"Sit down and let me suck you."
The woman laughed awkwardly as she took a seat. "You shouldn't joke like that."
Silas smirked, tightening the strap around her arm. "Humor keeps people calm. Especially on days like this."
The small medical office was dim except for the pale glow from the old television mounted in the corner. The news anchor's voice carried through static.
[Authorities urge citizens to remain indoors. Cases of violence and cannibalism have continued to rise across multiple districts—]
Silas turned down the volume with his elbow, keeping his gloves sterile. "Well… that's that."
The woman's smile faded. "It's getting worse, isn't it?"
He found her vein quickly, slid the needle in, and watched the blood flow into the tube. "Depends who you ask. The news says it's just isolated cases. I've seen three patients this week come in covered in bite marks."
Her eyes widened. "People did that to them?"
He nodded slightly. "People."
Silas replaced the tube, labeling each one neatly before setting them in the rack. His movements were steady, practiced, but his eyes kept flicking toward the hallway door.
"How's your daughter?" he asked casually.
"She's in the next room," the woman said, nervous. "My husband's with her. Doctor's checking her temperature again."
"Good," Silas murmured. "Keep her close. And keep the windows closed tonight."
The woman frowned. "Why? Do you know something?"
He peeled off his gloves and tossed them into the bin. "I draw blood all day," he said quietly. "Trust me what's out there isn't a virus."
Before she could reply, the TV flickered again. The anchor's voice stuttered over static:
["...breaking news— emergency curfew now in effect— anyone experiencing aggression or disorientation should—"]
The screen went black.
Silas turned toward the window. Outside, sirens wailed somewhere far away.
He sighed and grabbed his coat. "Lock the door behind me," he said. "And if anyone starts acting strange… don't wait for help."
Then he walked out.
He sighed. He had his suspicions about what was happening, though he couldn't say them out loud. Imagine going to your doctor and hearing there's a zombie apocalypse.
Even he didn't believe it fully, but the samples he'd seen told a different story. Whatever people were getting sick from, it wasn't viral or bacterial. It was something else.
He slipped off his gloves and reached for his phone. The screen lit up with a new headline:
[Multiple countries threaten to launch nuclear weapons amid bioweapon accusations.]
He exhaled slowly, scrolling. It had been escalating all week, every nation blaming another, each outbreak sparking panic in another corner of the world. There had been no cure or origin of the disease, which caused chaos among the higher ups.
The clinic lights flickered. A low, heavy rumble rolled through the floor. He froze, frowning, thinking it was another tremor from the construction site nearby.
Then came the flash.
For a moment, everything turned white, so bright it burned through his closed eyelids. The sound followed a heartbeat later: a deafening concussion that shattered every window in the building.
The pressure threw him backward. He hit the floor hard, glass raining down like hail. The blast rolled through the street outside, bending car frames and stripping bark from the trees.
He covered his head as the shockwave passed, ears ringing, dust filling the air. The clinic door was gone, ripped clean off its hinges.
When he lifted his head, he could barely hear. Just the muffled whine inside his skull and the distant crackle of fire.
Silas tried to stand, but his left arm gave out. Blood ran from a gash above his eyebrow, warm and steady. His vision doubled, then steadied again.
Through the broken wall, he saw the city skyline, or what was left of it.
A bright orange plume rose in the distance, curling into a black column that stretched across the sky.
He stared at it, chest rising and falling slowly. The phone still in his hand vibrated once before dying, the screen going dark.
For the first time, Silas realized it wasn't just an outbreak anymore.
Whatever this was, the world had just gone past the point of return.
His heartbeat filled his ears, heavy and uneven. Screams cut through the ringing, mixing with the endless rumble of collapsing buildings. Somewhere farther off, another explosion shook the ground. Maybe another city was being hit.
He tried to stand. Pain surged through his abdomen, sharp and deep. When he looked down, he saw the glass, a jagged piece buried just above his hip, blood soaking through his shirt. He pulled it out with shaking hands, gasping as the warmth spread down his side.
Voices echoed from the hallway. People were running, shouting for help, for anyone still alive. Silas leaned against the broken doorframe, trying to steady his breath.
Then something slammed into him.
A man — or what used to be one — crashed into his chest, knocking him back against the wall. The smell hit first: sweat, blood, and something rotten. The man's eyes were wild, pupils blown wide, teeth bared.
Silas froze. His brain refused to process what he was seeing. The man lunged again, grabbing at his neck, biting down hard into his shoulder. The pain hit like lightning.
"Ah—! Get off!"
Instinct took over. Silas shoved him away, but the man recovered instantly, stumbling forward with a low snarl. The blood dripping from his mouth wasn't his own.
Silas grabbed the nearest thing he could, a broken glass shard from the floor. The man jumped again, tackling him to the ground. They crashed into a cabinet, sending metal trays scattering.
Silas screamed, not from fear but from raw pain and anger. He drove the shard into the man's neck once, twice, again and again, each hit harder than the last.
The body twitched, hands clawing weakly at his shirt, until the movements slowed and finally stopped.
He pushed the body off and sat there shaking, covered in blood that wasn't all his. His breath came fast and ragged. The glass slipped from his hand, clinking against the floor.
He looked at the bite on his shoulder — deep, torn, bleeding badly. The world outside still roared, the sound of sirens, fires, and human screams blending into one endless noise.
Silas finally realized the world wasn't ending in days or weeks.
It had already ended.
Silas pushed himself upright, one hand on the wall to steady his balance.
The cut on his abdomen burned with every movement, the fabric of his shirt sticking to the blood. He limped through the hallway, passing broken glass and overturned trays.
People ran past him, some crying, some covered in blood that wasn't theirs. The noise was constant, shouting, metal collapsing, distant explosions.
He moved with them toward the exit. His thoughts were scattered but clear enough to understand one thing: he needed to leave.
Then a scream cut through the chaos. It was high pitched, and frightened, it too young to ignore. He hesitated, jaw tight, but kept moving.
Near the reception area, he saw her, the woman he had drawn blood from earlier. She stood in the doorway, hair messy, her voice breaking as she yelled into the street.
"RICHARD! ASHLEY!"
Silas froze. He knew those names. Her husband and daughter.
The crowd shoved past him, nearly knocking him aside, but he didn't move. The woman's face was desperate. She looked ready to run straight into the chaos if it meant finding them.
He cursed under his breath. "I'll look for her," he said.
She looked at him, uncertain, then nodded without a word.
Silas adjusted his torn sleeve and glanced at the bite on his shoulder. The skin around it had darkened, the veins beneath already discolored. He didn't need a doctor to know what it meant. He was done for.
He turned away from the exit and started down the hall. The feral ones were there, moving through the corridors, twitching and muttering, but none attacked him. They watched as he passed, tilting their heads like animals unsure of what they were seeing.
Maybe they smelled it on him. Maybe they already thought he was one of them.
A scream echoed ahead.
"DADDY! NO! NOOOO!"
Silas ran. The wound in his side pulled with every step, but he ignored it. The sound guided him through the dim hallway, past broken lights and blood on the walls. He didn't think about what he'd find. He just followed the scream.
He entered the room and saw the girl trying to run. Her shoes slid on the blood-slick floor as she scrambled toward the corner, crying for help.
Silas pushed forward, ignoring the pain in his stomach. His head pulsed with heat, each heartbeat sending a sharp sting through his temples. The walls seemed to bend in his vision, shapes twisting and fading.
"Ash—"
He didn't finish the name. A sudden blow struck the side of his head. His legs gave out, and the world dropped away beneath him.
The last thing he saw was the girl's small frame collapsing beside the motionless body of a man.
Then everything went dark.