CHAPTER 1

The man I loved was standing on the other side of the door, watching me die.

"Daniel, please!"

My palms slammed against the metal entrance. Behind me, the infected were getting closer, their terrible groans filling the abandoned street. One of them dragged a broken leg across the pavement, but it didn't stop moving. Another had blood covering its mouth.

I could barely stand. My ankle was swollen, my clothes were torn, and the last bottle of water I had carried was gone.

Daniel stared at me through the narrow opening.

"Open the door!" I screamed. "You can't leave me here!"

His eyes moved briefly to the woman standing beside him.

Sophie.

She was wearing the jacket I had given Daniel on his birthday. Her hand rested on his arm as if she belonged there.

Perhaps she did now.

"Daniel, I'm begging you." My voice cracked. "We were supposed to get through this together."

He looked away.

"We don't have enough supplies, Elena."

I stared at him in disbelief.

"What?"

"You heard me. We can barely feed ourselves. If I let you in, we'll all die."

I almost laughed.

Three months ago, I had spent nearly all my savings helping him prepare for an emergency. I had bought food, medicine, batteries, and everything else he said we needed. When his money ran out, I covered the difference without hesitation.

When his mother needed medication, I used my savings.

When he lost his job during the first weeks of the outbreak, I sold my jewelry to help him.

I had believed we were building a future together.

Now, he was telling me there wasn't enough food for me.

"Daniel, I have supplies in my apartment," I said desperately. "The building is still standing. We can go there together. You know where I keep everything."

For a moment, something changed in his expression.

Then Sophie tightened her grip on his arm.

"Daniel, they're coming."

He glanced over my shoulder.

The infected were almost upon me.

I pressed both hands against the door.

"Please! You can't do this to me!"

Daniel's face hardened.

"I'm sorry."

The door slammed shut.

I stood there, unable to move.

The sound echoed through the empty street, louder than the creatures approaching behind me.

He had closed the door.

The man who had promised to marry me had just decided that my life was worth less than the food in his shelter.

I backed away from the entrance, tears blurring my vision.

I didn't want to die.

Not like this.

Not after spending months fighting to survive while the world fell apart around me.

The first infected reached me before I could run.

I felt its fingers catch my jacket. I struggled, kicked, and tried to pull free, but there were too many of them.

As I fell, I caught one final glimpse of the shelter door.

It remained closed.

Hatred burned through my fear.

Not hatred for the creatures that had destroyed our world.

Not even hatred for the people who had stolen food from the weak or abandoned their neighbors.

I hated myself for trusting Daniel so completely that I had forgotten how to protect myself.

If I had another chance, I would do things differently.

I would never give everything I had to someone who could abandon me without looking back.

I would never depend on another person for my survival.

And if I ever saw Daniel again, he would learn that the woman he left outside that door was not someone he could discard and expect to forgive him.

The creatures dragged me down.

My final breath escaped before I could finish the promise forming in my mind.

Then everything went dark.

A loud alarm dragged me out of the darkness.

I groaned and pulled a pillow over my head.

The sound continued.

Annoyed, I reached for my phone on the bedside table and silenced it.

For several seconds, I remained still, waiting for the pain.

My injured ankle.

My bruised ribs.

The terrible ache that had followed me through the last weeks of my life.

Nothing came.

I opened my eyes.

A familiar ceiling stared back at me.

My curtains were intact. Morning sunlight filtered through the window, illuminating the small dressing table beside my wardrobe. My university textbooks were stacked on the desk, and the framed photograph of Daniel and me stood beside a bottle of perfume.

I sat up so quickly that the room spun.

"No."

My voice sounded strange in the silence.

I looked down at my hands.

No cuts. No blood. No dirt beneath my fingernails.

I pulled the blanket aside and examined my legs. My ankle was perfectly fine.

I was alive.

But that was impossible.

I remembered the creatures tearing at my clothes. I remembered the cold pavement beneath my body. I remembered Daniel's face as he shut the door.

I remembered dying.

My phone vibrated.

I snatched it up, my fingers trembling as I checked the screen.

Monday, October 12.

I stared at the date.

Then I opened the calendar.

October 12.

I checked the year.

My breathing stopped.

It was the same year I had died.

I scrambled out of bed and rushed to the bathroom. The mirror reflected a young woman with tired eyes and messy hair. I looked exactly as I had before the outbreak, before the sleepless nights and hunger had hollowed out my face.

I touched my cheek.

Warm skin.

A heartbeat.

I was alive.

And if the date was correct, I had returned three days before the apocalypse.

Three days before the first reports of the mysterious infection appeared online.

Three days before hospitals began filling with patients who attacked medical staff without warning.

Three days before the government ordered people to remain indoors.

Three days before the world I knew began to collapse.

My knees weakened.

I gripped the edge of the sink and forced myself to breathe.

This was not a dream. The pain, the memories, and the terror were too real.

I had been given another chance.

I didn't know why, and I wasn't going to waste time searching for an explanation.

My eyes drifted toward the bedroom door.

Beyond it was my ordinary life. My unfinished university assignments, my unpaid bills, my friends, and the people I had trusted.

Daniel was still my fiancé.

He had not betrayed me yet.

Somewhere in the city, Sophie was living her normal life, unaware of what was coming.

For a brief moment, I wondered whether I could change what happened between us.

Then I remembered the door closing in my face.

My hands curled into fists.

No.

I didn't need Daniel to love me. I didn't need his apology or his regret.

I needed to survive.

I returned to the bedroom and opened my banking application. My savings were still there, along with the money I had been setting aside for our wedding.

In my previous life, I had spent almost everything preparing for a future that never came.

This time, there would be no wedding.

There would be no shared account, no promises, and no blind trust.

Every decision I made would serve one purpose.

Keeping me alive.

I opened my contacts and found Daniel's name.

My thumb hovered over the call button.

I could call him, listen to his familiar voice, and pretend that everything was normal. I could warn him about the infection and watch him dismiss me because he had no reason to believe me.

But I knew Daniel.

He would ask questions I couldn't answer. If I told him the truth, he might laugh at me. If he believed me, he might expect me to provide everything he needed.

Either way, I would be putting myself at risk.

I deleted his number from my favorites.

Then I opened the calendar again and counted the days.

Three days.

Seventy-two hours.

That was all I had to prepare for a disaster that would change everything.

I needed food, water, medicine, reliable information, and somewhere safe to stay. I needed to find out which roads would become dangerous and which buildings could withstand the chaos.

Most importantly, I needed to stop thinking like the woman who had died.

She had believed that kindness meant sacrificing herself for others.

She had believed that love guaranteed loyalty.

She had believed that if she gave enough, the people she loved would never abandon her.

That woman was gone.

I picked up my phone and began making a list.

At the top, I wrote three words.

Survive. Trust nobody.

Then my phone buzzed with a breaking-news notification.

I almost ignored it.

But the headline made my fingers go cold.

UNEXPLAINED VIOLENT INCIDENT REPORTED AT A CITY HOSPITAL.

I opened the article.

The report was brief. A patient had attacked several hospital workers. Witnesses claimed he had shown no signs of pain, even after being restrained. Authorities described the incident as an isolated medical emergency.

I remembered that report.

In my previous life, it had appeared three days after the first infection.

Not today.

I checked the publication time.

The article had been posted eleven minutes ago.

My stomach tightened.

The apocalypse had started early.

I looked at the date on my phone again, desperately hoping I had made a mistake.

I hadn't.

I had been given three days to prepare.

Now I might have less.

And somewhere in the city, the first infected person was already walking among the living.