Chapter 4

Outside the window, a blood moon crept up silently, casting an ominous red glow over the neighborhood. I drew the blast-proof curtains closed, tacked the new calendar to the wall, and circled today's date in red.

*****

Twenty-one days till all hell breaks loose.

The date on the monitor read: March 22, 2028, 9:17 AM.

I fixed my gaze on the four split-screen feeds, finger hovering over the security system's activation button. The east gate cam captured an ambulance veering wildly through the entrance, smashing right through the barrier.

This was it.

Memories from my previous life hit me like a knife—the zombie virus had broken out at 9:03 AM in the city hospital's ER, and by 9:17, the first infected-laden ambulance had crashed into our complex.

On the main display, the ambulance's back doors burst open, and a white-coated figure tumbled out onto the ground. No, not tumbled—yanked. A pair of ashy-gray hands shot out from inside, clamping down on the doctor's shoulders like a vice.

"Activate level one protocols," I whispered, pressing the button.

A soft mechanical whir filled the apartment. The bulletproof windows locked tight, ventilation switched to recirc, and all doors engaged their electromagnetic seals. I made my way to the weapons cabinet, pulled out a compound bow and half a dozen arrows, and tucked them under the coffee table, right within easy reach.

In the video, the doctor in the white coat lay motionless. Those gray hands began ripping at his coat—clumsy yet determined, like a child dismantling a toy they despised.

I toggled to the sanatorium's feed, where my parents were staying. The military had the whole place on lockdown, with armed troops patrolling the outer walls. Dad was strolling through the garden, and Mom was kicking back on the balcony with a book. Seeing them safe loosened the tight coil in my chest, if only a bit.

Out of nowhere, a piercing scream echoed up from below. I switched back to the complex cameras and caught Jolene—my so-called "good neighbor"—dragging her daughter in a frantic dash toward our building, with her husband Ramon Ayala shambling awkwardly behind.

"Some things never change," I muttered, a cold smile tugging at my lips. In my previous life, the Ayalas were among the first to flee back here too—the big difference being that I'd been naive enough to let them in.

My phone started buzzing nonstop. I glanced at it; the neighborhood group chat was blowing up.

[There's some maniac biting people at the east gate!]

[That's no maniac—it's zombies! Just like in the movies!]

[Emergency lines are down—can't get through!]

[Where's the property manager? Where the hell did Houston disappear to?]

I didn't reply, just pulled up the hallway camera feed. Three minutes later, Jolene and her family stumbled into view on the screen. Ramon's right arm dangled limp at his side, his sleeve drenched in blood.

They made a beeline for my door.

"Ms. Carney! Open up! Please, open the door!" Jolene pounded her fists against it, her voice cracking with sobs. "There's a maniac out there biting anyone in sight!"

I switched on the intercom but kept the door locked. "Jolene, what's happened to your husband?"

"He... he got bitten, but it's not too bad!" She shot a quick glance back at him, her eyes flickering uneasily. "Ms. Carney, for old times' sake as neighbors..."

I switched camera angles and zoomed in on Ramon's wound: two distinct rows of tooth marks, sunk deep enough to expose bone, with an unnatural grayish-blue hue already creeping around the edges. From my days working in a hospital in my previous life, I knew the infection had hit his bloodstream.

"Who bit him?" I asked calmly.

"A lunatic! Right at the entrance to the complex!" Their daughter, Kristie Ayala, shrieked. "Hurry and open the door! They're gonna catch up to us!"

I pulled up the elevator camera and spotted three distorted figures slapping at the buttons on the ground floor. Two minutes tops before they'd start climbing the stairs.

"Ms. Carney, I've always treated you well," Jolene's voice sharpened into a shrill edge. "Remember when your water pipe burst? It was my husband who fixed it for you! How can you be so ungrateful?"

A memory flashed back: in my previous life, Jolene standing in my kitchen, sipping my last bottle of water, while Ramon lugged my food supplies over to their place. "You can't eat all this alone anyway," she'd said. "We have a kid—we need it more than you."

The surveillance alarm blared—the elevator had just reached our floor.

"They're here!" Kristie let out an ear-piercing scream.

I glanced at the screen: three "people" lurching out of the elevator. They moved way faster than zombies in the movies, practically jogging as they charged at the Ayala family.

Suddenly, Ramon unleashed an inhuman roar and lunged at Jolene and Kristie. Jolene screamed, shoving him back, and hammered on my door even harder. "Open up! You bitch! Open the damn door!"

I cut off the intercom, ignoring their curses. Thirty seconds later, the swearing gave way to agonized screams, followed by the nauseating sounds of flesh tearing and wet gulping.

I didn't look away, forcing myself to watch every second. This was the path I'd chosen—I had to confront it all.