Steam rises in clouds around me—born from the heat of the flames dancing across the street.
The air is breathable, but it burns.
I move forward, weaving between the charred skeletons of burning cars, my eyes locked on the chaos ahead.
People running.
Screaming.
Everything’s on fire.
Every sound stabs into my skull.
Screams. Shattering glass. The crackle of flame.
It’s maddening.
But I’m awake.
So goddamn awake.
—Thomas...
I finally spot him, behind a shattered window on the ground floor of a small apartment.
Soaked—like me.
Our eyes meet.
We don’t need to speak.
We both know why we’re here.
The bike.
It’s our ticket out.
No time to lose.
I run to him.
My heart thunders in my chest.
—This way, I whisper.
We slip into a dark alley, far from the lights, far from the screaming.
The smell of smoke clings to my throat, thick with iron and rot—
Blood.
I tighten my grip on the iron bar.
No way I’m letting go of it.
Our steps barely echo on the rain-soaked cobblestones.
We move in silence.
Deliberate.
Wired.
Then I hear it—
A growl.
Low, wet and close.
I look up.
Three silhouettes.
Wavering at the end of the alley.
Eyes gleaming under distant lightning,
empty of everything but hunger.
—Shit...
I grab Thomas by the arm.
Turn us around.
We don’t get far.
Just three steps—before another figure blocks our path.
Alone.
Slow.
And way too human. it was very disturbing
Its face... Almost unchanged.
Still a face I could recognize. I feel bad for her.
What the hell am I supposed to do? Do I have to kill her ? What if she can be cured ?
My throat tightens.
I glance at Thomas.
He’s frozen in place.
The thing walks toward us—arms out.
Like it wants to gently… hold us.
God, it looks conscious.
No.
Not now.
I raise the iron bar—
and swing with everything I’ve got.
The sound is dull, but it slams into my skull.
I feel the metal sink.
Flesh gives way.
It’s disgusting.
Feels like my hands sank with it.
But it’s done.
The thing crumples to the ground.
Thomas is shaking.
—We just killed someone... holy shit...
I feel the nausea rising—
but I force my legs to move.
—No time Thomas. We have to go!
—How can you stay so calm after that dude ? We just killed someone ?
—And what can we do right now ? Nothing. I feel bad too trust me, didn't you see her face ?
Thomas didn't say a word after that.
We run, no looking back.
We run without knowing where we’ll land.
Every turn feels like it could be worse than the last.
[BOOM]
An explosion slams my eardrums.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
A car, maybe.
Fire spills skyward—
greedy, wild, angry.
Above, the stars have vanished.
But right now, that’s the least of our concerns.
Sirens wail in the distance.
People sprint in every direction—
some with stolen bags,
others with weapons,
and some just swinging at anything that moves.
Others…
They’re just looting.
Smashing everything.
A riot.
Pure, unfiltered chaos.
I shoulder past a guy holding a bloody bat.
He glances at me—
vacant eyes—
then turns back to beat someone on the ground.
—Fuck...
Thomas keeps his head low.
He’s quiet.
Off, somehow.
But with all this going on, I can’t really blame him.
We weave through mobs, through screams.
Shouts. Glass. Blood.
But it’s not our problem.
The bike.
Only the bike.
We’ll make it out of the city—
maybe head for the countryside.
Fewer people.
Fewer problems.
Finally…
I recognize the street.
We’re close.
We saw it so we slow down.
There it is—
The bike.
Finally.
But of course… it couldn’t be that simple.
A group of guys is loitering nearby.
Nothing special in how they’re dressed—
jeans, jackets, basic tees.
Totally normal…
at first glance.
But they’re too still and quiet.
Just standing there,
Are they waiting for something or someone ? I can't tell since I'm not in their head you know.
Thomas tugs at my sleeve.
We duck into a shop that’s already been trashed.
There’s nothing left to steal—
just broken shelves, shattered glass,
bags of chips and junk scattered like corpses.
I peek through what’s left of the window.
They haven’t moved.
They haven’t spoken.
What the hell are they waiting for?
I crouch behind a flipped counter.
Thomas sits across from me, eyes distant.
—What do we do? I whisper.
—We wait.
I pull out my half-empty water bottle, hand it to him.
He takes it silently.
Drinks a few gulps.
Passes it back.
Time slows to a crawl.
The air grows heavy.
Each second stretches out like a thread ready to snap.
I keep watching them.
Still nothing.
Too still for a night like this.
—I whisper, You notice it too?
They haven’t moved at all...
No response.
I glance at Thomas.
He’s staring at the group.
His expression’s changed—
no fear.
No confusion.
Almost... serene.
—Thomas?
He stands up without a word.
—Hey, what the fuck are you doing—get down!
He ignores me.
Walks to the exit.
Reaches for the iron bar in my hands.
I grip it tight, confused.
—Thomas, stop! You’re acting weird—STOP!
He yanks it hard.
I lose my grip, stumble backward.
My spine slams the floor.
Vision blurs.
I try to rise—
but my legs fail me.
Again.
Again.
Each time, I collapse.
Again and again.
My arms shake.
My muscles are gone.
Dead weight.
I lie there, helpless—watching him leave.
My chest tightens.
My throat swells.
What the fuck is happening ?
I stay there—curled up behind a shattered counter, breath short, skull still ringing from the hit.
I don’t understand.
Why the hell did he do that?
Outside, the sky begins to pale—
a sickly blue that hints at dawn.
And them...
they’re still there.
All standing in a circle,
like friends waiting for a bonfire to start.
My jaw clenches.
My pulse is a hammer.
I should move.
I should act.
But my legs refuse to answer.
I watch them.
They raise their arms toward the sky.
Like they’re giving thanks.
To some god.
No one speaks.
But the silence—it screams in my ears.
And Thomas...
he’s with them.
In the center.
Smiling.
A real smile.
No fear.
No madness.
Just… peace. And some other shit I can't describe.
What the fuck are you doing, man...
I want to call out to him.
To run to him.
But my throat knots shut.
And deep down…
I know it wouldn’t matter.
Time warps.
Each second slams into my head.
The air thickens with each breath.
I feel like I’m going to suffocate.
Then—
They all tilt their heads toward the sky.
Eyes closed.
Thomas reaches for the iron bar.
Grips it with both hands.
No...
He hands it to someone beside him.
The man pulls out a knife.
Offers it back.
My stomach turns.
My legs come back to life.
I stand.
It happens in seconds.
Blades rise—
Perfectly synchronized.
My body moves on instinct.
—THOMAS, YOU CRAZY FUCK, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!
I dive through the window.
Run.
Close the distance.
I'm close, really close, damn near him.
.
.
The blade slides across his throat—
at the exact same moment as the others.
No sound.
Just the wind.
Blood spills.
Deep red in the pale morning light.
And Thomas—
Still smiling.
I freeze.
Hands shaking.
What the fuck is this?
I can’t move.
Can’t think.
Tears burn my eyes.
I don’t understand.
And I can’t stop gasping.
I can’t stop feeling.
The sun rises.
Bathing the street in a cold light.
And me—
I’m still here.
What now?
Walk away like nothing happened?
I can’t.
"Act without thinking."
Bullshit.
What am I supposed to do now?
...
In the end, I couldn’t just leave him there.
I couldn’t bury him.
Not here. Not anywhere.
Not with the infected closing in.
So I carried him.
I brought his body to a house—
one we’d passed, abandoned since that night.
I cleaned the blood from his neck.
Swapped his shirt for a fresh, white one I’d found.
I laid him down on a bed I’d dusted off with my own jacket.
Swept the room as best I could.
Found an old vase in the hallway.
Filled it with water.
Picked some wildflowers outside—whatever I could find—
and placed them beside him.
I stayed for an hour.
Not because it changed anything.
Just because I couldn’t not.
Then I took out my notebook.
It’s all I have now—
the only thing between me and another disaster.
If I can track how they act, what triggers them...
Maybe I’ll survive the next time.
Maybe someone else will.
So I wrote.
They’re organized.
Connected.
Why are they only active some nights and not others?
Is it tied to the cult?
To the sky they praised, the god they offered themselves to?
Closing the door behind me felt like pulling a piece of my own chest off its hinges.
I got back on the bike.
Riding alone hit harder than I expected.
I kept thinking about what Thomas left in my apartment.
And now—
I think it’s time to leave this city.
The sky was blue as I rode out.
Clear. Light.
Almost like the world hadn’t just collapsed.
Why does the air always feel different the morning after blood?
End of the Prologue