The moment the latch slid back, time seemed to slow. Shivansh gripped the bat tight in both hands, heart pounding, sweat dampening his forehead beneath the hood of his jacket. The door creaked open just a little and a rotten breeze rolled in, thick with the scent of metal, something rotten, and something deeper… decay.
The corridor outside was dim. Morning light trickled in only faintly through the glass window at the far end, fractured by blood stains smeared across it. Shivansh leaned forward, stepping silently into the hallway, his bat raised. The air was dead still.
Then came the sound. A dry, wet dragging.
To his left by the stairs someone moved.
Shivansh turned quickly, breath held. It was a man or what used to be one. Grey skin, patches of hair missing. Mr. Bhardwaj, maybe, from 605. His jaw hung open and loose, barely attached. A deep bite wound ran down his left shoulder. The man's chest heaved, but there was no rhythm. No life. Just instinct.
It noticed him. Its head jerked. And it lunged.
Shivansh swung. The bat cracked against the infected's temple with a dull, sickening thud. It stumbled, spun, then fell against the wall but it didn't stop. It tried to rise again, arms reaching, legs buckling.
He screamed not out of fear, but effort and swung again. This time, harder. The sound was wet. The body hit the ground and didn't move again. Shivansh stood over it, chest heaving. His arms were shaking, bat slick with sweat and something worse. The corridor echoed with silence once more, but the noise in his head was deafening.
He had done it.
His first kill.
He wasn't sure if the man had fully turned. Maybe he had. Maybe not.
That uncertainty stayed with him as he dragged the body to the side and kicked a bucket across to block the stairwell entrance. The bat clattered to the floor beside him. For a moment, he just stood there breathing, shivering, absorbing what he'd become.
When he stepped back inside the flat, Ankita's gasp said everything.
"You're bleeding," she said, rushing to him.
"It's not mine," he replied quickly.
She grabbed a towel anyway, dabbing at his cheek and sleeve. Vedant stood behind the sofa, frozen, staring at the bat. "Did you… was it someone we knew?" he asked.
Shivansh didn't answer. He walked to the sink and washed his hands until the water turned pink and the skin beneath his nails stung.
After a long pause, he grabbed his phone. The survivor group chat was active again. Messages were flooding in.
Parth Malhotra:"Just saw one inside Tower B. Dragging a woman by the hair. Don't think she was infected… yet."
Zoya Siddiqui:"No water in my bathroom. I think the tank's gone. Anyone have backup near C Block?"
Mrs. Gurleen:"If anyone has flour or dal, I can cook for nearby floors. Someone please checks on Kavita. She's not replying."
Shradha Pandey:"I keep hearing voices at night. Not just infected. Something else."
Then came a new message this time a voice note from Rekha Sethi.
Her voice was clear. Tired, but steady. "We need to stop acting like we're just waiting. We need a plan. We've got survivors across every tower. Shivansh, Parth, Zoya, Mukul, Gurleen, me… others. Let's start talking. Let's coordinate."
Another message followed from Mukul.
Mukul Sehrawat:"Drone battery low. I'm saving it now. If we don't start assigning who watches what, we'll all get picked off floor by floor."
For the first time, Shivansh smiled faintly. It wasn't joy. It was purpose.
He typed back.
Shivansh Sharma:"I agree. Let's build a plan. Tower by tower. Floor by floor. You've all survived for a reason. Let's make it count."
A flurry of messages followed. Flat numbers. Food counts. Entry blockages. Sightings of infected. And for the first time since the outbreak began, the group wasn't just reacting anymore.
They were organizing. And Shivansh still breathing hard, still gripping his bat was no longer just a son in hiding. He was becoming something else. Shivansh stood near the window, the bat still in his hand, its grip now dry but stained. The message thread had quieted again not because people were done talking, but because they were finally doing. He looked at the door he had just locked again, eyes hard. One infected down, countless more outside. There wouldn't be time to rest, not really. Not now.
"Vedant," he called without raising his voice. "We're securing the flat properly."
His younger brother stepped out of the kitchen slowly, still shaken but alert now, no longer frozen like a child. He nodded.
Ankita watched them both, then silently reached for the emergency candle stash near the inverter shelf. She began double-checking batteries, power packs, and gas lighters while Shivansh began moving furniture.
The first priority was the balcony. The curtains were drawn, but light still bled through the edges. Shivansh rolled two mattresses upright and pushed them across the grill-side windows. He used ropes from a gym bag to secure them tightly, weaving them through the grills. It wasn't perfect, but it would block movement shadows at least for now.
Next, he removed every reflective surface facing outside: glass showpieces, mirror panels, even the stainless-steel trays near the sink. If light hit them and bounced into the corridor, it could draw attention.
"Bring towels," he told Vedant, "and bedsheets. We'll seal the vents."
The younger boy obeyed instantly.
They stuffed every opening with cloth. Vents, door gaps, even the small slits near the main wooden frame. Ankita followed behind, taping them with layers of medical plaster and masking tape. Their home was beginning to feel less like an apartment and more like a bunker. The air was thicker now, slightly suffocating, but they couldn't afford to let scent or sound leak out.
Shivansh rotated through each room, checking every latch twice. He kept a kitchen knife near the main bed, a rusted hammer inside the bathroom, and the cricket bat now wiped clean as close to the front door as his own breath.
Around them, muffled sounds rose from the tower footsteps above, a chair falling somewhere below, and once, a voice crying out softly before fading into nothing. Each noise had the weight of finality, as if they weren't hearing life, but the remnants of it.
Shivansh looked at the kitchen next. Supplies weren't bad, but they weren't endless. Four packs of atta. Two of rice. A few packets of biscuits. Cans of condensed milk. Enough dal for a week if they rationed. And water at least five filled bottles, plus what was left in the filter. If the supply line was cut, they'd have to boil tap water. Maybe even collect it from the bathroom tanks.
He opened the fridge. Milk turning sour. Vegetables wilting already.
No cold. Backup was gone.
"Turn off the fridge," he said. "It's wasting inverter power."
Ankita gave him a long look, then complied.
The flat dimmed a little. The only working light was from the living room lamp connected to a power saver socket. It flickered now and then. A reminder.
They sat for a moment, exhausted not from motion, but from realization.
Then Shivansh's phone buzzed again.
Parth:"Tower A stairwell is leaking blood. Not even joking. Smell is rising fast."
Rekha:"Mr. Kohli hasn't replied. Last seen yelling outside his balcony at 3 AM. I think he was drunk again."
Zoya:"I think the gym is breached. Saw something on Mukul's drone feed. It's dark but they're definitely inside."
Shradha:"Noise draws them. Movement too. But also... emotion. Fear. The ones near me come when I panic. I'm not sure how I know. But I feel it."
Shivansh exhaled slowly. "Emotion?" he murmured.
He looked at Vedant, curled into the corner now, holding the cricket ball from their last match. Ankita gently placed a steel tumbler of water beside her. Her hands trembled. She hadn't said a word since the cleanup.
He realized then it wasn't just walls or windows they needed to protect.
It was each other. The inside had to stay calm. Quiet. Unbroken. Because the moment fear cracked them… they'd be dead long before the doors ever opened. The flat had fallen into that tense, restless quiet again. The kind where no one wanted to speak too loudly, lest the world outside listened. Shivansh sat on the floor, back against the sofa, fingers tracing the worn rubber grip of his cricket bat as if it were a lifeline. Ankita poured water into steel tumblers in slow, careful motions, while Vedant fiddled with the battery-powered torch, unscrewing and re-screwing the end as if keeping his hands busy might also steady his thoughts.
A notification blinked on Shivansh's phone.
Network signal: 1 bar.
He froze. For a second, he thought it might be a glitch. Then the bar held.
He turned on mobile data, waited.
Another second then, a ping.
One unread SMS.
"FROM: Papa (Last Seen 2 Days Ago)"
Location: Uttarkashi. Reached. Situation worsening. Locals turning. Not human. Tell Ankita to stay in. Do not try to come. I'll contact soon. Signal weak. -Rajeev
Shivansh stared at the screen, lips parting slightly. It wasn't much. Just a few short lines. But it was everything.
"He's alive," he said softly.
Ankita snapped her head up. "What?"
"Papa. He reached Uttarkashi. Sent a message. He says people are… changing. Not human. He told us to stay put. Not to come looking."
Ankita's eyes welled with relief and dread in equal measure. "Thank God," she whispered, then added, "What does he mean 'not human'?"
"I think he's seeing what we are… just in a different place."
They sat for a few moments, letting the weight of that settle. Then Shivansh stood, brushed the dust from his jeans, and said, "We need to plan. Properly. Not just survive by luck."
Ankita nodded, instinctively sliding Vedant's notebook across the table. "Then let's do it like we would homework," she said. "Step by step."
Shivansh drew three simple columns.
Resources
2. Safe Contacts
3. Risks
Under Resources, they listed: 3.5 days of food, 5 large water bottles, 1 gas cylinder (half used), 2 kitchen knives, 2 cricket bat, Backup torch & emergency light, 1 inverter, approx. 8 hours of charge left
Under Safe Contacts:
Zoya (C-402), Parth (A-201), Gurleen (B-401), Mukul (D-602), Rekha & Anil (B-301), Kavita + baby (A-103), Imran & Shahida (A-501).
Under Risks: Tower A stairwell compromised, Gym overrun, Ration supply may fail in 3–5 days, Unknown number of infected on each floor, Noise may attract more.
"From today, we only cook twice. Small meals," Shivansh said. "And no flushing. We save water until rain or refill. Next step we scout laterally."
"Lateral?" Vedant blinked.
"We try to connect with someone on our floor. One door. Carefully. If we can team up with even one more flat, we increase backup, supplies, vision. But only if safe."
Ankita looked skeptical. "What if they're infected?"
"Then we don't go again," Shivansh said. "We watch. We wait. Then decide."
He drew a rough map of their tower and began circling flats where survivors had already confirmed their presence. There weren't many. A handful. Spread out like lonely lighthouses across a drowned neighborhood.
Then a new message popped up on the group.
Rekha Sethi:"We should start marking safe zones. Assign lookout duties. Volunteers only. I'll coordinate Tower B."
Zoya Siddiqui:"Same for Tower C. But we can't go alone. I'm in if someone comes with me."
Parth:"Agreed. We start grouping up. Work like a grid. We either coordinate, or we die separately."
Shivansh read the messages with a faint nod.
It was beginning.
A survivor alliance.
A plan beyond just hiding.
Even Mukul chimed in.
Mukul Sehrawat:"I'll keep drone updates coming. But charge dying. If anyone has a solar bank, let me know."
Shivansh typed his reply slowly, feeling the weight of every word.
Shivansh Sharma:"We've all lasted this long. Now let's last longer. Together. Tower A will hold."
Ankita looked at her son and finally saw what Rajeev must have once seen too not just a boy, not just a cricket bat-wielding son, but someone becoming a leader.
Vedant smiled weakly and passed him a sharpened pencil.
"Let's finish the map," he said. "Before someone else disappears." The makeshift command center was a dining table stained with tea and scribbled maps. Shivansh sat at its edge, circling flats with a ballpoint pen as Ankita cross-checked each survivor's status from the WhatsApp group. Around them, the apartment was dimly lit by backup lamps and powered by fading inverter hours. But the mood had changed. No more waiting. No more guessing. They were planning.
One by one, the survivors began responding in the group.
Mukul Sehrawat, the drone-obsessed teen from Tower D-602, reported a dying battery but promised to repurpose his UPS and stream footage again by evening.
Rekha Sethi, retired principal from B-301, offered her brain, her broomstick, and her scolding power. Her husband, Anil, quiet as always, had secured their door with stacked bookshelves. Niharika, their granddaughter quiet, sharp, just 20 was already drawing escape routes on the wall using a marker.
Zoya Siddiqui, from Tower C-402, had two kitchen knives and a mop handle. She was alone, afraid, but steady.
Parth Malhotra, the gym trainer from A-201, listed an iron dumbbell bar and protein bars, joking that "muscle might finally matter."
Rinku and Kavita Yadav, from A-103, had a kitchen cleaver, some wheat flour, and a baby girl, Tina, who hadn't stopped crying in twelve hours.
Aarav and Mitali Kapoor, newlyweds in B-203, were quiet. Aarav reported they were safe, but Mitali hadn't spoken since the night before.
Dinesh Chauhan, the sweeper with keys to every tunnel, messaged from near a hidden duct below Tower A. "Still alive. Two rods. One wrench. Might be able to access storage if no one's watching."
Nakul and Roshni Verma, twin schoolmates of Vedant from A-302, were huddled inside with a cricket bat, a Swiss knife, and sheer willpower.
Shradha Pandey, on C-702, typed that she had nothing but her breath and instinct. She claimed she could feel them coming before they arrived.
Mrs. Gurleen Kaur, matriarch of Tower B-401, listed food: atta, dal, salt, sugar, one functioning stove. "If anyone can bring raw sabzi, I'll cook for whoever's left."
Imran Qureshi, ex-army, posted simply: "Rifle. 7 bullets. One target: protect Shahida." His 9-year-old granddaughter stayed silent in the background, drawing with crayons as the world crumbled.
Shivansh typed slowly, thumbs deliberate, as if writing orders.
Shivansh Sharma (A-603):
"From now on: no guns unless it's life or death. Loud sounds bring them. Gunshots echo. Doors aren't strong enough. We use blunt weapons rods, bats, tools. Strike the head. It works. I've seen it. It's the only way. Headshots. Always."
There was a pause in the group, like the air holding its breath.
Then:
Zoya:"Got it. Mop handle ready."
Parth:"We move in pairs. Silent. Watch each other's back."
Mukul:"Sending updated drone layout tomorrow if I can recharge."
Rekha:"I'll assign floors for Tower B check-ins. Anil's taking second floor. Niharika's mapping escape ladders."
Imran:"I'll hold the bottom of Tower A. If anyone falls, they fall through me."
Shradha:"I'll meditate. I'll warn you. I know when they're close."
A message popped up then one no one wanted to ask but everyone felt.
Mukul:"Where is the military?"
Zoya:"We waited. No one came."
Parth:"Delhi has many army stations. Not a single truck showed up."
Shivansh didn't reply. He just looked at the small message box and felt something sink in deeper than dread. They were on their own. At least for now.
Then came the knock. Not a soft one. A violent, desperate bang on the flat next door.
A voice cried out, raspy, choked with fear.
"Please! I swear I'm not bitten! Just let me in please they're coming don't leave me out "
The scream that followed was sharp. Wet. Real. Something was dragged. Then silence.
Ankita covered Vedant's ears. Shivansh stared at the door. He didn't flinch.
No one moved. The group chat went silent again for a full minute. Then Shivansh scribbled the last line in Vedant's notebook.
TOMMOROW WE CLEAR FLOORS. SILENTLY. STRIKE HARD. STRIKE FAST ON THE HEAD. STAY TOGETHER.
He drew small circles for each tower. Labeled each confirmed survivor. Then underlined one word in bold:
"REBUILD."
Because it wasn't just about survival anymore. It was about reclaiming what little humanity still remained.