"Not them again", Dylan was more annoyed than afraid.
Hr strode towards the glass cabinet, the one with the ancient relics. It was a pretty thing drawers and drawers full of imprtant stuff.
Dylan pulled all the documents in the lower drawer and finally found what he was looking for. The black metal made him slightly more cheerfull than his been eince morning.
His emergency gun.
Jusy as his picked up.ho gun, he heard the familiar slow guttural sound, somewhere near his left shoulder. As he spun around, papers scattered across the polished floor and his stomach plummeted. One of his coworkers—Harris—was pressed against the glass wall of the storage unit. Or what used to be Harris.
The man's jaw hung loosely, his teeth cemented in blood. One eye dangled loose, just as Amber and his shirt was shredded open, ribs glistening white through the meat. Harris slammed against the table again, just as the stench from his reached Dylan standing a feet ago.
The stench seemed to clench Dylan's nostrils. Rot, flesh , something metallic underneath. He grabbed the nearest thing—a plastic chair—and hurled it at the monster. His accirate aim hit Harris right where it was intended to and he toppled away from Dylan's sight. Before Dylan could even breathe a sigh of relie, three others poured through the silence, once-colleagues, now muttering, bodies jerking inhumanly as they lunged for him.
Dylan ran.
His shoes rubbed hard against the tile, slipping on a unfamiliar blood. Screams echoed through the building—high, animal sounds of choking and tearing. He didn't dare look back, not with the death almost fanning his neck, not when a hand—cold and clawing—snatched for his shoulder. He swung his elbow back and kept running like anything. His body had started releasing the adrenaline and his mind had chosen the flight over fight reaction.
The door was very close. If he could just—
A body fell from above, somewhat two steps in front of him. The same woman who had given him a sour face that morning when he had asked for a little advance to pay for his sister's play dress. Sandy from accounting, haughts as ever, eyes nloody and mouth cracked wide. She convulsed like a puppet and then scrambled upright on the floor blocking the path. Her lips were parted.and Dylan saw blood and meat quite clearly on her teeth.
He knew he had no other choice.
A loud bang echoed through the floor as the zombie fell backwards, dramatically as if in slow motion.
He looked at his outstretched hand, the gun still smoking from impact. Two days ago, he would have thought 500 times before even taking out the gun, even it was his life at risk.
"Well, how the times had changed", as he crossed over the temporarily unmoving body to the outside world.
By the time he burst into the street, the place outside was already unraveling.
Sirens wailed in every direction. People sprinted between cars, some screaming for help, some carrying craters and craters full of processed food, probably preparing to go into hiding. There were no lights and even the romantic evening breeze looked more ominious than it did on regular days.
Blood was sprayed across windshields of many cars, which rushed in the roads as if an notice had been issued for a natural disaster. Dylan stumbled toward his motorbike, nearly tripping over a man whose body was somewhere between a human and a zombie. His mind kept creating unpleasant thoughts, as he fumbled the keys with shaking fingers.
The dead were coming.
He felt claw at the back of his jacket, and Dylan kicked forwards, boots tensed as he placed them on the pedal. The corpse he had encountered had taken the zombie form. He shoved his bike upright, jammed the key in, and twisted. The engine roared, and he didn't wait speeding out, trying his best to not look in his side mirror.
The communication device on his belt shrieked. He clicked it out with bloody , the unease spreading through his legs.
"—Dylan! Dylan, it's Leah!" The signal flinched, background chaos behind her words. "We got her. We've got Amber. But Rose—Rose is—"
A muffled sound, somewhere between a sob and a gasp, came a little away from the the line. Dylan's gut twisted.
"Leah, talk to me. What's happening?"
"It's Rose," Leah's voice dropped, . "She… she's paralysed and is not respondingat all. I can't move her."
Dylan swore to himself, steering onto a half-blocked road.
On the other side Rose's hands trembled as she stood over the stretcher. The straps containing Amber's who was severely medicated and tranquilized, her skin pale, patches of veins blackening under the surface of her skin. Her eyes—those same eyes that used to shine with warmth when she laughed—were now bloody, unblinking, and blank.
Amber slowly blinked, her body trying hard to move but the effect of the tranquilizers was too strong, even for her zombified body
"Amber…" Rose whispered, voice breaking against the word. Her knees threatened to give away, her throat thick as if the air itself conspired to choke her.
Leah grabbed her arm hard. "Don't. Don't think like that. We are bringing her back. You hear me?"
Rose couldn't answer. She could only stare at her little sister and all the momentsthey had shared together, her chest clutching with grief.
The crash of a truck door yanked them both around.
Damien jumped down, a sharp pistolin his hand, a new face following close behind. A younger man, maybe early twenties, hair cropped and eyes sharp with adrenaline. Leah's breath caught.
"Ethan?"
The newcomer gave her a quick nod before pulling a rifle off his shoulder. "Yeah. No time. We move her—now."
Damien didn't waste a second. He scanned the perimeter, jaw tight. "This place is packed. We'll get surrounded within ten minutes if we don't move ."
Between them, they pushed Amber's stretcher into the vehicle, her muffled snarls rattling on the truck's walls. Rose forced herself to move, though her body felt heavy, every step like wading through cement.
They drove away, in silence.
Back at base, Dr. Sarah was already waiting. Her gloves snapped on as the group carried Amber inside.
"She's holding together better than expected," Sarah muttered, eyes narrowing as she examined Amber's restrained form. "Resilient. If we can stabilize her, we'll learn more than we ever imagined."
Amber writhed, the straps groaning. The effect of the sedatives was slowly getting lifted.For a heartbeat, Rose thought she heard her name whispered through the gag—then it was only another guttural snarl.
Rose turned away, her stomach in knots.
Outside the base, the city burned.
Helicopters thundered overhead, dropping floodlights onto crowds rioting at barricades. Soldiers in biohazard suits herded survivors into buses, rifles raised at anyone who resisted. .
The government's emergency broadcast played on every surviving screen: martial law effective immediately. Curfews. Evacuations. Mandatory health checks. Violators shot on sight.
The world had changed in a single day.
***********************************************
I hadn't touched my phone since morning, despite literally being on the screen since ai could remember. I was alone in my room, Andrew had gone to catch a few hours sleep before he turned into a zombie himself.
There were no new text messages. My thumb hovered over the screen, hesitating, before I scrolled back to the very last message Amber sent me.
I read it again. And again. Each time, the words sank deeper, but no answer surfaced. The question to why she had texted me and not het sister was still as blank as it had been before.
I pressed the phone flat to my chest and closed my eyes. It felt wrong, reading her words while she was strapped down somewhere, fighting whatever monster had eaten her alive. Guilt gnawed at me, but I pushed it down. There was too much else to do.
I stacked supply crates, double-checked the generator, scribbled notes for Dr. Sarah. My mind should have been on the tasks, but of course it wasn't. It wandered—like it always did when things got too quiet.
It flickered, annoyingly, to Dylan.
Not in any serious way. Just… a stray thought of his voice cutting through the night before, the way he always seemed to know what to do when the rest of us were fumbling. My brain liked to drag up old nonsense when I least wanted it to. That stupid, harmless crush I'd had years ago—God, what was I, fourteen? Fifteen? It was embarrassing to even remember.
I shook my head, almost laughing at myself. Ridiculous. Whatever that was, it was over long before the world ended.
I pushed harder on the crates until my arms ached.
Someone was watching frim a distance. Tye young familiar shadow.
Liam.
He leaned in the doorway, travel bag slung over his shoulder. Cairo . He was leaving.
"You're quiet tonight," he said. His tone was casual, but his eyes… they lingered for a little too long.
"Lot on my mind," I replied.
"Amber?"
"Of course Amber." My throat tightened. "What else?"
He nodded, slow, almost as if x raying me. "Just… keep yourself steady. Sometimes I think you onow more than you admit."
That pricked me. "You barely talk to me most days, Liam. Don't pretend you know me."
His jaw twitched. For a second, I thought he'd argue. Instead, he adjusted the strap of his bag and gave me a look I couldn't place—half worry, half suspicion.
"Take care of yourself, Lucy. Don't give me reasons to doubt."
The words lingered long after he left. I stood there, arms folded tight, annoyance buzzing under my skin. Who was he to imply anything? We weren't close, not really. So who gave him the permission to evaluate him?
Ughh, so annoying.
And yet, lying awake later, I couldn't shake the way he'd looked at me.
Like he already knew something about me, I didn't.