chapter 7

Serena POV

A slow, terrifying smile curved across my lips.

It wasn't a smile of joy or relief. It was a cold, venomous thread of sheer satisfaction born from the deepest, darkest ashes of my former life.

I looked down at Bianca’s hand, her manicured fingers trembling as they clutched desperately at the sleeve of my coat. Her manicured nails dug in, her eyes wide, bloodshot, and flooded with a primal terror that I knew all too well. I had felt that exact same terror when I pounded on the cold iron of the shelter door. I had wept those exact same tears when I begged for a single shred of human decency, only to hear her voice echoing through the steel: “Let her die.”

Now, here she was, standing on the freezing asphalt, pleading with the very woman she had condemned to the jaws of the dead.

"Serena, please!" Bianca sobbed, her voice cracking as the sirens of the city wailed in a chorus of doom. "You can't leave us out here! They're tearing people apart!"

Without a single word, I reached down, grabbed her wrist, and wrenched her hand off my arm with chilling, unyielding force.

"Serena!"

I threw myself into the driver’s seat of my SUV and slammed the door shut. The heavy, reinforced frame sealed out the howling wind and the cacophony of screams echoing across the parking lot.

Clack.

I hit the central lock button. The heavy iron bolts engaged with a sharp, definitive click.

Before I could turn the key, Damian slammed his palms against my driver’s side window. His tailored suit jacket was ripped at the shoulder, his expensive tie loosened, and his handsome face—the face I had once adored, the face that had sworn eternal devotion on our wedding day—was pale, slick with cold sweat, and contorted in sheer panic.

"Serena! Serena, open the damn door!" Damian screamed, his voice muffled through the double-paned glass. He hammered his fists against the window, the vibration rattling through the frame. "Let us in! Please! There's no time!"

I looked at him through the glass, my hands resting calmly on the leather steering wheel. I didn't unlock the door. I didn't even flinch.

"Where is your car, Damian?" I asked, my voice calm and clear through the intercom speaker on the dashboard. "Didn't you two drive here together?"

"It's surrounded!" Damian yelled, pointing wildly over his shoulder toward the far end of the lot where a swarming cluster of graying, blood-drenched figures were smashing through the windshields of trapped vehicles. "They've blocked the row! They're going to kill us! They're going to infect us, Serena! Do you hear me?!"

"I hear you," I murmured softly.

"Then open the door!" he begged, his eyes darting frantically toward the supermarket entrance where the infected man was currently ripping through another victim's torso, blood spraying across the glass doors. "Babe, please! I'm your fiancé!"

The word hung in the air, heavy, toxic, and absurd.

I turned my head and looked him dead in the eye. The phantom pain of teeth sinking into my calf, the memory of his cold, dismissive voice saying “She was always holding me back anyway” flashed behind my eyes like a burning torch.

"Not anymore," I shouted back, my voice cutting through the glass like a razor blade.

I turned the ignition key.

Vroom!

The heavy V8 engine roared to life with a fierce, guttural rumble, the dashboard lights bursting into sharp, red brilliance. The electrical glitch from moments ago vanished as if the machine itself recognized the absolute, unstoppable will of its driver.

"Serena! No!" Bianca shrieked, throwing her weight against the passenger side window, her face pressed against the glass in a grotesque mask of desperation. "Don't leave us! Serena!"

Damian’s face shifted from panic to a terrifying, ugly fury. He grabbed the handle, yanking on it with all his strength, but the lock held firm.

"You heartless bitch!" Damian roared, pounding his fist against the hood as I shifted the vehicle into drive. "You crazy, heartless woman! You're going to leave us to die?!"

"I'm not leaving you to die, Damian," I whispered to the empty air inside my cab, a dark, humorless smile touching my lips. "I'm just leaving you to your choices."

I slammed my foot down on the accelerator.

The heavy SUV surged forward, the tires screeching against the wet asphalt. Damian and Bianca were forced to jump backward to avoid being crushed beneath the heavy wheels, tumbling onto the hard pavement as my vehicle tore past them.

In my rearview mirror, I saw them scramble to their feet, screaming curses into the howling gale, surrounded by crashing cars, fleeing shoppers, and the rising tide of the hungry dead.

I didn't look back again.

Through the Burning City

The drive back to my estate was a descent into the lower circles of hell.

The city, which had been vibrant and bustling only an hour ago, was collapsing in real-time. Traffic lights flickered erratically before dying completely, causing massive multi-car pileups at every major intersection. Plumes of dark, oily smoke billowed from crashed vehicles and storefronts where fires had broken out.

"M-Madam..." the maid in the back seat whimpered, her hands covering her mouth as she stared out the window. "Look... oh God, look at that!"

On the sidewalk, a police officer was pinned against a brick wall by three infected civilians. His gun went off—BANG! BANG!—the muzzle flashes illuminating the dark afternoon, but the bullets did nothing to stop them. They tore into his vest, their bloody jaws snapping at his neck until his screams were swallowed by the roar of the wind.

I turned the steering wheel sharply, mounting the curb to bypass a burning delivery truck blocking the main avenue. My knuckles were white against the leather wheel, my breath steady, my mind sharp as a honed blade.

Every instinct I had forged during those two horrific years in my previous life kicked in automatically. I navigated through alleyways, backstreets, and side roads, avoiding the main arterial routes where thousands of panicked citizens were trapping themselves in endless gridlock.

The rain was falling heavily now, black water streaking across the windshield, washing away the dust but leaving the world looking dark, drowned, and decaying.

Ten days, my mind kept repeating. I was supposed to have ten days.

The timeline had shattered. Whatever catalyst had triggered the outbreak in my past life had hit early, exploding across the urban center like a biological bomb. But as I glanced at my dashboard, I felt no fear. My mind briefly drifted to the vast, bottomless void of my spatial storage—filled to the brim with thousands of tons of grain, clean water, medical supplies, fuel, and survival gear.

I was ready. Even if the sky fell today, I had the resources to outlast the end of the world.

I stepped hard on the gas, the SUV clearing the final turn onto the quiet, tree-lined avenue leading to my private residential estate.

The high stone walls of my property came into view, topped with reinforced iron fencing and security cameras. It was supposed to be my temporary fortress—a place to organize my supplies before moving to the off-grid mountain bunker I had secured.

But as my headlights swept across the iron gates of my driveway, my heart dropped into my stomach.

I slammed my foot onto the brake.

SCREEECH!

The SUV skidded to a halt a hundred feet from the entrance.

The Siege of Home

"Oh... oh sweet Jesus..." the maid in the passenger seat gasped, her voice shrinking to a terrified whisper. "Madam... how... how are we going to get inside?"

My eyes narrowed as I stared through the rain-streaked windshield.

The massive, wrought-iron gates of my estate were closed, but they were not secure.

Surrounding the entrance was a writhing, chaotic mass of dark figures. At least twenty infected—their bodies twisted, their clothes soaked in blood, their vacant, crimson eyes glowing faintly in the glare of my headlights—were pressing their weight against the metal bars.

They weren't just wandering. They were attacking.

Inside the courtyard, visible through the iron slats, stood my household security team and the remaining staff. They were holding iron bars and fire extinguishers, screaming in horror as the infected hurled themselves against the gate, the heavy iron groaned under the sheer, mindless pressure of the horde.

And standing near the front door, huddled beneath the awning with her designer suit completely ruined by the rain, was my mother.

Beside her stood a young woman with long, pale hair, weeping hysterical tears into a silk scarf.

Lisa.

My younger sister. The golden child.

They had come to my house to demand money, to demand shelter, to demand my compliance—and in doing so, they had brought the nightmare directly to my front door. The noise of their arrival, their cars, and their loud, hysterical arguing had drawn every infected in the neighborhood straight to my gates.

The heavy iron hinges groaned—CREAK... SNAP!—as the sheer weight of the dead began to bend the lock.

"Madam!" the maid in the back seat shrieked, clutching my headrest in absolute hysteria. "They're going to break in! There are too many of them! There's no way in! What do we do?!"

I sat in the quiet interior of the SUV, the engine idling with a low, steady hum.

I looked at the horde pressing against my home. I looked at my mother and sister cowering in the courtyard, the very people who had stripped my life away in the past, now trapped in a cage of their own making.

There was no going back. The city behind me was a burning graveyard. The gate before me was a wall of teeth and blood.

I gripped the steering wheel, my eyes turning to solid ice.

"No way in?" I whispered softly, my foot hovering over the accelerator, my gaze locking onto the center of the crowd.

"We'll see about that."