CHAPTER 7 - The Breaking Point 

Deciding to brush him off for now, Felicity unlocked the small door leading to her built-in bathroom cubicle. 

Thanks to her uncle's high-end motorhome design, the van was equipped with a compact shower stall fed by a pressurized clean water tank. 

And with her sanctuary domain stocked to the brim with extra water reserves, she never had to worry about running dry.

She stripped off her sweat-stained clothes and stepped under the showerhead. 

The warm water washed away the dust, grime, and tension of the chaotic day, leaving her skin fresh and her mind clear.

Once finished, she dried off, pulled on a comfortable pair of black tactical cargo pants and a soft dark hoodie, and stepped back into the living space of the van.

She walked over to the built-in bed, tossed her smartphone onto the mattress, and climbed up. 

Sitting cross-legged on the clean sheets, she unlocked the screen to check the news and social media feeds.

The display illuminated her face in the dark cab. 

The moment her cellular data reconnected, a relentless barrage of notifications flooded the screen. 

News apps, social media platforms, and emergency broadcast banners flashed simultaneously, practically choking the phone's processor.

Felicity tapped the top trending livestream on a popular social media platform.

The title read: URGENT: RIOTS OR CANNIBAL ATTACK IN DOWNTOWN?

The broadcast was shaky, taken from the balcony of an upper-floor apartment building overlooking the city center, the exact district she had left less than two hours ago. 

The streets below were a nightmare of blinding emergency lights and gridlocked traffic.

On screen, a man in a business suit tumbled out of his stalled sedan, holding his bleeding neck. 

Before he could take three steps, two figures lunged out from between the stopped cars. 

They didn't hit him or reach for his wallet; they tore straight into his shoulder with their teeth.

The camera shook violently as the person recording let out a blood-curdling scream. 

The victim's body twitched on the pavement for a brief, horrific moment, his limbs jerking unnaturally before he snapped back up, eyes completely cloudy, and lunged at a frantic passerby.

The comment section on the stream scrolled past in a blur:

‘Is this a movie promo?’

‘CALL THE POLICE WHY IS NO ONE HELPING HIM’

‘It's happening in North District too!! They won't die even after getting shot!’

‘DO NOT GO OUTSIDE; THEY ARE BITING EVERYONE’

Felicity swiped to a national news station's live feed. 

The news anchor sat at the desk, her normally pristine hair disheveled and her voice trembling as she read from a piece of paper.

"We are receiving unconfirmed reports from emergency services across thirty major metropolitan areas," the anchor stammered, her eyes darting off-camera as muffled crashes echoed somewhere in the studio background. 

"The Department of Health is urging all citizens to lock their doors, remain indoors, and do not attempt to render aid to individuals exhibiting severe aggression or loss of motor control—"

Suddenly, the studio doors behind the anchor burst open. 

A cameraman tumbled backward onto the floor, clutching a gaping wound on his arm. 

Right behind him came a shadowy figure moving with terrifying, unnatural speed.

The feed cut to black instantly, replaced by a glaring red emergency signal accompanied by a high-pitched, screeching tone:

NATIONAL EMERGENCY BROADCAST SYSTEM: CIVIL UNREST / UNKNOWN PATHOGEN OUTBREAK. SEEK IMMEDIATE SHELTER. DO NOT OPEN YOUR DOORS FOR ANYONE.

Felicity stared at the red screen, her face cool and devoid of fear. 

The outbreak hadn't just started; it was sweeping through the dense urban center like wildfire. 

Within twenty-four hours, the power grid in the city center would fail, water treatment facilities would shut down, and the streets she used to walk would belong entirely to the dead.

Outside, the quiet forest rustled softly in the night breeze.

A soft knock echoed against her heavy sliding side door.

Felicity didn't flinch. 

She picked up a loaded knife from the bedside table, unlatched the safety, and slid the window panel open an inch.

Tristan stood outside in the gap between their vans, holding two steaming mugs of black coffee. 

He looked up at her through the slit, his dark eyes sparkling under the faint moonlight, a calm, easy smile playing on his lips despite the distant sirens wailing miles away in the city.

"Looks like the news isn't very pleasant tonight," Tristan said smoothly, holding up one of the mugs toward her window. "Thought you might want some coffee while we watch the world end."

Felicity kept her grip firm on the tactical knife hidden behind the door, staring down at him through the narrow window slit.

"What do you mean 'watch the world end'?" she asked, her voice cool, measured, and unbothered.

Tristan let out a soft, low chuckle, shaking his head slightly. 

"Come on, Felicity. You don't have to act clueless with me. You don't clear out major supply warehouses, buy up black-market weapons in dark alleyways, and park a fully armored rig in a remote forest clearing just for a weekend camping trip."

He lifted his own smartphone with his free hand, turning the glowing screen toward her window. 

A live map app on his phone was covered in red hazard markers and panic alerts flashing across the entire state.

"I've been watching the feeds too," Tristan said, his voice dropping into a smoother, quieter register. "The city center is already a meat grinder. So... care to let me in? We can share a drink while the old world burns."

Felicity looked at the steaming mug of coffee, then met his dark, expectant gaze. 

She opened her mouth to tell him to beat it, but before she could utter a single word, her smartphone on the bed began to vibrate violently.

The loud ringtone shattered the quiet night inside the van.

Felicity glanced back over her shoulder at the screen glowing on her mattress. 

The caller ID flashed in bright white text:

Mack

Tristan’s easy smirk vanished instantly. 

His brow furrowed into a deep frown as his eyes caught the name on the screen through the window gap. 

The temperature around him seemed to drop a few degrees, his jaw tightening as he stared at the flashing phone.

"Your useless boyfriend is calling," Tristan muttered, his tone turning noticeably colder, a sharp edge cutting through his previous lighthearted mood. "Are you actually going to pick that up?"