The static hum of the radio seemed to vibrate in Iris's bones, the President's fractured words echoing the chilling silence outside. Act of war. Bioweapon. North Korea. It wasn't just a sickness; it was a strike. And they, in their sealed apartment, were living targets.
"We can't stay here, Iris," David said, his voice low, firm, cutting through the dread. He moved with a grim efficiency, pulling out a large, faded map of the greater metropolitan area from a hidden compartment beneath a floorboard. His finger, calloused and steady, traced a path. "Fort Hamilton. It's south, across the bridge. They'll have a perimeter, supplies. It's our best shot at… something. My old unit, they still owe me a few favors." He spoke of it like a given, a destination. Iris just nodded, her mind reeling, her gaze fixed on the impossible scar on her arm.
He grabbed an old, encrypted satellite phone, its surface scuffed but intact. After a few agonizing minutes of silence, punctuated only by his ragged breaths and the distant sounds of the city's unraveling, a crackle. Then, a voice. It was brief, barked words, too quick for Iris to follow. David's face, already grim, tightened further. He slammed the phone shut.
"Change of plans," he announced, turning to Iris, his eyes alike with a sliver of desperate hope. "It's worse than I thought. But… we have a chance. My old unit. They're trying an extraction. A helicopter. But we have to get to One World Trade Center, specifically its helipad roof. It's our only way out of the city." He pointed to the soaring needle of the tower on the map, a stark, almost absurd beacon against the chaos.
Iris stared at the map. One World Trade. It looked impossibly far, a journey across a city already gone mad. "How?" she whispered, her throat dry.
David's gaze hardened. "One step at a time. We move fast. We stay quiet. And remember," he added, his eyes piercing, "about your arm. About what you went through. We don't tell anyone. Not a soul. If they knew… they'd take you. And they'd never let you go. Do you understand?" Iris, still grappling with the impossible, could only nod. The secret, a heavy, cold weight, settled in her chest.
The city was a grotesque parody of itself. Abandoned cars lay twisted and broken like discarded toys, some still smoldering, their metallic carcasses exhaling acrid smoke. The air was thick, a noxious blend of burning rubber, ozone, and that sickening, metallic-sweet stench Iris now knew too well – the smell of decay and spilled blood.
David moved with the preternatural awareness of a hunter, his handgun held ready, his movements economical. He led them through choked side streets, narrow alleyways reeking of garbage, and the hushed, cavernous spaces of abandoned ground-floor shops. The infected, zombies, were everywhere. Some shambled aimlessly, moaning, bumping into debris, lost in their primal hunger. Others lunged with horrifying speed, a blur of diseased flesh and flailing limbs, drawn by any sound, any movement, the faint scent of the living.
They almost didn't make it past a collapsed construction site. A lumbering zombie, hidden by a pile of twisted rebar, lurched out, its black eyes fixing on David, its guttural moan a promise of violence. David raised his gun, but his foot slipped on a loose piece of concrete. Iris felt a jolt, a surge of pure, unadulterated terror and power. She didn't think; she reacted. She instinctively shoved David forward with incredible force, almost knocking him off his feet. As the zombie lunged past where David's face had been, its decaying teeth snapping, Iris pivoted. Without conscious thought, her arm whipped out, her closed fist striking with impossible speed and terrifying force. There was a sickening crack, a wet thud, and the zombie's head twisted at an unnatural angle as it collapsed, lifeless, to the ground.
Iris stared at the fallen zombie, then at her trembling hand, a strange tingling sensation running through her arm. Her heart hammered against her ribs, not just from fear, but from the bewildering surge of power she'd felt.
David scrambled back up, his eyes wide, fixed first on the utterly destroyed zombie, then on Iris. "What the hell was that?" he hissed, his voice a raw whisper of disbelief. He hadn't seen the impossible speed of her strike, only the devastating result.
Iris stammered, "I… I don't know. It just… happened." A hot flush spread across her face. She knew it wasn't just luck.
They were forced to cross a wide, open plaza, usually bustling with commuters, now a silent, treacherous expanse. David attempted a sprint, weaving through scattered debris. But they were spotted. A moaning chorus rose from the far end of the plaza, and a horde, drawn by their movement, began to shuffle and lunge towards them.
Iris felt that jolt again, stronger this time. It wasn't just a surge of power; it was a terrifying clarity. She saw the zombies' movements in slow motion, the trajectories of their lunges, the gaps between their lurching bodies. When one stumbled just ahead of them, threatening to block their path, she didn't hesitate. She grabbed David's shoulder and, with another surge of impossible strength, shoved him forward again, propelling him over the fallen zombie, almost stumbling herself. Then, with a burst of superhuman agility, she vaulted over it too, landing lightly beside him.
They sprinted, the sounds of the horde fading behind them. David didn't scold her this time. He just ran, his eyes darting to her, a new, unsettled look in their depths. The knowledge of her difference, the one he was so desperate to hide, was becoming harder to ignore.
They found Alex Chen trapped high up in a neighboring building, the glass of his executive office splattered with blood from something that had tried to get in. He was frantically waving, his impeccable suit rumpled, his hair disheveled. David was about to pull Iris past him, but her enhanced hearing caught a series of muffled, desperate shouts from the window.
"Dad, wait!" Iris whispered, pointing. "Someone's in there! They're screaming for help!"