Max clung to his mother like a toddler, his mind struggling to articulate what he had just experienced minutes earlier.
"It's chaos, Mom," he began, panic visible in his voice. "The whole city, it's gone mad! People are dying… some are turning into zombies, changing into monsters. We have to move, we have to get out of here now!"
As he spoke, he glanced at the wreckage where his father lay unconscious. His fist clenched, hot tears stinging his eyes. "But, dad... he's one of them."
His mother followed his gaze, a profound, heart-shattering remorse passing over her pale features.
"I know, Max," she said softly, turning back to face him, cradling his face in her cool hands. "Your father was affected by the change."
The implication hung heavy and cold in the air. She quickly averted her eyes, as if unable to bear the sight of what her husband had become, before turning back to her son, her focus absolute.
"Where is Maxine?" she asked, her tone brisk, demanding immediate priority.
"She's at her house, checking on her mother," Max replied, wiping his streaming tears with the back of his hand.
"Good," his mother confirmed, releasing him slightly. "You need to get to her. Both of you must get out of the city immediately." She began to pace a short, agitated route. "I contacted General Thorne right when the news brought up the first wave of these things appearing. The armed forces will be in the city soon… they're coming to secure the zone, evacuate survivors, and fend off the creatures."
Max listened, nodding, but a knot of ice formed in his stomach. Her tone was too definitive, too focused on his departure. Why was she talking like she wasn't part of the plan?
His suspicions were confirmed when she pulled him close once more, and kissed his forehead… a gesture impossibly gentle and final.
"I love you, Max," she whispered. "Never forget that."
Max's head snapped up. His eyes widened in immediate understanding. "W-wait… what are you…? Why are you talking like that? You're coming too right?"
His mother shook her head slowly. "I'm afraid I can't go with you, Max," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.
Max was stunned and confused. "What?! Why not?" he protested, the panic returning, sharper now than the fear of the monsters outside. "Mom, I'm not leaving without you!"
"You have to," his mother retorted, tears streaming down her luminous cheeks, but her voice held a desperate strength. "You are strong, okay. You can survive this. I believe you can."
Max gripped her arms, shaking his head violently. "No! No! No! Mom, you're coming with me. Please, you have to come with me. Why won't you come with me?!"
His mother's expression darkened with urgency, bordering on pain. "Look at me, Max!" she hissed, pulling away slightly and gesturing to her pale, inhuman appearance. "I am one of them now. A monster… just like your father."
"No! You're not," Max argued desperately. "You're still here, talking to me. You even saved me," he muttered, trying to convince his mother. "You're fine, mom. So please just come with me."
But his mother didn't listen to his pleas. She shook her head, the urgency painful, as if fighting an invisible constraint. "I'm not fine, Max. Not at all," she confessed, her voice thick with anguish. "I can feel something clouding my mind, erasing my humanity with every passing second. And all I can feel in its place, is this primal, unexplainable hunger for blood."
"But you're fighting it!" Max insisted, clinging to the evidence that she had just saved him. "You can fight it. Right?"
"No," his mother said, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "I can't. It is taking everything I have… every ounce of will left—to stop myself from attacking you."
Max gasped as his eyes darted down to her hands. Her fists were tightly clenched at her sides, and from between her pale knuckles, blood was dripping onto the carpet. She was digging her own fingernails into her palms, inflicting pain to retain control, to tether herself to her humanity.
She was truly losing the fight.
She then reached out, cupping his face with hands that trembled with the effort of restraint. Her eyes were wet with glowing blue tears. "Max, listen to me. You are strong. You have to survive. I am counting on you to get yourself and Maxine out of this nightmare. Can you do that for me?"
Max could only nod, his body racked with sobs.
"Good," she whispered, leaning forward to press her forehead against his. "Survive no matter what, my beautiful boy. I will see you again someday... but not in the land of the living. And until then, you have to get busy living."
She kissed his head one last time and pulled back, her imperative clear. "Now, go. Live. Survive. I love you."
Max hesitated, transfixed by the tragedy in her eyes. He couldn't leave her, not now, not after losing his father.
But then, a low growl erupted from the wreckage of the bookshelf. The Wight was standing up, his sightless eyes locked onto Max.
His mother's gaze snapped from maternal tenderness to dangerous resolve. "Max, go," she repeated, her voice now hard and commanding. "I'll hold him back."
Max began to protest again, tears streaming, clinging to her hand. "But I can't go, mom. I don't wanna lose you too. Please don't leave me all alone."
This stubbornness made his mother sob, a raw, tormented sound. She was deeply hurt to depart from her only child like this.
"Ahh!"
Suddenly, she cried out, clutching her head and stumbling backward, agonizingly. The movement looked like a spasm, a violent internal struggle against the thing trying to consume her will.
"Mom!" Max cried, stepping forward, terrified.
She held up a trembling, blood-stained hand, stopping him cold. She shook her head desperately. "Leave, Max! Now! Please…"
Max remained stubborn, rooted to the spot… until the Wight suddenly moved. His father appeared in front of him in a heartbeat, claws raised to strike.
Max's eyes widened, but before the blow landed, his mother blurred into motion. She grabbed the Wight from behind, her arm coiling around his neck in a chokehold.
Then, she did the unthinkable.
She bared her fangs and sank them deep into the Wight's throat. Max watched in absolute, silent horror as his mother fed on his father, her body tensing as she drained the blood of her husband to find the strength to hold him.
When she raised her head, the woman Max knew was gone. Her eyes were glowing like twin sapphire bulbs, her mouth and chin dripping with dark blood, her face a mask of predatory intensity. And her voice came out as a booming, monstrous growl that shook the walls:
"MAX, GO!"
Max clenched his fists, the shock finally snapping into a desperate motivation. He looked at his mother's monstrous face one last time, committed it to memory, and bolted.
He sprinted out of the study, through the foyer, and burst out into the compound. As he reached the silver gate, a harrowing, guttural wail echoed from the house… a sound of grief and hunger that tore through the quiet estate.
Max didn't look back. He wiped the tears from his face with the back of his hand, his gaze turning hard and serious. His childhood ended at that gate. His parents were gone, but the mission remained.
He exhaled a shaky breath, turned toward the golden gate of the Evergreen mansion, and began to run. He had to get to Maxine. He had to live. That was his mother's last wish.