chapter 11

Chapter 11: Locked Inside the Cage

The dead runner’s body lay twitching in the dirt behind us, but I didn't have a second to waste. The high-pitched screams echoing from the main avenue were spreading closer by the minute.

"Get up, Derrick," I said, pulling my arm out of his grip and wiping the dirt from my jacket. "We have less than five minutes before panic empties onto this street. Get Maya into the back office right now."

Derrick stared at me from the ground, his chest heaving. The terrifying reality of the monster I had just killed was sinking into his brain, but the moment his gaze shifted back to my face, the blank shock hardened into something bitter and resentful.

He didn't take my hand. He pushed himself up off the asphalt on his own, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek.

"Don't give me orders," Derrick spat out, his voice sharp and laced with venom. He turned and stormed toward his shop, his stride heavy and angry. "I'm getting my sister. But don't think for one second that because you saved my life out here, I forgive you for trapping me, or for turning my entire world upside down."

Let him hate me, I thought, following right behind him. As long as he's breathing behind steel walls, he can scream at me all he wants.

Within three minutes, Derrick had scooped Maya up into his arms—she was still weak and barely conscious from the fever—and carried her out of the garage office. I held the heavy security gate open, guiding them straight through the reinforced connection door into the lower staging floor of my warehouse.

The moment Derrick stepped inside and saw the thick steel-plated interior walls, the rows of emergency food crates, and the humming air-filtration units, his expression darkened even further.

"You planned this," Derrick muttered, carefully laying Maya down on a sturdy camp cot we had set up in the corner. He turned on me, his eyes burning with a hot, furious resentment. "You bought this warehouse months ago. You knew this sickness was coming. You watched me struggle to keep my shop afloat while you were playing prophet, didn't you?"

"I tried to warn you in the past, Derrick," I said evenly, crossing my arms. "You didn't listen then, and you barely listened five minutes ago when a monster tried to rip your throat out."

Derrick took a threatening step toward me, towering over my frame, his voice dropping to a harsh, lethal whisper.

"I don't need your charity, and I sure as hell don't need your pity," he hissed, his face inches from mine. "You think because the world is ending out there, I’m going to fall at your feet and thank you? Keep your canned food, keep your concrete walls. The moment the streets clear out, I’m walking out that door."

"Try it," I replied coldly, matching his glare without blinking an eye. "And the second you step foot outside this block, you'll be feeding the things roaming the avenue. If you want to throw your life away for your stupid pride, be my guest. But Maya stays here."

Derrick let out a harsh, bitter laugh, running a grease-stained hand over his face. He looked exhausted, broken, and dangerously furious all at once. He turned his back on me, walking over to sit beside his sleeping sister.

I turned away from him and walked up the metal stairs to the second-floor control room. I had bigger problems than Derrick's wounded ego.

I sat down at the central security desk and pulled up the live camera feeds. The street cameras showed total chaos on the main avenue—abandoned cars, fires burning near the intersection, and frantic crowds scattering in every direction as the early wave of infected tore through the stragglers.

Then I checked the satellite tracking and encrypted private intelligence feeds I had set up to monitor elite corporate movements.

My eyes narrowed as I pulled up a file flagged with high priority: Sterling Global Enterprises.

Where was Julian?

According to the federal logs and dark web tracker updates, Julian hadn't been caught in the initial SEC raids at the corporate headquarters this morning. While his father and the board members were being dragged out of the building in handcuffs by federal agents, Julian had already slipped out through a private underground parking garage.

He had chartered a private helicopter out of the city center just an hour before the regional airspace was locked down under emergency quarantine protocols.

Julian hadn't surrendered. He had run. And he had taken a heavily armed private security detail and millions in hidden emergency bearer bonds with him.

He was out there somewhere in the collapsing country, nursing a psychotic, burning vendetta against me for ruining his family empire. And unlike the mindless infected roaming the streets, Julian had resources, weapons, and a brain wired purely for malice.

My phone buzzed on the desk.

An incoming encrypted message flashed on the screen from an unknown number. I opened it. A single photograph appeared, attached with no text:

It was a picture of my northern valley bunker’s main access gate, taken from the hidden tree line across the ridge.

Someone was already watching our sanctuary. And I had a feeling I knew exactly who had hired them.