CHAPTER 4

The first scream came from the street below.

The second came from the apartment next door.

By the third, I was already dragging my desk against the front door.

My hands shook as I pushed the heavy furniture into place. I knew a desk wouldn't stop an infected person determined to get inside, but I needed something between me and whatever was happening outside.

My phone wouldn't stop vibrating.

Messages flooded the neighborhood group chat. Someone reported an attack at a nearby bus stop. Another person claimed that a man had bitten a security guard outside a shopping center. A woman posted a video of several police officers struggling to restrain a bloodied man who kept throwing himself at them.

Then the messages became more disturbing.

Don't go outside. Someone attacked my brother.

The hospital isn't accepting patients anymore.

Why are people biting each other? What is happening?

I stared at the screen.

In my previous life, these were the messages that had marked the beginning of the end. People had laughed at the first reports, dismissed the videos as fake, and continued with their ordinary lives.

Now, fear was spreading faster than the infection.

I turned off the group chat notifications and called the property agent.

He didn't answer.

I tried again.

Nothing.

I sent a message asking whether the owner could confirm the water repairs, but it remained undelivered.

My stomach tightened.

If the roads became impassable, I might not be able to move my supplies tomorrow. If the electricity failed, I would have to rely on my power banks and batteries. If the infection spread through contact, even a short trip outside could become dangerous.

I needed to act before panic took over.

I checked my doors and windows, filled every available container with clean water, and placed my emergency supplies in one room. I kept my first-aid kit, flashlight, phone, and power bank within reach.

Then I heard footsteps in the corridor.

Someone knocked on my door.

"Please! Open the door!"

I froze.

It was a woman's voice.

"Please, help me!"

I approached the door cautiously but didn't remove the desk.

"Who are you?"

"It's me, from apartment four! Please, my husband is sick!"

I remembered the woman who lived two floors below me. We had exchanged greetings several times, but I didn't know her well enough to recognize her voice immediately.

"What's wrong with him?"

"He has a fever. He's confused, and he keeps trying to bite me."

My blood ran cold.

"Have you called for medical help?"

"They aren't answering! Please, I don't know what to do!"

I pressed my back against the wall.

In my previous life, I had opened doors for people because I couldn't bear the thought of leaving someone helpless. Sometimes, those decisions had cost me food. Once, they had nearly cost me my life.

I wanted to help her.

But I couldn't risk letting an infected person into my apartment.

"Stay away from him," I said through the door. "Get somewhere secure and call emergency services again. Don't try to restrain him yourself."

"Are you telling me to leave my husband?"

Her voice broke.

"No. I'm telling you to protect yourself."

A loud crash sounded from farther down the corridor.

She screamed.

Then I heard a man's voice, low and furious.

"Open the door!"

The woman began crying.

I backed away from the entrance.

A struggle followed. Something struck the wall, and a series of heavy footsteps moved toward the staircase.

Then silence.

I stood motionless, listening.

I wanted to convince myself that they had left safely, but I knew I couldn't assume that.

My phone rang.

The unknown number from earlier appeared on the screen.

I answered immediately.

"Who are you?"

"Did you see what happened outside?"

"People are attacking each other. Someone was bitten, and now the infection is spreading through my building."

"Have you been exposed?"

"No."

"Are you certain?"

"I haven't been bitten, and I haven't touched anyone who was infected."

"Good. Keep it that way."

I gripped the phone.

"Tell me what's happening."

"I don't have all the answers. What I do know is that the infected can become violent very quickly. Some develop a fever first. Others become aggressive with little warning."

"How does it spread?"

"We're still investigating."

"That's not good enough!"

"I understand you're frightened, Elena, but I won't invent an answer just to reassure you."

His response silenced me.

For the first time, I considered the possibility that he genuinely didn't know everything.

"Why did you call me?" I asked.

"Because someone reported that you were buying large quantities of supplies."

"Who?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Then why should I trust anything you say?"

"You shouldn't."

I blinked.

He continued before I could respond.

"Trust what you can verify. Secure your apartment, keep away from anyone displaying symptoms, and don't travel unless you have a compelling reason. I'll contact you when I have reliable information."

"Wait. You told me to ask Adrian Blackwell about a military research facility. Why?"

Silence.

"Are you there?"

"Stay away from that facility," he finally said.

"Why?"

"Because whatever happened there may be connected to the outbreak."

The call ended.

I lowered the phone slowly.

The military research facility.

I searched for information online, but the results were frustrating. The facility was located outside the city and had reportedly been involved in medical and biological research. There was little public information about its current activities.

I couldn't establish whether it had anything to do with the infection.

I wasn't going to make a dangerous journey based on an anonymous caller's warning.

Not when I had more immediate problems to solve.

A sharp impact against the front door made me jump.

I turned.

Someone was standing outside.

"Elena!"

Daniel.

For a moment, I couldn't move.

"Elena, open the door!"

I stared at the desk I had pushed against it.

"What are you doing here?" I called.

"Let me in!"

"Answer me first."

"I need to talk to you."

"About what?"

"Something happened at the shopping center. People are attacking each other. My car is parked outside, and I don't know where else to go."

I closed my eyes.

Of course.

The first sign of trouble, and Daniel had come looking for me.

In my previous life, he had never told me how frightened he had been during those first hours. He had simply appeared at my apartment, insisting that we leave together.

I had welcomed him inside.

I had packed his bags, gathered my supplies, and followed him to what he claimed was a safer location.

That was how our dependence on each other had begun.

This time, I wasn't going to repeat the same mistake.

"Where's Sophie?" I asked.

"What?"

"Sophie. Why aren't you with her?"

"Elena, this isn't the time for that!"

"Then tell me why you came here."

He struck the door with his palm.

"Because you're my fiancée!"

The words hurt more than I wanted to admit.

Not because I still believed in our future, but because I remembered how much those words had once meant to me.

"Daniel, I can't let you in."

There was a long silence.

Then he spoke again, his voice quieter.

"Please. I'm scared."

I leaned against the wall.

That was the worst part.

He sounded exactly like the man I had loved before the apocalypse. The man who had held me when I cried, promised to protect me, and talked about the home we would build together.

I remembered all of it.

But I also remembered the door closing in my face.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"You're sorry?"

"I can't let you in."

His tone hardened.

"So you're just going to leave me outside?"

I didn't answer.

"After everything we've been through?"

I almost laughed at the absurdity of it.

We hadn't even reached the wedding in this life. We hadn't survived the outbreak together. He hadn't sacrificed anything for me.

Yet he was already speaking as though I owed him my life.

"Daniel, go somewhere safe. Call your family or your friends. I can't help you right now."

He struck the door again.

"You're going to regret this, Elena!"

His footsteps moved away.

I waited until I could no longer hear him before returning to the window.

Outside, the street had become unrecognizable.

Cars were abandoned at strange angles. People ran between buildings, some carrying bags, others dragging injured relatives. A shopkeeper was pulling down his metal shutters while several customers shouted at him to let them inside.

Farther away, smoke rose above the rooftops.

The city was beginning to collapse.

I checked the time.

8:46 p.m.

Less than twelve hours had passed since I woke up believing I had three days to prepare.

I had been wrong about the timing.

I might be wrong about other things, too.

I returned to my supplies and counted what I had. It wasn't enough for a prolonged emergency, but it would keep me going while I searched for a safer location.

My greatest mistake had been assuming that the future would unfold exactly as I remembered it.

From now on, I would prepare for what I could observe, not merely what I remembered.

I had just finished securing the last window when my phone vibrated.

A message from Adrian Blackwell.

Do not leave your apartment tonight. I'm coming to see you.

I stared at the screen.

I hadn't given him my number.

Before I could decide whether to reply, another message arrived.

There's an infected person in your building. He knows you're inside.

A chill ran down my spine.

Then something slammed against my front door.

Once.

Twice.

The desk shifted several inches across the floor.

I stopped breathing.

A low, wet growl came from the other side.

Then a man's voice whispered through the door.

"Elena..."

I recognized it.

It was the voice of the woman who had begged me for help earlier.

But the voice that answered from behind her sounded like her husband.

And he was no longer asking to be let in.

He was trying to break through.