NIGHT
Reyan couldn't sleep.
He sat on the balcony, knees pulled up, arms wrapped around them. His daughter had dozed off an hour ago, finally exhausted from crying. Inside, the others were sleeping too. Samir and Taj on the floor, backs against opposite walls. Vikram in the chair by the door, knife still gripped in his hand even in sleep.
The city was quiet now.
No sirens anymore. No car alarms. No horns. Just the occasional sound of distant glass breaking. Sometimes, a low groan carried on the wind.
Then the screaming started.
A woman's voice. Raw. Desperate. Terror stripped down to its purest form.
It came from somewhere in the building. The lobby, maybe. Or one of the lower floors.
"Please! Please, someone help me!"
Reyan's hand moved toward the door handle. He could go down. Help her. Save her like he'd failed to save Priya.
"Oh God, oh God, they're everywhere! Please, I have children! PLEASE!"
His fingers touched the cold metal.
Then the scream cut off.
Not slowly. Not fading. Just—gone. Replaced by a wet, gurgling sound that made his stomach turn.
Reyan's hand fell away from the door.
He couldn't help her. If he went down there, he'd die too. And then who would protect his daughter? Who would find Samir's sister? Who would keep this fragile group of survivors alive?
The woman was already dead. Going after her would just add his corpse to the pile.
He knew this. Logically, rationally, he knew this.
But knowing didn't stop the sounds.
The wet tearing. The crunching. The satisfied groans of the infected as they fed. Those sounds would carve themselves into his memory. They'd replay every time he closed his eyes for the rest of his life.
However long that might be.
SEVERAL MINUTES LATER
He walked to the balcony railing and looked down.
The street was lit by a few surviving streetlights, casting everything in sickly yellow. He could see them clearly. Dozens of infected, wandering between abandoned cars. Some shambled slowly, jerky and aimless. Some moved faster, heads swiveling, searching. Some just stood perfectly still, heads tilted, like they were listening to something only they could hear.
Reyan watched them for a long time.
Then movement caught his eye.
A figure burst out of an alley—a man, living, running flat-out. His footsteps echoed off the buildings.
Behind him, infected gave chase. Fast ones. Runners.
But not all of them followed.
Reyan leaned forward, watching.
Some of the faster infected peeled off, circling around through side streets. One darted ahead, moving parallel to the man's path. Another cut through a parking lot, positioning itself at the mouth of an alley two blocks ahead.
They were coordinating.
They were cutting off his escape routes.
The man didn't see it. He was too focused on what was behind him. When he reached the intersection, only one path was clear—the alley to his left.
He turned and ran straight into it.
The infected was waiting.
It grabbed him by the throat and pulled him down. The others descended immediately, moving with terrible purpose.
The man's scream lasted several minutes. Then nothing.
Reyan stood there, watching. His face was blank. Empty.
They were getting smarter. Learning to hunt. Working together.
He should feel something. Horror. Fear. Grief for another human life lost.
But he felt nothing. Just a cold, analytical observation filing itself away in his brain: Avoid running. They'll herd you. They'll trap you.
What did that make him?
What kind of person watched another human being die and felt nothing?
A survivor, something whispered in the back of his mind. Something dark and practical and utterly without mercy. That's what you are now. Not a person. A survivor. And survivors do what they must.
He turned away from the railing.
Walked back inside.
Locked the balcony door.
His daughter was still sleeping, rabbit clutched to her chest. Her face was peaceful. Innocent.
Reyan sat down on the floor beside her and tried to sleep.
But when he closed his eyes, all he could see was Priya's face. The moment the knife went in. The way she'd looked at him—confused, hurt, still somehow her in that last second before she fell.
All he could hear was that woman screaming in the lobby. Begging for someone to save her. Begging for her children.
All he could feel was the cold, creeping knowledge that he was becoming something less than human.
Something that could watch people die and feel nothing.
Something that could lie to his own daughter and justify it.
Something that could survive.
And he didn't know if that was better or worse than being dead.