A thin line of light broke through the crack in the curtain. Dawn had a strange color, as if the city itself were bleeding.
Lucas woke with a dry mouth and a dull pounding in his head; the knife, still cold and stained, lay beside him. He sat up slowly—every muscle ached, as though he'd run a marathon.
Outside, everything was silent: no engines, no shouting, only the wind brushing the buildings.
He reached for his phone with a trembling hand. The screen was black, and when he tried to turn it on, a red bar flickered once before dying completely.
"No power," he muttered, feeling a chill that wasn't just from his body. He slipped the useless phone into his pocket.
He dressed quickly, without thinking too much. Into an old backpack he packed the knife, a flashlight with batteries (just in case), a bottle of water, and some snacks—cookies and a couple of sandwiches he'd made in case the quarantine got worse. He also took the folded newspaper—the thick paper still smelled damp—and tucked it inside, a reminder of what the world had become.
Before leaving, he pushed the couch harder against the door. He didn't trust the silence. He didn't trust the sunrise.
He looked out the window one last time.
The street below was littered with abandoned cars and open doors. In the distance, shapes moved awkwardly—slower than people, like the city itself was struggling to breathe.
Lucas tightened the strap on his backpack, swallowed hard, and with the knife tucked into his waistband, opened the door. He was heading to José's house—twenty minutes by car, maybe an hour and a half on foot. He had to know if his friend was alive—or what was left of him—before deciding what to do in a world he no longer recognized.
---
"God… why does that thing smell so bad? It just died yesterday." Lucas covered his nose with his sleeve. "I'm not getting close. I'll puke. Better get moving."
The hallway was empty.
"Looks clear… that's good, right?" he muttered as he crept forward. "Where did everyone from the building go? Am I the only one left? Did they evacuate them? Or… what happened?"
He scanned the silent corridor.
"If they were evacuated, I need to find out where they went… maybe José too," he whispered, gripping his backpack. "I'd better hurry before something else shows up."
Lucas moved slowly, careful not to make a sound.
The memory of the creature from last night was still fresh. He didn't want to hear that pounding again.
He reached the exit. The cold air hit his face, and he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.
"Ahhh… finally outside. I missed stretching, breathing fresh air." He smiled weakly, then it faded. "Now I just need a car with the keys still in it."
He scanned the abandoned vehicles.
"Though I never learned to drive… only motorcycles and bikes." He gave a nervous laugh. "Should've let José teach me when he offered."
He sighed. "All right… guess I'm walking." He adjusted the backpack on his shoulder and started down the street, the knife hidden under his jacket.
The sun barely broke through the gray clouds.
The wind carried dust, paper, and dead leaves along the deserted streets.
Lucas walked slowly, alert, clutching the backpack to his chest.
The cars were covered in a thin layer of dirt and sand. Some had open doors; others, shattered windows. The smell of rust and old gasoline hung in the air.
"Looks like everyone just ran," he murmured. "Not a soul alive… not even a dog."
The emptiness pressed heavier with every step.
In the distance, a traffic light stood dark and lifeless—the green and red long gone.
Lucas stopped in front of an overturned white truck.
There were skid marks on the asphalt, as if someone had tried to brake… then been dragged away.
Inside, the seats were stained with dried blood.
He swallowed. "God… please, no bodies."
He kept to the sidewalk, knife in hand. The silence was so absolute that each footstep echoed between the buildings.
Then he heard it.
A sound.
Faint.
Like someone—or something—breathing between the cars.
Lucas froze.
His heart skipped.
He looked both ways, seeing nothing.
The sound came again. A harsh, uneven panting.
It came from a half-collapsed shop across the street.
"No… not again," he whispered.
He stepped back, keeping his eyes on the shopfront.
A gust of wind pushed a scrap of paper against his leg, and he flinched.
Then he saw it.
Something moved inside the shadows of the store.
A human shape—or almost.
Its movements were jerky, wrong, as if the bones didn't fit under its skin.
The air in Lucas's lungs turned to ice.
"This can't be…" he breathed, stepping backward.
The creature lifted its head.
Its eyes, white and empty, locked onto him.
It let out a dry, guttural growl and started toward him.
The growl deepened, rumbling like an animal's.
Lucas backed away, breath quick and shallow. He could hear the scrape of its claws on the ground, the ragged pull of its breathing.
"No, no, no…" he whispered, raising the knife with trembling hands.
The thing moved through the shop's shadows, its silhouette twisted and shaking.
When it stepped into the sunlight, the effect was immediate.
A sharp, inhuman scream tore through the silence.
The monster staggered back, covering its face with warped hands as its skin blackened and smoked.
Lucas stood frozen, staring as the creature writhed, shrieking in fury, then crawled back into the darkness.
The air filled with the stench of burnt flesh.
"What… the hell was that?" he whispered.
He could still hear its muffled snarls from inside, but none dared cross the light.
His heart hammered in his chest.
"It's afraid of the sun…" he whispered. "It's afraid of the sun!"
He looked up at the gray sky, where pale rays filtered through the clouds.
For the first time since it all began, he felt something he hadn't felt in days—hope.
"Then in daylight… I'm safe," he said softly. "I just have to move while there's light."
The wind carried another distant shriek from somewhere down the block.
Lucas gripped his knife tighter and started walking faster, not daring to look back.
"As long as the sun's up," he murmured, "I can still survive."
Let's move. Keep going.
---
A bicycle. Perfect. Not a car, but it'll do—and it's quiet.
When was the last time I rode one of these? Years ago, back home… He chuckled. "Guess it's true what they say—once you learn, you never forget."
He swung a leg over and started pedaling. "Time to move."
Then he saw something written on a nearby wall:
«THEY'RE MONSTERS. THEY THINK. THEY'RE NOT HUMAN ANYMORE.
THEY DEVOUR ANY LIVING THING THEY SEE.
THEY ARE THE DWELLERS OF THE DARKNESS.
RUN! DO NOT GO OUT AT NIGHT!»
"What the hell…" Lucas muttered, his heart racing. "What happened to this world?"
He kept pedaling, stomach tight.
The silence of the streets felt unreal, like the whole planet was holding its breath.
Minutes passed—maybe an hour.
Lucas looked ahead, surprised.
"How strange…" he whispered. "I've been pedaling for an hour and I'm not tired. Not even breathing hard."
He slowed down, staring at his hands, then his legs.
His pulse was strong, steady. His body felt light, stable… different.
"What's happening to me?" he murmured, catching his reflection in a cracked car mirror. "I've never had this kind of stamina…"
The wind carried a scrap of paper streaked with dried blood, tumbling down the road until it vanished between the wrecked cars.
Something inside him had changed.
And he knew it.
---
Finally—José's house.
Lucas braked in front of the small porch. Everything was still.
The windows shut, curtains drawn.
"Come on, José… tell me you're here, brother," he whispered, a knot tightening in his throat.
He pushed the door. It creaked open.
He stepped inside, knife in hand. The air smelled of old wood and damp.
The wall clock still pointed to three, but there was no ticking.
Everything felt frozen in time.
On the dining table sat a plate of rotted food and an overturned mug.
Beside them, a folded sheet of paper, dirty, with his name written on it:
«"For my friend Lucas."»
Lucas picked it up with shaking hands and began to read.
---
José's Letter
Lucas,
If you're reading this, it means you made it. God, I really hope so.
I went to your apartment two days ago. I found you lying on the floor, no pulse. I thought the virus had killed you, and it broke my heart to leave you there. I couldn't stay long—the military was evacuating survivors to Washington D.C. They said they're setting up a safe zone there.
The virus got out of control. It started in Thailand but spread across the world in less than forty-eight hours. Those who didn't die… changed. Their bodies twisted, their skin peeled away, and now they're what you see out there: monsters. Dwellers of the darkness.
They say the virus doesn't just kill—it awakens something in a few people. Some kind of power, or mutation. I don't know what to call it. It's rare—one in thousands. The rest just die… or turn.
I've seen people throw fire from their hands, crack the ground with a punch—impossible things. The military calls them "The Pioneers," because they're the first to walk this new path.
If you're alive, my friend, maybe you have it too. And if you do… don't give up. Come to Washington. If you can make it here, I'll be waiting. I don't know how long we can hold out, but if anyone can do it, it's you.
With love,
José.
---
Lucas pressed the letter against his chest.
Tears burned his eyes.
"Fat bastard…" he whispered through a shaky laugh. "I thought you were dead."
He sat on the floor, staring at the paper, trying to process everything.
Sunlight filtered weakly through the window, tinting the floating dust orange.
"So there are others like me," he murmured. "Humans with abilities… the Pioneers."
He looked at the letter again, tracing the lines.
At the bottom, written in a different ink—hurried, desperate—he saw another note:
«"Don't go out at night. Don't trust the lights you see moving. They're not human."»
Lucas took a deep breath.
"Washington, huh? It's far… but I'm not dying here."
He stood, slipped the letter into his pocket, and looked around.
He packed some food, water, and a flashlight.
The sun was already sinking.
"I'll leave at dawn," he said, gazing out the window. "If those monsters are waiting out there… let them."
He clenched his fists. "But first, I need to train—and learn what's inside me. Because I know it's there. I can feel it. Something big… something alive."