LENA
The screaming rips through the night.
It's not one voice. It's several. High and panicked and raw. Coming from the parking lot.
Rafe is already moving. He grabs the rifle from where he left it by the door. "Stay here."
"Not a chance."
I'm right behind him. Petra tries to stand but I push her back down. "You're injured. Stay."
"Lena—"
"Stay."
Jax pulls a handgun from his jacket. "I'll watch her."
Rafe and I burst through the motel door.
The parking lot is chaos.
A woman is running between cars, screaming for help. Behind her, stumbling out of the darkness, is a man. His movements are wrong. Jerking. Twitching. His head lolls at an angle that makes my stomach turn.
"Oh god," I whisper.
It's one of them.
Day Four. The virus shouldn't have spread this fast. The infected shouldn't be here yet.
But he is.
The woman trips. Falls. The infected man lurches toward her.
Rafe raises the rifle. "Get down!"
The woman flattens to the ground.
Rafe fires.
The shot echoes across the parking lot. The infected man drops.
For three seconds, everything is silent.
Then more shapes emerge from the darkness. Five. Ten. Twenty.
All of them moving with that same horrible, broken gait.
"Back inside," Rafe says. "Now."
We run.
We slam the door. Lock it. Rafe shoves the dresser against it while I grab the woman from the parking lot and drag her in.
She's sobbing. "They came out of nowhere. My husband—he was fine this morning—and then he just—"
"When did he get sick?" I ask.
"Yesterday. Fever. We thought it was the flu." She's hyperventilating. "Then he died. Right there on the bed. And an hour later he—he got up—"
Petra is on her feet now, injuries forgotten. "Lena. If people are already turning—"
"The timeline is collapsing," I finish. "Everything is happening faster."
The window shatters.
An arm reaches through. Gray skin. Broken fingers. Grabbing.
Jax fires. The arm jerks back.
"We need to leave," Rafe says. "Now. This place isn't defensible."
He's right. The motel room has too many windows. Too many access points. We're sitting ducks.
"Where?" Petra asks.
I think fast. "The industrial site. It's the only place that's secure enough."
"It's not ready," Jax says.
"It's more ready than here."
Rafe nods. "We take two vehicles. Caravan. Stay together."
We move fast. Grab our bags. The maps. The supplies. The woman from the parking lot is still sobbing but she follows us.
Outside, the infected are spreading through the lot. At least thirty now. Maybe more.
"My truck," Rafe says, pointing. "Fifty yards. Think you can make it?"
I look at the distance. At the bodies between us and safety.
"Yes."
"On my signal. Ready?"
I nod.
He raises the rifle. Fires three shots. The infected turn toward the sound.
"Go!"
We run.
Petra is slower with her injuries. I grab her arm and half-drag her forward. The woman from the parking lot is screaming again. Jax is right behind us, firing at anything that gets close.
Twenty yards.
An infected lurches into my path. I don't think. I just react. Knife out. Straight into the temple. It drops.
Ten yards.
Rafe reaches the truck first. Yanks the door open. "Get in!"
We pile in. Rafe guns the engine. Tires screech. We're moving before the last door is closed.
Behind us, Jax follows in his car with the woman.
I look back at the motel. The infected are swarming it. Dozens of them. All shambling toward where we just were.
"That was too close," Petra breathes.
"That was Day Four," I say quietly. "This is what Day Ninety-Two looked like in my timeline. We just lost eighty-eight days."
Rafe's knuckles are white on the steering wheel. "The virus is mutating faster. Or someone released it early. Either way—"
"Either way, we're out of time."
The industrial site is dark when we arrive. Empty. Exactly how I remembered it.
Rafe parks inside the main building. Jax pulls in beside us. We all get out slowly, weapons ready.
But there's nothing here. Just empty space and echoes.
"This is it?" Jax asks. "This is the Ark?"
"It will be," I say. "Once we fortify it."
The woman from the motel is staring at us. "What is this place? What's happening?"
Petra puts a hand on her shoulder. "What's your name?"
"Sarah."
"Sarah, I'm Petra. This is going to sound insane, but you need to listen very carefully."
While Petra explains, I walk to the center of the empty building. My footsteps echo. This space saved two hundred people in my first life. It can do it again.
If we're fast enough.
Rafe appears beside me. "You okay?"
"No." I look at him. "We had a plan. Three months. Time to prepare. Now we have—what? Weeks? Days?"
"We have right now. That's all we ever have."
I want to scream. Want to break something. Want to go back in time and stop this before it started.
But I can't.
All I can do is move forward.
"Tell me about the ability," Rafe says quietly. "The hum. How does it work?"
I press my hand to the base of my skull. "It's like a radar. Gets stronger when they're close. Directional. I can tell how many and which way they're moving."
"And it started after you came back?"
"It started in my first life. After the bites. But this time it activated early. Like my body remembered."
He's quiet for a moment. "Can you feel them now?"
I close my eyes. Focus. The hum is faint but present. Multiple signals. Moving away from the motel. Spreading through the city.
"Yes. About forty of them. Two miles east. Moving slow."
"That's incredible."
I open my eyes. "That's terrifying. It means the infection is spreading faster than we can track it."
Jax joins us. He looks pale. Shaken. "Okay. Someone want to explain what the hell is happening? Because I just shot three people who were already dead."
"They weren't people anymore," Rafe says. "They were infected. And there are going to be a lot more of them."
I spread the map on an empty crate. "This is the plan. We fortify this building first. Walls. Gates. Weapons. Then we start supply runs. Food. Water. Medicine. We bring in people we trust. People who'll survive."
"How long do we have?" Jax asks.
I look at Rafe. He looks at me.
"I don't know," I admit. "In my timeline, it took three weeks for the city to fall completely. But if the infection is already this widespread—"
"Days," Rafe says. "We have days. Maybe a week."
The room goes quiet.
Sarah speaks up from where she's sitting with Petra. "You people are crazy."
"Probably," Petra says. "But we're also right. So you can either help us or leave."
Sarah looks at her hands. They're shaking. "My husband is dead. Really dead this time. I have nowhere to go."
"Then you stay," I say. "And you help."
She nods slowly.
We spend the next four hours planning. Rafe knows how to build defensive perimeters. Jax knows where to find weapons and ammunition. Petra has supply contacts. Sarah used to be a civil engineer. She understands load-bearing walls and structural integrity.
Slowly, the Ark starts taking shape.
We mark out living quarters. Storage areas. Medical bay. Command center. Every detail matters. Every decision could save lives or cost them.
By midnight, we have a framework. A timeline. A chance.
"First supply run is tomorrow," Rafe says. "Dawn. We hit three locations fast. In and out before the infection spreads further."
"I'm coming," I say.
"Lena—"
"I'm coming. My ability gives us an advantage. I'll know if we're walking into a horde."
He wants to argue. I can see it in his face. But he doesn't.
"Fine. But you follow my lead. No risks."
"Agreed."
Jax yawns. "I'm going to grab a few hours of sleep. We've got a building to save the world from."
He and Sarah head to one of the cleared rooms. Petra follows, still wincing from her ribs.
It's just me and Rafe.
We stand in the empty building, surrounded by plans and possibilities and the weight of everything we have to do.
"You should rest too," he says.
"Can't. Too much to think about."
"Like what?"
"Like how the timeline changed. Like who sent those messages. Like why you're really here."
He turns to face me fully. "I already told you why."
"You told me you killed me trying to save me. That's not the same as telling me why you care."
His eyes are dark. Intense. "You want the truth?"
"Always."
"In my first life, I was already dead inside. My unit was gone. Everyone I trusted was gone. I was just moving through the world waiting for something to finish me off." He takes a step closer. "Then you stitched me back together and looked at me like I was human. Like I mattered. Nobody had done that in three years."
My breath catches.
"When I buried you in that tunnel, something in me broke that hadn't broken when I lost my entire team. Because they were soldiers. They knew the risks. But you were—" He stops. Searches for words. "You were proof that good people still existed. And I killed you trying to protect you."
"Rafe—"
"So when I woke up three days ago with a second chance, I knew exactly what I had to do. Keep you alive. No matter what it costs." His voice drops. "Even if you hate me for it."
I stare at him. This man who died and came back. This man who killed me trying to save me. This man who looks at me like I'm the only thing in the world worth fighting for.
"I don't hate you," I whisper.
Something shifts in his expression. Hope. Raw and desperate.
"You should. I took everything from you."
"You tried to give me everything. You just—"
"Failed."
"Ran out of time." I correct. "There's a difference."
He's so close now. Close enough that I can see the scar on his jaw where I stitched him. Close enough to feel the heat coming off his body.
"Lena," he says. My name sounds different in his mouth. Like a prayer. Like a promise.
I should step back. Should keep my distance. Should focus on the mission.
But I don't.
"We should go," he says. "Before it gets light."
"Where?"
"Somewhere you can rest. You've been running on adrenaline for four days. You're going to crash."
He's right. I can feel the exhaustion creeping in. But I'm afraid if I stop moving, everything will catch up with me.
"Come on," Rafe says gently. "I'll keep watch. You're safe."
Safe. The word sounds foreign.
But when I look at him, I almost believe it.
We walk to his truck. He drives me to a small house on the edge of town. Clean. Quiet. Secure.
"This is yours?" I ask.
"Was. I keep it empty. For emergencies."
We go inside. He locks the door. Checks every window. Every entrance. Making sure nothing can get in.
I sit on the couch. My body finally registers how tired I am.
"Sleep," Rafe says. "I'll be right here."
"You need rest too."
"I will. After you."
I want to argue. But my eyes are already closing.
The last thing I see is Rafe sitting by the window. Silhouetted against the dawn light. Watching for threats. Keeping me safe.
I sleep.
When I wake, it's dark again. Hours have passed. Maybe a whole day.
I sit up, panicked. "Rafe?"
"Here." His voice comes from the window. He hasn't moved. "You've been out for sixteen hours."
"Sixteen—why didn't you wake me?"
"You needed it."
I stand up. Walk to the window beside him. Outside, the street is empty. Dark. Silent.
Too silent.
"What happened while I was asleep?"
He hands me his phone. Shows me news reports. Emergency broadcasts. Evacuation orders.
The infection has spread to twelve cities. Thousands are sick. Hospitals are overrun. The government is calling it a pandemic. A crisis. An outbreak.
But they're not calling it what it is yet.
The end.
"How long?" I ask.
"The way it's moving? Three days. Maybe four. Then the power grids fail. Communication breaks down. Society collapses."
"Then we have three days to finish the Ark."
"Yes."
I look out at the dark street. At the world that's about to fall apart.
Then I look at Rafe. At this man who came back from death to save me.
"Can I ask you something?" I say.
"Anything."
"In your timeline. Right before the tunnel. What were my last words?"
He's quiet for a long moment. His jaw tightens.
"You said: 'Thank you for making me believe I was worth saving.'"
The words hit me like a punch. Because I remember now. Not clearly. Not fully. But somewhere deep in my bones, I remember saying them.
"Rafe—"
He turns to me. His eyes are haunted. Raw. "I need you to understand something. In my first life, I failed you. This time, I won't. Even if it means—"
He stops. Looks past me. His whole body goes rigid.
"What?" I follow his gaze.
Through the window, across the street, standing perfectly still under a streetlight, is a figure.
Tall. Watching. Not moving like the infected. Moving like something else.
Something aware.
Rafe's hand goes to his weapon. "That's not one of them."
"Then what is it?"
The figure raises one hand. Waves.
Then pulls out a phone. The screen glows in the darkness.
My phone buzzes.
I look down.
Another message from the blocked number.
This time it's not a photo. Not a warning. Not a threat.
It's an address. And one sentence underneath:
If you want to know who sent you back, come alone. You have one hour. Bring Rafe Callahan, and everyone you love dies screaming.
I look up.
The figure is gone.