Ten Days To The Apocalypse: My Revenge Begins

Serena POV

"Damian! Bianca! Please, open the door! I'm begging you!"

My voice didn’t even sound like my own anymore—it was a raw, jagged shred of sound tearing straight from the bottom of my lungs. I hammered my fists against the heavy, industrial-grade steel door until my knuckles split, warm blood smearing across the freezing metal.

Clang. Clang. Clang.

The sound echoed down the desolate corridor like a death knell. I wrenched the handle downward, throwing my entire body weight against it, but it wouldn't budge. Bolted from the inside. Deadlocked.

"No! Please, God, no!" I sobbed, my fingernails scraping uselessly against the reinforced frame. "They’re right behind me! The streets are crawling—please, just turn the lock! Let me in!"

Behind me, the world was burning in a symphony of terror. Distant shrieks bounced off concrete canyons, punctuated by the wet, sickening thud of bodies collapsing onto asphalt. The apocalypse hadn't arrived with fire from the sky; it had crept in quietly, and then exploded into a nightmare of flesh and hunger.

I pressed my forehead against the ice-cold door, my whole body convulsing with violent, racking tremors.

How did it come to this?

I had planned for this. I had spent every single cent of my savings securing canned goods, gallons of purified water, heavy-duty medical kits, and emergency supplies. I had rationed, I had saved, I had shielded us from the worst of the chaos. But yesterday, someone—or some cruel twist of fate—had cleaned out our remaining cache while my back was turned, leaving our pantry bare.

Desperate to feed the people I loved, I had slipped out into the fog-choked twilight to scavenge. I had risked my life, navigating a city of monsters, all so we wouldn't starve.

And now, locked out by the very people I bled for, I had nowhere left to turn.

A House of Cards

The sanctuary I was pounding on wasn't just a random shelter. It was the basement bunker of our apartment complex—the exact place where my husband and my best friend were supposed to be waiting out the storm.

They were my anchors. The only two human beings tethered to my soul.

* Damian: The man who had slid a diamond ring onto my finger, looking into my eyes with tear-filled devotion and swearing he would pull me through fire and flood.

* Bianca: The woman who had held my hand through my darkest depressions, who knew every secret I had ever buried, and whom I loved like a sister.

Surely, a frantic part of my mind screamed, they wouldn't leave me out here. They’re just scared. They didn't hear me over the wind. They'll open it any second now.

"Damian!" I shrieked, slamming my palms against the door again as a fresh wave of panic choked my throat. "I know you're in there! I can hear the generators humming! Open the door before they see me!"

My knees buckled. My legs felt like hollow glass, threatening to shatter beneath my weight. Over my shoulder, the shadows shifted.

The dead were shuffling down the street.

Some crawled with limbs bent at sickening, unnatural angles, dragging their ruined lower bodies across the pavement. Others moved with a terrifying, jerky momentum, their jaws unhinged, clothes soaked in dark, dried blood, eyes milky and vacant yet hyper-focused on the scent of living breath.

A few yards away, a woman sprinted past a flickering streetlamp, her lungs burning as she screamed for someone—anyone—to save her.

Before she could clear the corner, three decomposing figures launched themselves from the darkness like starving wolves, tackling her to the ground. Her piercing shriek cut off abruptly, replaced by the sickening sounds of tearing flesh and wet crunches.

I clamped both hands over my mouth, biting down hard on my lower lip until I tasted copper, desperately trying to swallow back a sob.

Not like this. Please, not like this.

I had survived the starvation. I had survived the freezing nights. I couldn't die in the dirt because of a locked door.

"Damian!" I choked out, a final, desperate plea tearing from my chest. "If there is a single ounce of love left in your heart for me—please!"

For several agonizing seconds, there was only the hum of the ventilation system.

Then came a sound that froze the blood in my veins.

Laughter.

The Verdict

"Are you sure she's still out there?"

The voice drifted through the heavy steel, muffled, but undeniably, agonizingly clear.

My heart stuttered to a halt.

Bianca.

"Of course she is," Damian replied, his tone smooth, utterly devoid of panic, laced with an apathetic boredom that burned hotter than any fire. "Where else would she go?"

A hysterical, fragile bubble of hope swelled in my chest. He's talking to her. He knows I'm here. He's going to tell her to open it.

"Let her die."

The words dropped into the quiet space between us like falling stones.

I stumbled backward, my breath catching, staring at the cold metal door as if it had transformed into a living, breathing monster.

"What?" I whispered to the empty air, my voice a hollow ghost.

"Let her die," Bianca repeated, her voice dripping with amusement. "Why waste our last rations on a liability? We barely have enough water for two people, Damian. If she comes back, she's just another mouth to feed."

My vision blurred, not with tears of fear, but with the suffocating, crushing weight of utter betrayal.

Bianca. The woman I had lent money to when she was broke. The woman I had defended when the whole world turned its back on her.

And Damian. The man I had loved more than my own life, whose shirts I washed, whose fevered brow I wiped, whose vows I believed in with every fiber of my being.

"She's your wife, Damian," Bianca teased, her tone dripping with mock pity. "Or did you forget the ring on your finger?"

Silence stretched again, heavy and toxic.

When Damian finally spoke, his words didn't just break my heart—they shattered every single memory we had ever shared into fine, irreparable dust.

"She should have stayed inside. Nobody forced her to go play hero." A pause, followed by a cold, dismissive shrug in his voice. "Besides... she was always holding me back anyway. I'm sick and tired of babysitting her."

The Final Shadow

A sob broke past my lips, uncontrolled and loud.

I went out because of you, I wanted to scream. I went out because our food was disappearing, because I wanted us to live!

Too late. The sound of my weeping pierced the heavy night air.

Down the block, a low, guttural rasp rattled in a dead throat.

Slowly, agonizingly, I turned my head.

Not ten feet away, a male zombie stood rigid, its skin the color of curdled milk, its black, bloodshot eyes locking directly onto mine. Behind him, two more shambled out from the alleyway, drawn by the music of my despair.

My entire body turned to ice.

"No," I whispered, shaking my head frantically as I stumbled back toward the door. "No, please—"

I threw myself against the steel, hammering with whatever strength I had left in my failing body.

"Damian! They're here! Open the door! Open the damn door!"

The dragging footsteps grew louder, heavier, stampeding toward me like an executioner's march.

From inside the bunker, Bianca’s cackle rang out clear as day.

"Listen to her panicking. God, she's pathetic."

"Stop worrying about her," Damian's voice answered, entirely detached. "She brought this on herself."

Those words were the final, fatal blow.

My hands, bleeding and bruised, slowly slid down the freezing metal. The frantic energy drained out of me, replaced by a cold, heavy numbness that went all the way to my bones.

They weren't coming. They were sitting on the other side of that door, listening to me being torn apart, and they were smiling.

Tears carved hot tracks through the dirt and sweat on my face as I stared blindly at the door.

"Why?" I whispered into the dark, the word tasting like ash. "What did I ever do... but love you?"

I had given them everything. My youth, my patience, my safety, my very heart. And when the bill came due, they paid for their survival with my life.

A towering shadow fell over me.

I spun around just as the lead zombie lunged, its jaw unhinged in a silent, ravenous scream.

I tried to leap back, but my legs betrayed me. My heel caught on a jagged piece of concrete, and I crashed hard to the ground, a sharp bolt of agony shooting up my shattered knee.

There was nowhere to run. The door behind me remained sealed shut, an impenetrable wall of human cruelty.

"Damian!" I shrieked, clawing one last time at the air toward the shelter. "Please!"

No answer. Only the quiet hum of the generator.

Cold, rotting hands clamped around my ankles.

Then came the teeth.

Pain exploded through my calf, a searing, white-hot agony that ripped the breath straight from my lungs. More hands descended, tearing my clothes, pinning my arms, dragging my screaming body into the dirt as the horde descended like locusts.

As the edges of my vision began to blacken, swallowing the horror around me, a profound, chilling clarity washed over the pain.

My family never loved me.

My husband traded me like garbage.

And my best friend watched me die with a smile.

I had spent my entire life starving myself of dignity, trying to earn affection from people incapable of giving it. I had given my soul to monsters wearing human faces.

If there was any justice left in this dying world—if the universe had even a shred of mercy—this wouldn't be the end.

If heaven, hell, or time itself ever gave me a second chance...

I would never love again. I would never trust again. And I would make sure that Damian and Bianca paid for every single drop of my blood with theirs.

My eyes drifted shut.

The pain faded into a cold, endless dark.

And the world went black.