Ahmed turned off the TV around midnight. The comedy show had ended half an hour ago, but he'd kept watching the static anyway. White noise. Better than silence.
He walked to the bedroom—the dead doctor's bedroom—and lay down without bothering to undress. Blood still stained his shirt. He'd stopped caring.
The gun was still there on the nightstand. The one the doctor had used.
Ahmed picked it up. Felt its weight. Cool metal against his palm. He checked the cylinder.
Two bullets. The doctor had loaded two.
Used one.
One bullet left.
One quick end to all of this. One trigger pull and he'd never have to see another person torn apart. Never have to document another mutation. Never have to watch the world burn and know it was his fault.
But no.
He had work to do. Data to collect. Observations to make.
And if he was being honest with himself—brutally, darkly honest—he wanted to see how this ended. Wanted to know if humanity would claw its way back or if they'd all become monsters together.
Call it scientific curiosity. Call it survivor's guilt. Call it whatever you wanted.
He set the gun back on the nightstand and closed his eyes.
Outside, the infected groaned and shuffled and learned.
Inside, Ahmed smiled in the darkness.
And slept like the dead.
MORNING (DAWN) (Around 4:30 A.M.)
The faintest hint of light touched the edge of the blinds.
Reyan jolted awake, neck stiff from sleeping against the wall. For a second he forgot where he was. Then memory crashed back like cold water.
The apartment. His daughter. Priya's body in the stairwell.
He looked around the room.
Everyone was still asleep. Samir curled up on the floor near the door, one hand still gripping his pipe even in sleep. Taj sprawled on the couch, mouth open, snoring softly. Vikram in the chair by the window, head tilted back, knife balanced on his lap. His daughter on the makeshift bed of cushions, wrapped in her blanket, rabbit tucked under her chin.
All sleeping. All breathing. All alive.
For now.
Reyan stood quietly, trying not to wake them. His legs felt stiff. Unsteady. When had he last eaten? Slept more than an hour? He couldn't remember.
He moved toward the balcony, needing air, needing to see what was out there.
He stepped outside and looked down at the street.
Empty.
Completely, utterly empty.
No infected. No bodies. No movement at all. Just abandoned cars, scattered trash, and darkness slowly giving way to dawn. The street looked almost peaceful. Like the city was just sleeping in on a lazy Sunday morning.
Reyan's heart hammered in his chest.
Where had they gone?
There had been dozens of them last night. He'd watched them hunt. Coordinate. Kill that man in the alley. And now—
Nothing.
"Papa, look!"
He spun around.
His daughter stood in the doorway, pointing down at the empty street. Her eyes were wide but excited.
"They're gone! The sick people are all gone!"
Relief crashed over him. "Yeah, baby. I see that."
Footsteps behind her. Samir appeared, rubbing sleep from his eyes, pipe still in hand. "Reyan? What's—" He stopped. Looked down. "Holy shit. Where did they go?"
"I don't know." Reyan's voice was tight. "They were here last night. Dozens of them."
Taj joined them at the railing, squinting through his cracked glasses. "Maybe they migrated? Followed food somewhere else?"
"All of them?" Reyan shook his head. "At once? In the middle of the night?"
"Well, they're definitely gone now." Samir leaned on the railing, scanning the street. "This might be our window. We could get to the car. Make a run for Vaishali while it's clear."
"We should move fast," Taj agreed. "Before they come back. Whatever made them leave might not last."
Reyan nodded slowly. It didn't make sense. None of this made sense. But maybe it didn't have to. Maybe this was just luck. Good luck, for once.
They were due some luck.
"I'll wake Vikram," Samir said, turning back toward the apartment.
Reyan stood there a moment longer, staring at the empty street. The sky was getting lighter now—that grey pre-dawn light that made everything look washed out and unreal.
Something felt wrong.
Off.
Like a note played slightly out of tune. Like a word on the tip of his tongue that he couldn't quite remember.
He turned to follow Samir inside—
And froze.