SELMA
Morning felt different.
The light filtering through the cracked window was pale and weak. It passed through dangling strands of web that caught dust, forming faint, broken halos. The sun was up; Selma could tell by the glow, but it didn't bring warmth. It promised nothing. It only revealed what was already wrong.
She sat on the edge of the couch, feet flat on the floor, back straight, hands resting lightly on her knees. The building made its usual sounds: metal shifting as it cooled, a low groan from deep in the support beams, the faint scratch of something crawling far outside. The noises no longer surprised her. That scared her more than the sounds themselves.
Three days.
That's all it had been.
Three days since the world cracked open and showed them what was lurking underneath.
No one really slept anymore. They drifted, closed their eyes, stood watch in silence. Even now, in what passed for morning, the apartment felt like it was holding its breath.
Hassan sat by the far wall with his arms folded tightly across his chest. His eyes were open but unfocused, fixed on a stain in the plaster that hadn't been there yesterday. Selma had seen him scrub his hands earlier with water they couldn't afford to waste, rubbing until his knuckles turned red. He hadn't explained why. He didn't need to.
Abdi leaned against the counter, shoulders hunched slightly forward. He looked smaller than usual, like he was trying to take up less space. Occasionally, his fingers twitched, flexing as if he expected the floor to give way again. Selma noticed he now avoided the east side of the apartment.
Chris sat cross-legged on the floor by the doorway, taking apart and putting back together a flashlight for the third time. The soft click of plastic echoed louder than it should have. No one told her to stop.
Craig stood near the kitchen window, mug in hand, staring out without really seeing. He hadn't slept much; Selma could hear it in his voice when he spoke, the slight roughness from being awake too long. He carried it well, though. He always did.
And then there was Zak.
Selma's eyes found him effortlessly.
He stood by the window facing the skyline, hands resting lightly on the sill, posture relaxed but alert. His gaze moved constantly—across the webbing outside, along the distant buildings held together by silk, down toward the street, and then back again. He looked like someone planning exits that didn't exist yet.
He hadn't said much since Hassan and Abdi returned the night before.
When they told the group what they saw, Selma observed Zak closely. He didn't react as she expected. No outburst. No disbelief. Just a tightening around his eyes, a long silence, and then careful questions. The kind you ask when you already believe the answer.
Craig broke the silence first.
"We can't stay here forever," he said.
His voice was calm and steady. Not loud. Not commanding. Just a statement placed gently in the middle of the room.
No one argued.
"The web's already cracked," Craig continued. "That fight yesterday made sure of it. Whatever's holding this building up won't last forever."
Zak nodded, still facing the window. "There's a supermarket two blocks south," he said. "We all saw it. If we time it right—early, quiet—we could—"
"We already did the run," Chris said, sharper than she probably intended. She stopped fiddling with the flashlight and looked up. "We got food. Enough for now."
Zak turned then, slowly, as if he didn't want to startle anyone. His eyes moved over them one by one. Selma felt the weight of that look when it reached her, like he was checking not just that she was there, but that she was still herself.
"And we learned something," he said.
Hassan's jaw tightened.
"We learned the ground isn't empty," Zak went on. "And the sky isn't safe forever."
Abdi's gaze flicked up, then away.
Selma swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.
Craig exhaled through his nose, the sound controlled. "Then we talk about the other option."
No one needed him to say it.
"The boat," Craig said anyway.
The word settled into the room like a physical weight.
Selma had heard about it before the apocalypse, back when the idea of the future still existed. Zak's inheritance. A fully stocked military vessel anchored off the coast. Supplies, fuel, communications. A place that wasn't suspended between buildings by strands of silk.
"If we can reach the coast," Zak said, "we don't just survive day to day. We move. We choose when to stop."
Hassan looked up fully now. "And how do we get there?"
Silence followed.
Not empty silence—thoughtful silence.
Selma watched Zak as he worked through it. She always noticed when he did this. His jaw set, eyes narrowing slightly, like he was lining up pieces in his head. It was grounding. It made the panic fade just a little.
She didn't like how much she depended on that.
Abdi shifted his weight. "I can take people down," he said quietly. "One at a time. Close to my weight. Slow."
Craig nodded once. "Then that's the plan. We prepare. We don't rush."
The idea of preparing felt almost dangerous. Like tempting fate.
Hope crept in anyway. Fragile. Unsteady.
Selma stood and crossed the room before she could stop herself. The far window—the one facing the street—loomed ahead of her. She hadn't looked down there since the first day. Since the screams had cut off too suddenly.
Her hand hovered near the glass.
The web thinned along the east side now, sagging where the wasp and spider had torn through it. Sunlight reached the pavement below in broken lines, interrupted by shadows that didn't move with the clouds.
At first, Selma thought the shapes below were debris.
Cars. Rubble. Things left behind.
Then one of them shifted.
Her breath caught sharply in her chest.
They were people.
Not insects. Not warped shapes crawling on too many legs.
Humans.
They stood scattered across the street, spaced unevenly, bodies slack and wrong. Their heads tilted at angles that hurt to look at. One dragged a foot slowly along the asphalt, the sound faint but scraping. Another turned its head too fast, like a broken hinge snapping into place.
They weren't screaming.
They weren't running.
They weren't looking up.
Selma stepped back from the window, heart pounding hard enough that she was sure the others could hear it.
Her mouth opened.
No sound came out.
Behind her, the apartment remained quiet.