sealed, and a syringe with a yellowing cap. She shoved them into her satchel, heart pounding.
Then Themba tugged her arm. "Sisi…"
Naledi turned—and froze.
In the far corner sat a woman, her belly grotesquely swollen. Sweat dripped from her face, her skin pale and glowing with unnatural veins.
Pregnant.
The woman's eyes fluttered open. "Help… please…" she whispered, her voice broken.
Naledi's blood chilled. Every survivor knew what this meant. Nexfera's curse lived in wombs. Whatever grew inside her was not a child.
Themba's voice trembled. "We can't leave her."
Naledi clenched her jaw. She remembered their mother—how she had stayed to help a neighbor's birth. By morning, nothing was left but screams.
The woman groaned, clutching her stomach. Inside her womb, something thrashed. Not the gentle kick of a baby. The violent lunge of something caged.
Naledi raised her machete.
The woman's eyes widened in terror. "Please… not my baby…"
Then the womb screamed.
The shriek was sharp, inhuman, rattling the pharmacy walls. Themba fell to his knees, covering his ears. Naledi swung, steel slicing through blood and flesh.
And outside, across Cape Town's broken streets, other screams answered.
The city was awake.