We didn't look back.
There was nothing left of the school but fire and screaming, metal grinding against bone, and the echo of our classmates being dragged into something worse than death. I gripped her hand—tight. Tighter than I ever had. She was the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
Her name was Elle.
She didn't cry. Not once. Not even when the gym burst open behind us and we heard Minh's voice cut off mid-scream.
We ran through the back lot, over the rusted chain-link fence that once separated us from the old district, and into the abandoned streets of Neon City. Everything looked like it was melting. Streetlights flickered and died. Storefronts were shattered. The skyline was a skeleton of flames.
Half the city was gone. The other half wasn't alive anymore.
Zombies, if that's even what they were, moved in packs. Not slow. Not dumb. Some still wore uniforms. One still had a bloody ID badge clipped to its collar.
"They were turned," Elle whispered, crouching behind an overturned van. "The radiation. It didn't kill them. It rewrote them."
My voice felt stuck in my throat. "We need food. Supplies. Somewhere to think."
We broke into a convenience store, shattered glass crunching underfoot. The shelves were half-looted. I grabbed canned beans, jerky, bottled water, anything we could carry. Elle stuffed a medkit into her bag.
Behind the counter, we found a revolver in a shoebox and a half-charged solar flashlight.
The worst part wasn't the hunger or the monsters.
It was when we reached my neighborhood.
My house.
And my parents were waiting on the porch—with butcher knives.
"Allen," my mother said softly, too softly, "you're infected, aren't you?"
I backed up. "What?"
"You brought it back. That thing inside the school. We saw your name on the lists." Her voice cracked. "You're not our son anymore."
Elle pulled me behind her. "We're not here to hurt you."
My father lifted a machete. "But we are."
They lunged.
We ran.
---
We cut through the alleyways, dodging overturned dumpsters and the twitching remnants of neighbors we once waved to. My chest burned, not just from running—but from betrayal. My own parents. Would've cut me down. No hesitation. No warmth. Just fear.
Elle didn't say a word, but I could feel her fingers trembling against mine.
We stopped behind an old gas station. I bent over, hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath. "What the hell was that...?"
"They're panicking," Elle said, eyes on the broken street. "Radiation doesn't just mutate the body, Allen. It warps the mind. They saw the blast. Felt the fallout. They're not thinking clearly."
"You think that's all it is?" I asked bitterly. "Because it looked like they meant it."
"We're not going back," she replied, voice sharp. "Not to them. Not to anyone who looks at you like a plague."
I nodded, blinking away the sting behind my eyes. I didn't realize how much hope I'd put in that house. In them. Stupid.
From the roof of the gas station, we spotted a group of students. Survivors.
I recognized a few—Zeke, the track star, limping with a wrapped ankle. Yuna, a senior with blood down her arm. And behind them, dragging a half-broken suitcase: Parker, the class valedictorian, and his little sister.
"Elle! Allen!" Zeke called. "You made it?"
"Barely," Elle muttered, as we climbed up.
"We're trying to make it to the university sublevels," Parker said once we were all seated in a circle. "There's talk of an old Cold War bunker under the engineering department. It's reinforced. Sealed."
"How do you know?" I asked.
"I read everything," he said with a weak grin.
We packed what we had—combined food, split ammo, rationed water. We slept in shifts on the roof that night. Below us, the streets hissed with the sound of movement. Dragging feet. Tearing fabric. Whispering voices that weren't human anymore.
At dawn, we moved.
Down the highway, past burned-out cars and news vans still playing looped emergency messages: "Stay indoors. Seek higher ground. Avoid all contact with the infected."
We knew that now. There was no such thing as safety.
A bus ahead of us rattled.
We froze.
A single girl stepped out. Long black hair. Torn school uniform.
Elle's hand moved to her waistband.
"Wait," I said. "She's not... moving like them."
But when the girl turned, we saw her eyes.
Bright red.
She grinned.
And behind her, crawling out of the bus like shadows come to life—were dozens more.
"RUN!" someone screamed.
We scattered.
I didn't let go of Elle.
Not once.
---
The words hit like another blast.
I felt Elle stiffen beside me. My blood turned to ice.
"What do you mean... changing?" I asked, trying to keep my voice even. "I feel fine."
Dr. Virex didn't blink. "That's how it starts. Genetic mutation triggered by low-level exposure. You were too close to the epicenter, Allen. Your immune system's fighting, but not winning. We've seen it in others. Increased reaction speed, heightened senses—followed by neurological degradation."
"No," Elle whispered. "That's not possible."
"I've been monitoring the students since the blast," the doctor went on. "Some of you have stronger resistance. You, Allen… you're right at the line."
I shook my head. "No. No, I haven't—there were others closer! They should be—"
"They didn't survive," she said flatly. "You did. And you're not immune. Not fully."
I backed away. My fingers tingled. My ears were buzzing. But I thought it was just adrenaline. Not mutation.
Elle stepped in front of me, facing the doctor. "What are our options?"
"You have two," Dr. Virex said. "Stay here. Wait it out, and we monitor the changes. Or..." She held up the glowing vial. "We give him this. A prototype. It might reverse the mutation before it takes hold."
"Might?" I asked.
She met my eyes. "Or it might accelerate it. Kill you. Or turn you faster."
Silence stretched like a wire ready to snap.
Parker looked down. Zeke leaned against the wall, jaw clenched. No one wanted to speak.
"I'll do it," I said.
Elle grabbed my arm. "Allen, no."
"We don't have time," I told her. "If I change, I could hurt you. Or them. I won't risk it."
She was shaking. "What if it kills you?"
I smiled—small, bitter. "Then I'll at least go out myself. Not as one of them."
Dr. Virex prepped the vial. "This isn't a cure, Allen. It's a coin toss."
I nodded. "I'll take it."
The needle went in cold. My veins lit up like fire. I gasped, collapsing to my knees, vision flooding with white. I could hear Elle screaming my name from far away, like down a tunnel. Then darkness slammed shut.
---
I woke up to silence.
No screaming. No pain.
Elle sat at my side, eyes red from crying. Parker and Zeke stood nearby, tense.
Dr. Virex hovered above me with a scanner. "You're stable. No fever. Pulse is normal."
I sat up slowly. "Did it work?"
She looked at the readout. "Too early to say. But you're not dead. That's a start."
I glanced at Elle. She touched my cheek gently. "You idiot," she whispered. "Don't ever do that again."
"I can't promise that," I said.
Outside, distant booms rattled the bunker walls. The city was falling.
We had survived the day.
But the war for our lives had only just begun.
---
---