They'd all seen it happen.
The police had been hunting them for blocks, boots pounding against the cracked pavement, flashlights cutting through the dark. Then, in a blur of movement, they caught one of his teammates—dragging him screaming into the night.
Mora shouted something, but Tyrone had already broken off from the group, sprinting after the officers. The rest didn't follow. They couldn't. Time was bleeding away fast, and when the clock struck twelve…
The infected would turn.
They'd seen it before—people writhing in the streets, smiles tearing wider and wider until their cheeks split, eyes glazed over with madness. When the change hit, there was no coming back.
So Mora kept leading the others toward the bunker, her face pale but resolute.
Tyrone, meanwhile, shadowed the police as they hauled his teammate down a narrow street, toward a looming building with a rusted red cross above its entrance.
At first glance, it looked like a hospital. But as Tyrone crept closer, ducking behind trash bins and broken walls, he saw the truth—No nurses. No patients. Just uniformed guards, and a cold, sterile corridor lined with heavy steel doors.
The officers shoved his teammate inside one of them. The door clanged shut, a mechanical hiss locking it from within.
Tyrone stayed low, every muscle tight. Midnight was minutes away. He could still turn back.
But if he left now, his teammate wouldn't survive the night.
Tyrone pressed his back against the cold wall, trying to think.He had seconds—maybe a minute—before the guards came back.
That's when he heard it.
Not footsteps. Not breathing.A slow, wet drip… drip… drip.
He turned.
At the far end of the alley, where the shadows were thickest, a figure stood motionless. It was tall, unnaturally still, its face just barely visible under the flickering streetlight.
A smile stretched across its mouth—too wide. Too sharp. And from between its teeth, dark blood ran in thin lines down its chin, pattering onto the ground.
Tyrone's pulse spiked, but he didn't move. The figure tilted its head, like it was studying him… then, with a twitch, it lunged.
Its speed was inhuman—one second it was meters away, the next it was close enough for him to smell the metallic tang of blood on its breath.
Tyrone didn't hesitate. He pivoted sharply, ignoring the creature entirely, and bolted after the retreating officers as they disappeared inside the facility.
Behind him, the figure's footsteps scraped against the concrete, slow and deliberate now… almost as if it was letting him go.
Tyrone's boots slammed against the wet pavement as he closed the distance to the facility doors. The muffled shouts of officers inside echoed through the corridor ahead, but his attention snapped to the faint glow of his wristwatch.
11:58 PM.
His stomach sank."...Fuck," he muttered under his breath, breath ragged. "This isn't good."
He didn't need anyone to explain what midnight meant. He'd seen it happen before—how the infected who still looked human would twist into those laughing, unstoppable things. If his teammate turned while locked up in there, it would be a slaughter… and Tyrone knew the police weren't ready for that.
Behind him, the air seemed heavier, like something was still watching. But he forced himself to focus, slipping through the half-open door before the latch could click shut.
The facility smelled of bleach and something faintly sweet—wrongly sweet. In the distance, he caught sight of the officers dragging his teammate down a hallway lined with bright lights and closed rooms.
He picked up his pace. There was no more time to plan.
Mora's boots crunched against the gravel as they approached the looming entrance of the bunker. Her chest rose and fell with each heavy breath, the cold night air biting at her skin. The massive steel doors stood ajar, the faint hum of the generator absent.
Something was wrong.
She stepped forward cautiously, scanning the open space ahead. No guards. No movement. Not even the usual smell of cooking from the mess hall below.
"Where is everybody?" one of the survivors whispered, his voice trembling.
Mora's eyes darted over the entryway—the security cameras were dead, their little red lights gone dark. A thin layer of dust had settled on the welcome desk, as though no one had touched it in days.
Her stomach twisted. This place was supposed to be safe. Supposed to be filled with people. Supposed to be their refuge.
Instead, it felt like walking into a grave.
Her voice echoed into the hollow darkness.
"Foden! Where are you? Captain!!" Mora's cry tore through the silence, bouncing off the cold steel walls.
Only her own voice came back to her.
The others shifted uneasily, gripping their weapons tighter. One of them swallowed hard, his eyes darting toward the yawning corridor ahead.
A drop of water fell from the ceiling, splashing against the concrete floor with a sound that felt deafening in the emptiness.
No answer.
Mora's pulse quickened, her mind racing with possibilities—none of them good. This wasn't just wrong. This was impossible. The bunker was always manned, always guarded. For it to be this quiet… something had happened.
Her throat tightened as the cold realization crept in.
They weren't alone.