The sky over Edison City was perpetually shrouded in the dirty gray of industrial smog. Yet, the sunlight filtering through the gray veil this morning carried an unusual tinge of red.
When Mara woke up, the first thing she noticed was the silence. It was an unnatural, stifling silence for a metropolis—an absolute void where the sirens, the honking, and the rhythm of life had completely ceased. Her wristwatch showed a date from the previous night, the night the catastrophe began: May 22nd, 04:30 AM.
The pillow beside her was empty. Jonas was gone.
Mara quickly opened the drawer of the nightstand. She pulled out her flashlight and the heavy, cold-barreled .45 caliber pistol she had barely managed to register. After the chaos of the previous night, she knew Jonas hadn't had the courtesy to 'ask permission' before leaving.
She approached the window. The street below was frozen like a painting. Abandoned vehicles, overturned buses, and, spread across everything, dark, wet stains. But in the middle of this scenery, something was moving.
They were silhouettes, shambling and walking with clumsy strides. Their appearance was a sickening parody of the human form. Their skin was torn in places, and their eyes were nothing more than a dull, white film reflecting only hunger.
Mara whispered: "Zombie Last Night."
Actually, it had been 'zombie' all night. A simple mutation case that started in a medical facility had broken the city's spine in seven hours. Mara and Jonas were part of a small group of ordinary people determined to survive.
A sound of forced entry came from the door. Not from downstairs, but from the seventh floor, where Mara's apartment was located.
Mara instantly pointed her weapon at the door, holding her breath. The wood creaked.
"Jonas?" she whispered, trying to keep her voice steady.
Instead of an answer, the peephole suddenly darkened. The sound coming through the door was not a noise a human could make; it was a wet, broken rattle, violently ripped from the lungs.
The door lock burst from its casing. The silhouette that stumbled in was a nightmare version of her kind, gentle, elderly neighbor, Mr. Harris. Half of Harris's face was missing, and his right arm was covered in a sticky substance that clung to everything.
The .45 in Mara's hand fired.
• BANG!
The bullet found Harris's head. The sound echoed like a hammer blow in the suffocating silence. As Harris collapsed, Mara retreated towards the fire escape window.
This was only the beginning. The gunshot had attracted the attention of the hunters below. When she dared to look out the window, she saw dozens of those dull white eyes staring up at her window.
Mara muttered, "Jonas, wherever you are, I hope you got that damn code."
She quickly threw her backpack over her shoulder and climbed onto the fire escape. Her goal was the hidden bunker on the rooftop. But the wet, broken sounds coming from the door told her they were close. Mara knew the previous night was just a trailer; the main feature was just beginning.