The sun had just begun its slow descent behind the skyline of Ravenbrooke, a bustling urban city tucked somewhere in the heart of America. The streets were crowded with honking cars and pedestrians hurrying home after work, unaware that their ordinary lives were about to crumble into nightmares.
Marcus Williams wiped the sweat off his forehead as he tightened his tool belt. A long day at the construction site left his muscles aching, but the thought of his family waiting for him gave him the strength to keep going.
Just one more shift. Then home. Anna's probably making her special stew again.
He smiled faintly, adjusting his hardhat.
By the time Marcus reached his small, two-story home in Ravenbrooke's suburban district, the streetlights had flickered on. The familiar scent of roasted garlic and herbs greeted him as soon as he pushed open the door.
Inside, Anna Williams stood in the kitchen, her auburn hair tied into a messy bun, humming softly while stirring a pot. She glanced over her shoulder, mock annoyance in her eyes.
"Late again. Do they make you build the whole city on your own, Marcus?"
Marcus chuckled, setting down his lunch pail. "If they paid me more, maybe I'd consider it."
From the living room, the sound of laughter echoed. Ava Williams, their fourteen-year-old daughter, was sprawled across the couch with her schoolbooks open. She lifted her head, her brown eyes lighting up when she saw her father.
"Dad! You promised you'd practice with me today."
Marcus frowned in mock confusion. "Practice? What practice?"
Ava pointed dramatically at the acoustic guitar propped against the wall. "That! You said you'd teach me another chord."
"Sweetheart, I'm covered in dirt and concrete dust."
"You're always covered in dirt. No excuses!" Ava grinned, rushing to grab the guitar and shoving it into his hands.
Anna shook her head but couldn't hide her smile. "Don't let her bully you too much, Marcus."
He sat down on the couch, strumming a few lazy notes. Ava watched with eager eyes, soaking up every motion of his calloused fingers.
In that moment, life was simple. Perfect.
Later that night, the television droned in the background as the family ate dinner. A news anchor's voice reported rising cases of a "strange flu" spreading through nearby districts of Ravenbrooke. Hospitals were reportedly overwhelmed.
Anna frowned. "Another flu season already?"
Marcus shrugged. "People panic over anything these days. Remember the swine flu?"
Ava stabbed her fork into her plate. "It won't be that bad, right?"
Marcus reached across the table, squeezing her hand gently. "We'll be fine, kiddo. Always."
But unease tugged at him. Something in the anchor's voice carried more than the usual panic.
It was well past midnight when Marcus awoke to frantic pounding on their front door.
He stumbled out of bed, grabbing the old shotgun from the rack above the closet—an heirloom from his father, rarely touched, almost forgotten.
"Stay upstairs!" he told Anna firmly, though fear already tightened his throat.
The pounding grew louder, frantic, mixed with guttural, wet growls. Marcus approached the door cautiously, heart hammering in his chest.
He cracked it open, only to see Mr. Jensen, his next-door neighbor, staggering on the porch. His clothes were torn, his skin pale, and his mouth dripped thick, dark blood. His eyes didn't hold recognition—just hunger.
"Jensen? Are you—"
The man didn't answer. He lunged violently, fingers clawing for Marcus's throat.
Marcus shoved him back, but Jensen's strength was unnatural. His jaws snapped inches from Marcus's face. Anna screamed from upstairs, Ava crying out in terror.
Marcus realized with cold certainty: if Jensen got past him, his family would be next.
With no other choice left, he pulled the trigger.
The shotgun roared, the blast tearing through the night. Jensen collapsed onto the porch, lifeless, blood spilling into the cracks of the wood.
Marcus stood frozen, chest heaving, the weight of what he'd done crushing down on him. His first kill. A neighbor.
And it was only the beginning.
"Marcus!" a familiar voice shouted.
It was Toby, his childhood friend. He pulled up in his pickup truck, eyes wide with panic. "Get Anna and Ava! We need to go. Now!"
Marcus rushed his wife and daughter into the truck. The city around them was unraveling—sirens wailed, gunshots cracked in the distance, people screamed and fought in the streets. Fires licked the night sky.
Ava clung to Marcus's arm, trembling. "Dad, what's happening?"
Marcus glanced at her, searching for words, but none came. He pulled her close instead.
Toby sped through Ravenbrooke's chaotic streets. The tires screeched as he swerved past wrecked cars and fleeing pedestrians.
Then came a sound that made their blood run cold—a shrieking roar overhead.
A passenger plane, burning and broken, spiraled through the sky.
"Holy—" Toby slammed the brakes.
The aircraft clipped a building, exploding into a fireball. The shockwave ripped through the streets, flipping the truck like a toy.
Glass shattered. Metal screamed.
Then, silence. Darkness.
Marcus awoke to the acrid stench of smoke and gasoline. His head throbbed, his ears rang.
"Anna… Ava…"
Anna groaned beside him, bruised but breathing. Relief hit him like a wave—until his gaze fell on Ava.
Her face was pale, blood soaking her pant leg. Her knee was twisted at an unnatural angle.
"Dad…" she whispered, weak and frightened.
Marcus's throat closed up. He lifted her carefully, ignoring the pain screaming through his own body.
Sirens wailed in the distance. Gunfire rattled. Shadows of panicked people darted past the wreck. The world was falling apart.
"Run!" Toby shouted, pulling Marcus by the arm.
And so they did—through the burning streets, Marcus cradling his daughter, Anna stumbling beside him, Toby leading the way.
They turned a corner into a narrow alley, but the sound that followed froze Marcus's blood.
Grotesque figures staggered after them, their limbs jerking, their eyes void of humanity. The infected.
Marcus tightened his grip on Ava, his breath ragged, his heart hammering.
Anna was crying now, Toby kicking open a rusted gate, yelling at them to move.
Behind them, the infected closed in, their guttural cries echoing through the night.
Marcus dared one last glance at the burning city, at the horrors chasing them.
God help us…
And then, they disappeared into the darkness of the alley.
[End of Episode 1]