Samir woke before dawn.
The back room was still dark, lit only by the faint gray light seeping under the door. Around him, the others slept. Quiet breathing. Someone snoring softly. The rustle of fabric as Taj shifted in his sleep.
Samir's watch said four-thirty. He'd been on third shift with Reyan, but his shift had ended an hour ago. He should be sleeping. Resting while he could.
But sleep wouldn't come.
His mind kept circling back to the same place. The same two kilometers of street packed wall-to-wall with infected. The horde standing between him and Nisha like an impassable wall.
He sat up carefully, trying not to wake anyone. His back ached from sleeping on the concrete floor. His shoulders were stiff. Everything hurt.
The map was still in the sedan. He'd seen Reyan fold it and shove it in the glove compartment yesterday after they'd planned the route to Nisha's building. The route they'd never taken. The route blocked by thousands of the dead.
Samir stood and moved quietly to the door. Slipped outside into the pre-dawn darkness.
The gas station parking lot was empty and still. The infected had wandered off during the night, following sounds or scents elsewhere. For now, it was quiet.
He opened the sedan's passenger door as quietly as he could sat at left side with the door opened. The overhead light came on and he winced, waiting for groans, for movement, for the infected to appear.
Nothing.
He grabbed the map from the glove compartment and spread it across the hood of the car.
The route they'd planned yesterday was marked in Reyan's handwriting. A simple line from their position to Nisha's apartment building near the shipyard. Two kilometers. Straight shot.
Completely blocked.
Samir stared at the map in the weak light from the car's interior. There had to be another way. A side street. An alley. Something they'd missed.
He traced his finger along the surrounding roads, looking for alternatives.
The main road was out. They'd seen that yesterday. The horde filled it completely.
The parallel street to the north was marked as a commercial district. Probably just as bad. Lots of shops meant lots of people when this started. Lots of people meant lots of infected now.
South was industrial. Warehouses. Factories. Fewer people, maybe, but the buildings were large and empty. Perfect places for the infected to gather.
Samir's finger stopped.
There. East of Nisha's building. About half a kilometer past it.
He remembered Meera mentioning safe zones. Rumors on ham radio. Broken transmissions talking about Vaishali district, supplies, shelter.
What if Nisha had heard the same rumors? What if she'd left her apartment and headed for the safe zone?
It made sense. She was smart. Resourceful. If she knew staying put meant death, she'd move. She'd go where there might be help.
Samir traced a new route on the map. Instead of going straight to her apartment, they could swing wide. Circle around the horde. Approach from the east.
If she was there, they'd find her.
If she wasn't... then they'd figure out the next step.
It was longer. Maybe ten kilometers (from here) instead of eight. But it avoided the horde completely. Used wider streets. Industrial roads built for trucks and heavy equipment.
It could work.
It had to work.
Samir looked up turned left then right then he saw her and the voice of her came out.
"Samir"
He was shocked.
For a moment, all he saw was his own face, pale and hollow. Then, just beyond it—standing outside the car, close enough to fog the glass—was her. Nisha. Hair loose. Eyes fixed on him the way she used to look when she was worried but trying not to show it.
His heart stuttered. "Nisha…"
A soft scrape echoed behind him.
Samir didn't turn. He couldn't. Nisha stood outside the right side of passenger door, so close he felt like if he reached out, his fingers would brush her sleeve.
"Samir."
The sound of his name grounded him and shattered him at the same time.
"Nisha…" His voice broke. "I'm here. I'm coming for you. I—"
Behind him, Vikram froze.
About fifty meters out, near the edge of the pumps, an infected stood motionless. Not wandering. Not reacting to sound. Just facing the car. Facing Samir's back.
Vikram didn't hesitate.
He moved fast, boots quiet on asphalt. One clean strike. The infected dropped without a sound.
At the same time, two more came in from behind the sedan—slow but closing, drawn in while Samir's attention was elsewhere.
Vikram turned, already moving. One went down. Then the other.
Three bodies. Stillness again.
"Samir," Vikram said, sharper now.
Samir blinked.
The space outside the passenger door was empty.
No Nisha. No voice. Just early morning air and the hum of distant insects.
His breath hitched as reality snapped back into place.
"You were talking to someone," Vikram said carefully. "Who were you seeing?"
Samir stared at the right side of the door for a long second, then slowly turned towards Vikram.
"She was standing right there," he said. "Outside the car. She said my name."
Vikram wiped his blade on his sleeve, eyes never leaving Samir. "There was no one there."
"I know what I saw," Samir shot back, then faltered. His voice dropped. "I know how it sounds."
Silence stretched between them.
Vikram finally spoke. "How long since you slept?"
Samir didn't answer.
Vikram exhaled through his nose. "Look, I'm not saying you're losing it. But this—" He gestured vaguely toward the car. "This place messes with people. Lack of sleep. Stress. Guilt."
Samir laughed once, hollow. "So now she's just my brain trying to kill me too?"
Vikram met his eyes. "Your brain's trying to keep you moving."
Samir looked down at the map in his hands. His fingers were shaking.
"She could still be at her house."
Vikram nodded after a beat. "Then we check it."
Samir looked up. " What if I'm wrong?"
"Especially if you're wrong," Vikram said. "Because standing here staring at ghosts will get you killed."
Samir swallowed and folded the map tighter. He glanced once more at the passenger-side window—at his own reflection staring back.
For a second, he almost expected her to be there again.
She wasn't.
"Yeah," Samir said finally. "Let's go."
"Sorry," Samir said. "Didn't mean to wake you."
"You didn't. I've been awake for an hour." Vikram moved closer, looking at the map spread across the hood.
"Can't stop thinking about her."
Vikram nodded. Didn't say anything. Just looked at the map with him.
After a moment, Samir pointed. "There. A different route. Instead of going straight to her apartment, we circle around. Head for the east of her building."
Vikram studied the route. "It's longer."
"But it avoids the horde."
"Maybe." Vikram traced the path with his finger. "These streets are wider. Industrial area. Fewer buildings means fewer places for them to hide. Better sightlines." He looked up. "It's actually not bad."
"You think it'll work?"
"I think it's better than what we had yesterday." Vikram straightened. "We should show the others. Get their input."
By the time the sun started to rise properly, everyone was awake.
They gathered around the sedan, the map spread across the hood. Reyan held his daughter's hand. Taj and Arjun stood close together, both looking exhausted. Karan's group formed a semi-circle on the other side—Meera, Dev, Ravi, all armed, all listening.
Samir explained the new route. His finger traced the path on the map as he spoke.
"Instead of going straight west to Nisha's apartment, we go north first. Then east. Circle around the horde completely.
Karan studied the map with a tactical eye. "The industrial roads are better for vehicles. Wider. Fewer obstacles."
"It's ten kilometers instead of eight," Dev pointed out.
"But it's ten kilometers we might actually survive," Taj added.
Reyan was quiet for a long moment. Then he nodded. "It's a good plan. Better than yesterday's suicide run." He looked at Samir. "We do this smart. We scout ahead. We don't rush in blind."
"Agreed," Samir said. Relief flooded through him. "Thank you."
"Don't thank us yet," Vikram said. "Let's see if it actually works first."
They spent the next hour preparing. Gathering supplies from the convenience store. Filling every bottle they could find with water. Taking inventory of weapons.
The group had accumulated a strange arsenal. Karan's rifle and Meera's pistol. Kitchen knives. A crowbar. Samir's pipe. The fire extinguisher from Reyan's car. Not much, but it was something.
As they loaded the vehicles, Arjun found a road flare in the back of the truck. "Think this still works?"
"One way to find out," Dev said.
They didn't test it. Couldn't risk the noise or the light attracting attention. But they kept it. In this world, everything was a potential weapon.
When they were ready, the group stood by the vehicles in the morning light. The sun was fully up now, casting long shadows across the parking lot.
"Same formation as yesterday," Karan said. "Sedan leads. Truck follows. We stay together. No one gets left behind."
Everyone nodded.
Samir climbed into the driver's seat of the sedan. Reyan took passenger side with his daughter on his lap. Vikram, Taj, and Arjun squeezed into the back.
Before starting the engine, Samir took one last look at the map. The new route was burned into his memory now. Every turn. Every street.
Ten kilometers.
That's all it was.
Ten kilometers to find out if his sister was alive.
He started the engine.
They pulled out of the gas station and onto the empty road. The city looked different in the morning light. Less threatening, somehow. The smoke had thinned overnight. The fires had mostly burned themselves out.
But the silence remained. That unnatural, heavy silence that came from a city was reduced.
They drove north first, following Samir's route. The roads were wider here, like he'd said. Built for industrial traffic. Easier to navigate.
They passed abandoned warehouses. Empty lots. A shipping depot with its gates hanging open.
No infected.
Not yet.
"It's too quiet," Taj muttered from the back seat.
"Don't jinx it," Vikram replied.
They turned east at the second intersection. The industrial sector stretched ahead of them. Old factories. Processing plants. Storage facilities.
Samir pressed the accelerator.
They just drove.
Toward answers.
Toward Nisha.
Or toward whatever was left of her.
Behind them, on the side of a warehouse wall about fifty meters back, someone had spray-painted a symbol.
A square. Clean lines. A short line extending from one side like an entrance.
Beside the symbol, a small check mark had been added. Not bold. Not decorative. Just enough to mean something.
No name. No explanation.
Only two words, written smaller than the rest, almost as an afterthought:
Still lit.
No one noticed.