October 15th, 2024. 5:47 AM.
I was already awake when it started.
Hadn't slept more than an hour. My body was wired, that Yang energy buzzing under my skin like electricity. I'd spent the night going over everything—the routes, the supplies, the backup plans, the people. Four names. Four lives. Four chances to get it right this time.
The first sign was the sirens.
Not the normal ones—police, ambulances, the usual city noise. These were different. Continuous. Multiple. Coming from all directions at once. I was at my window before I consciously decided to move, and I saw them: police cars racing down the main avenue, lights flashing, no particular destination. Just... running.
Then the screams started.
Far away at first. Then closer. Then right outside my building.
I grabbed my bag. I'd packed it three days ago and checked it twice a day since then. First aid kit, water bottles, protein bars, multi-tool, lockpicks, flashlight, extra clothes, gloves, a hammer (couldn't get a gun yet, but a hammer kills zombies just as dead). I slung it over my shoulder and took one last look at my apartment.
I'd lived here for two years. Normal life. Exams, parties, late-night study sessions with instant noodles. It felt like someone else's memories now.
"Goodbye," I muttered, and left.
---
The hallway was chaos.
Mrs. Chen from 3B was screaming at her husband to grab the kids. Mr. Davis was pounding on doors, yelling about terrorists or nuclear war—no one knew yet. A girl I'd seen in the elevator once was crying, phone pressed to her ear, saying "Mom? Mom?" over and over.
I ran past them all. Down the stairs, three at a time. My legs burned, but that good burn—the one that meant they were getting stronger. A month ago, I'd have been winded by the second floor. Now I hit the ground floor and kept going.
The street was worse.
Cars stopped in the middle of the road, doors open, engines still running. People running everywhere, no direction, just panic. A man in a suit was lying on the sidewalk, twitching. I saw the bite mark on his arm and kept walking. He had maybe ten minutes before he turned. Nothing I could do.
Priority one: Lucía.
She worked the early shift on Tuesdays. I knew her schedule from two weeks of careful observation. If she'd made it to work before the outbreak, she'd be at the clinic. If not...
I ran.
---
The clinic was six blocks away. Normally a fifteen-minute walk. I made it in four.
The waiting room was already a war zone. People pushing, screaming, a nurse trying to hold back a man with blood running down his face. I pushed through, ignoring the shouts, and headed for the back.
"Hey! You can't go back there!"
I ignored them. Kicked open the door to the treatment area and found her.
Lucía was pressed against a wall, a syringe in her hand, facing down a man who was clearly infected. His eyes were white, his jaw working back and forth, drool running down his chin. He'd been a patient once. Now he was lunch.
"Lucía!" I shouted.
She looked at me, recognition flickering through the terror. "Robert? What—"
I grabbed a metal tray from a nearby cart and swung it like a discus. Caught the infected guy right in the side of the head. He went down hard, twitched once, and stopped moving.
"Let's go," I said, grabbing her arm.
"Wait—I have patients—"
"They're dead or they will be soon. You can't help them. Let's go."
She resisted for a second, then something in my face made her stop. She nodded, grabbed her bag from under the counter, and followed.
---
We made it outside before she froze again.
The street had gotten worse. Fires now, black smoke rising from somewhere downtown. A woman was on her knees in the middle of the road, screaming at the sky. Three kids ran past us, crying, no parents in sight.
"Oh god," Lucía whispered. "Oh god, what is this?"
"Zombies," I said flatly. "Or infected. Whatever you want to call them. Bites turn you in minutes. Don't get bitten."
She stared at me. "How do you—"
"No time. We need to move. There's a place, a building I've been preparing. It's safe. But we need to get there, and we need to get there now."
"But—my family—"
I stopped. Looked at her. She was shaking, crying, but still standing. Still fighting. This was the woman who'd worked until the end in my past life. The one who died helping others.
"Tell me where they live."
"What?"
"Tell me where your family lives. We'll go get them. But we have to move fast."
She gave me an address. Ten blocks away. In the wrong direction.
I calculated quickly. The building I'd prepared was near campus. Carla was probably there. Sofía might be with her father at the station. Valeria...
One thing at a time.
"We'll get them," I said. "But you have to trust me. Completely. No questions until we're safe. Can you do that?"
She looked at me. This weird guy who'd sat with her in a park. Who knew about suspension bridges. Who'd shown up at her work with a hammer and a plan.
"Yes," she said.
"Good. Follow me. Stay close. If I tell you to run, you run. If I tell you to hide, you hide. If I tell you to hit something, you hit it hard and you don't stop until I say."
I handed her the hammer. Took out a fire extinguisher I'd spotted in the hallway—heavy, metal, perfect for crushing skulls.
"Let's go."
---
The next hour was a blur.
Running through alleys, dodging infected, taking shortcuts I'd memorized from weeks of studying maps. Twice we had to fight—once against a single zombie that came out of nowhere, once against three that cornered us in an alley. The first one I handled with the extinguisher. The second time, Lucía used the hammer.
She was good. Scared, but good. She didn't freeze. Didn't scream. Just swung and swung until it stopped moving.
When it was over, she was covered in blood that wasn't hers, shaking, crying, but alive.
"You okay?" I asked.
"No," she said. "But I'm still here."
"Good enough. Let's move."
---
Her family lived in a small apartment building. We found her mother first—hiding in a closet, an old woman with terrified eyes who grabbed Lucía and wouldn't let go. Her father was in the living room, holding a baseball bat, standing over the body of what used to be a neighbor.
"We need to leave," I said. "Now. This building won't be safe much longer."
"Who the hell are you?" her father demanded.
"A friend. Your daughter trusts me. That's all you need to know."
He looked at Lucía. She nodded.
"Grab what you can," I said. "Food, water, medicine, warm clothes. Three minutes, then we go."
---
10:47 AM. Four hours in.
We made it back toward campus. The streets were getting worse—looters now, not just infected. People had figured out the police weren't coming. I avoided them when I could, threatened them when I couldn't.
Lucía's family was slowing us down. Not their fault—they were old, scared, not built for this. But every minute we spent moving was a minute closer to nightfall, and I did not want to be on these streets after dark.
"Almost there," I told them. "Just a few more blocks."
The building was an old warehouse near campus. I'd found it in my past life—a group had held out there for weeks before being overrun. The structure was solid, the location was good, and I knew exactly how to reinforce it.
We rounded the corner and I saw her.
Carla.
She was running toward us, three infected behind her, her glasses gone, blood on her shirt. She was fast, but not fast enough.
"Stay here!" I shouted at Lucía, and ran.
I don't know where the strength came from. A month of training, maybe. That Yang energy, definitely. I covered fifty meters in seconds, tackled Carla out of the way just as the closest zombie reached for her, and swung the fire extinguisher in one continuous motion.
First zombie: down.
Second: dodged, then swung again.
Third: tripped over the second, gave me time to finish it.
Three bodies. Fifteen seconds. My heart was pounding, but my breath was steady. A month ago, I couldn't run a block without collapsing.
Carla stared at me from the ground, eyes wide.
"You're—" she started.
"The guy from the library. Yeah." I held out my hand. "Get up. We need to move."
She took my hand. Her grip was strong despite the fear.
"What the hell is happening?"
"Zombies. End of the world. The usual." I pulled her up. "You injured?"
"No, I—it's not my blood. I don't think."
"Good. Come on."
We ran back to the group. Lucía's mother was crying. Her father was white-faced. Carla was shaking. And me? I felt... calm. Focused. Like this was what I was made for.
---
1:23 PM. The warehouse.
It was better than I remembered. Solid concrete walls, metal doors, high windows that could be covered. I'd stashed supplies here over the past two weeks—water, canned food, blankets, medical supplies, tools. Enough for maybe two weeks if we were careful.
We got everyone inside. I barred the door with a metal beam I'd prepared. Checked the windows. Made sure there was no other way in.
Then I let myself breathe.
Four people. Lucía, her parents, Carla. Sofía wasn't here. Valeria wasn't here. Two more to find.
I looked at the group. Lucía was tending to her mother, checking for injuries. Her father was pacing, muttering about his gun collection at home. Carla was sitting against a wall, staring at nothing.
"Everyone okay?" I asked.
Three sets of eyes turned to me. They looked at me like I was something else—not a twenty-two-year-old student, but a leader. Someone who knew what to do.
"I need to go back out," I said.
"What?" Lucía stood up. "No. It's insane out there. You'll die."
"I won't. There are two more people. They're expecting me. I have to find them."
"Who?"
"Sofía—her father is a cop. She might be at the station. And Valeria—" I paused. "Someone important. I promised I'd find her."
Lucía looked at me for a long moment. Then she walked over and took my hand.
"You came for me," she said quietly. "You didn't have to. But you did. So I'm not going to stop you from doing the same for others." She squeezed my fingers. "But you come back. Understand? You come back here."
I squeezed back. Felt the warmth of her skin. Noticed, for the first time, how close she was standing. How her eyes held mine.
"I'll come back," I said.
---
3:45 PM. The police station.
It was bad.
The station was surrounded. Not just infected—people, too. Survivors trying to get in, cops trying to keep them out. Shots fired. Screaming. Blood on the steps.
I circled around back. Found a service entrance, picked the lock in twenty seconds, slipped inside.
The interior was chaos. Papers everywhere, lights flickering, the sound of shouting from somewhere deeper in. I moved quietly, staying to the shadows, listening.
Then I heard a voice I recognized.
"—can't just leave them out there! They're people!"
A woman's voice. Young. Angry.
And another voice—older, male, weary.
"Sofía, I don't have a choice. The captain gave orders. We secure the building, we don't open the doors for anyone. That's final."
Sofía.
I moved toward the voices. Found them in a break room—a older man in uniform, probably her father, and a girl about my age with dark hair and fierce eyes. She was beautiful in that intense way, the kind of beauty that comes from passion, not just features.
"Your father's right," I said from the doorway.
They both spun. Her father reached for his gun.
"Who the hell are you? How did you get in here?"
"Name's Robert. I'm a friend. And I'm here to get you both out before this building falls."
Sofía stared at me. "I don't know you."
"No. But you will." I stepped inside, hands visible. "Listen. This place isn't safe. Too many people, too few supplies, and once the food runs out, the real monsters come out. I have a place. Reinforced, supplied, safe. I'm taking people there. You should come."
Her father laughed bitterly. "Kid, I've been a cop for twenty years. I'm not abandoning my post."
"Your post is a death sentence. The infected aren't the only thing to worry about. Once night falls, the gangs will start forming. They'll come for the guns first. Then the food. Then the women." I looked at Sofía. "You want your daughter in the middle of that?"
Something flickered in his eyes. Doubt.
"How do I know you're not lying?"
"You don't. But in about six hours, it won't matter, because this place will be either overrun or under siege. You can take your chances here, or you can trust the stranger who broke into a police station to warn you."
Silence.
Then Sofía spoke. "Dad. He's not wrong. I've been saying it all day—we can't hold this place."
Her father looked at her. Looked at me. Looked at the gun in his hand.
"Shit," he muttered. "Fine. But if this is a trap—"
"It's not. Grab your gear. We leave in five minutes."
---
6:30 PM. Dusk.
Getting out was harder than getting in.
The front was impossible, so we went out the back, through a service alley. Her father knew the streets, which helped. We avoided the main roads, stuck to alleys and back ways. Twice we had to hide from groups of infected. Once from a gang of survivors who looked at Sofía the wrong way.
Her father shot one of them. I handled the other two.
After that, no one questioned my leadership.
We made it back to the warehouse just as the sun was setting. Lucía opened the door, saw me, and let out a breath I didn't know she'd been holding.
"You made it."
"I told you I would."
She hugged me. Quick, tight, then let go. But her hand lingered on my arm.
"One more," I said. "I have to find Valeria."
"Robert, it's dark. You can't—"
"I have to."
She looked at me. Saw something in my face that made her stop arguing.
"Then go. But come back. Promise me."
"I promise."
---
8:15 PM. Valeria's apartment building.
I'd never been here before. In my past life, I never found out where she lived. But I'd called her mother, gotten the address, memorized it.
The building was dark. No power. No lights. The front door was hanging open.
I went in slow. Hammer in one hand, flashlight in the other. The stairs were worse—blood on the walls, bodies on the landings. I checked each one, praying I wouldn't find her face.
Third floor. Her apartment. Door was closed.
I knocked. Quiet at first. Then louder.
"Valeria? It's Robert. You in there?"
Nothing.
I tried the handle. Locked. Pulled out my picks, worked the lock, pushed the door open.
The apartment was empty. Signs of a struggle—overturned furniture, a broken window—but no body. No blood. Nothing.
Then I heard it. A sound from the closet.
I opened it slowly, ready for anything.
She was there. Curled up in the back, a kitchen knife in her hand, eyes wide with terror. Her face was dirty, her clothes torn, but she was alive.
"Valeria."
"Robert?" Her voice was barely a whisper. "Is it really you?"
I knelt down. "It's me. I'm here. I came to get you."
She dropped the knife and grabbed me. Held on so tight I thought she'd break my ribs. Sobbing into my shoulder.
"I packed the bag like you said," she choked out. "I packed it and I waited and then—then everything—and I didn't know if you'd come—"
"I came. I'm here." I held her, let her cry. Felt the warmth of her body against mine. Remembered why I'd loved her once. Why I might still.
"We need to go," I said gently. "It's not safe here."
She nodded, pulled back, wiped her face. "Okay. Okay, I'm ready."
We left together. Her hand in mine.
---
11:47 PM. The warehouse.
Everyone was there.
Lucía and her parents. Carla. Sofía and her father. And now Valeria.
Seven people. Seven survivors. In my past life, I'd died alone in a basement. Now I had seven people depending on me.
I stood at the door, looking at them. They were scared, exhausted, traumatized. But they were alive.
And they were looking at me.
Waiting for what came next.
"First night's the hardest," I said. "But we made it. Tomorrow, we start building. Reinforcing. Planning. This isn't just survival—it's the beginning of something new. Something better."
Lucía moved closer. Then Carla. Then Sofía. Then Valeria.
Four women. Four different stories. Four different reasons to live.
And me.
The old Robert died in a basement. The new Robert was just getting started.
I looked at Valeria, and she smiled—a small, tired smile that made my heart hurt.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For coming for me."
"I'll always come for you," I said. "All of you."
And in that moment, standing in the dark with the world burning outside, I felt something I hadn't felt in years.
Hope.
---
End of Chapter 3
---
Chapter 4 Preview: "The New Rules"
The first week in the warehouse teaches us all hard lessons. Supplies need rationing. Defenses need constant improvement. And when night falls and the fear sets in, people need comfort in ways they never expected.
Robert's Yang constitution—that endless energy, that physical intensity—becomes impossible to hide. And the women around him begin to realize that in a world without rules, some boundaries are meant to be crossed.
But not everyone in the warehouse is happy about the new dynamics. Tensions rise. Jealousy flickers. And when a threat from outside finally arrives, they'll learn what it really means to trust each other.
Chapter 4: "Comfort in the Dark" coming soon.
---
End of Chapter 3