The bell rang at 3:05 p.m., slicing through the hallways of Blackridge High like a warning shot.

  Kellan Torres slammed his locker shut and adjusted the strap of his backpack. His head throbbed from lack of sleep—he’d spent the night doom-scrolling through news reports and half-banned videos showing "violent behavior" across Arizona. Phoenix was trending. So was mass hysteria. But Kellan didn’t believe in coincidences.

  “Yo, Kellan!”

  Easton’s voice cut through the noise as he jogged over, breathless, football cleats dangling from one hand.

  “You see that clip from Tucson?” Kellan asked without preamble.

  Easton rolled his eyes. “The one with the dude biting a cop? Please. Viral marketing. Probably for some Netflix zombie show.”

  “Yeah,” Kellan muttered, “except the cop didn’t get back up.”

  They walked outside together. The October air should’ve felt crisp, maybe refreshing. Instead, it was heavy. Still. A sky the color of spoiled milk stretched overhead.

  “Have you ever seen this quiet town?” Kellan asked. The football field, usually alive with shouting and whistles, was abandoned. No marching band. No practice. Just... silence.

  Easton turned in a slow circle. “Okay, that’s actually weird.”

  A harsh scraping sound broke the tension. Behind them, the school’s metal doors shrieked open.

  Elan stepped out, dragging a bloodstained aluminum bat. His hoodie sleeves were soaked to the elbows, and his right eye was swollen. No explanation. No apology. Just Elan.

  Kellan’s gut tightened. “What the hell happened to you?”

  “Library,” Elan said flatly. “Mrs. Granger... she wasn’t human anymore.”

  Easton chuckled—nervous, forced. “C’mon, man. That’s not funny.”

  “I’m not joking.” Elan wiped the bat against the grass. The metal squealed. “She bit Lucas Evans in the throat. He didn’t scream. Just gurgled. And then he stood back up.”

  A high-pitched siren began to wail in the distance. Not a school fire drill. This one was deeper, angrier. The kind they only used for tornadoes or chemical leaks. Or something worse.

  Easton turned white. “That’s the civil defense siren.”

  Kellan’s phone buzzed in his pocket—Emergency Alert: STAY INDOORS. LOCK ALL DOORS AND WINDOWS. DO NOT ENGAGE WITH INFECTED.

  He didn’t even have time to react before the front windows of the school exploded outward.

  A student came crashing through the glass, arms flailing, blood spraying from a ragged bite in his shoulder. He hit the ground with a wet thud and didn’t move.

  Behind him came them.

  Six silhouettes staggered through the shattered frame. Not just students—teachers, too. One was Coach Davis, shirt torn, jaw hanging slack. His eyes were milk-white. His mouth gaped, and he let out a sound that didn’t belong in a human throat.

  Kellan froze.

  Easton grabbed his arm. “RUN.”

  They turned and sprinted. Kellan’s heart jackhammered in his chest. Behind them, the screeches and snarls grew louder, joined by more glass breaking. More screaming. The infection was inside the school.

  They raced past the football field, past the vending machines and picnic tables, feet pounding against the pavement. Elan followed, silent as a shadow, still gripping his bat.

  Behind them, the moans became a roar.

  A hand shot out from behind a parked car. A girl—Emma—wide-eyed and blood-splattered. “Over here!” she shouted. “This way!”

  Kaylie and Jayah crouched behind her, clutching backpacks and metal rods. Emma pulled Kellan and Easton behind a dumpster, just as three infected students barreled past, teeth snapping.

  Kellan ducked, adrenaline drowning his thoughts. “What the hell is happening?!”

  “No time,” Emma hissed. “Hunter’s bringing the truck around. We’ve got maybe sixty seconds.”

  From somewhere nearby came a familiar voice, warped and terrified—Claire, screaming someone’s name. Then, silence.

  And then the growls.

  The world, as they knew it, had ended.

  Not with a warning.

  Not with a siren.

  But with teeth.

  The truck roared around the corner like a beast unleashed—its lifted tires kicked up gravel, dust, and the smell of burnt rubber. Behind the wheel was Hunter, sleeves rolled up, a shotgun wedged between the seats, his jaw set like stone.

  “GET IN!” he shouted, barely slowing down.

  Emma grabbed Jayah’s arm and darted forward, sliding across the bed of the pickup. Kaylie climbed over the tailgate with surprising ease, yanking Claire—wide-eyed and trembling—behind her.

  Kellan and Easton sprinted toward the truck just as a pack of infected burst from the gym doors. Elan turned, planting his feet, and swung the bat. It connected with a sickening crack, sending one of the creatures crumpling. Another took its place instantly, jaw dripping with something dark and viscous.

  “GO!” Elan barked.

  “Not without you!” Easton growled, spinning around and launching his backpack into the zombie’s face. It stumbled, giving Elan just enough room to retreat and leap onto the bed of the truck.

  Kellan barely made it. He hurled himself at the tailgate, Kaylie catching his arm and hauling him up as Hunter slammed the gas.

  The truck fishtailed, its back end clipping a trash can, sending it flying. Behind them, the school was chaos incarnate—zombies swarmed the entrance, dragging screaming students to the ground. Blood painted the concrete in broad, red strokes.

  No teachers. No cops. No order.

  Just death.

  Just like the videos, Kellan thought, his chest heaving. Except this is real.

  Hunter shouted over the wind, “We need to get off the main road!”

  “There’s a construction zone behind the church,” Claire said, still shaking. “They cleared trees there last week—it might be open enough to cut through.”

  Hunter nodded, tires screeching as he made a sharp turn. The truck thundered through an alley, skimming past trash bins and fences. Emma looked behind them, knuckles white on the truck bed’s railing.

  “They’re following.”

  “How many?” Jayah asked.

  Emma’s face twisted. “All of them.”

  Elan leaned over the side and spat blood. “They hunt like a pack. The noise draws them.”

  Easton panted. “So we’re bait. Great.”

  They cleared the alley and slammed into the dirt path behind the church. The ground was uneven, the tires bouncing violently. Everyone clung to the frame to keep from being launched out.

  Kellan shouted, “Where are we going?! We can’t just drive forever!”

  Hunter’s voice was low, focused. “I know a place. It’s my dad’s old hunting cabin—off-grid, deep in the pines. Nobody knows it’s there.”

  “You think it’s safe?” Kaylie asked.

  “No.” Hunter met her eyes in the rearview mirror. “But it’s better than here.”

  Behind them, moans echoed through the forest as infected tore through the trees like animals. Their speed was unnatural, their hunger limitless.

  Claire closed her eyes and whispered something no one could hear.

  The truck roared deeper into the woods, away from Blackridge, away from what used to be home.

  The world had collapsed in a matter of hours.

  And the dead were just getting started.

  The trees thickened the farther they drove. Pine needles slapped at the sides of the truck as Hunter navigated the overgrown trail with grim focus, one hand steady on the wheel, the other hovering near the shotgun at his side.

  They hadn’t spoken in ten minutes.

  The silence inside the cab was a vacuum, a place where none of them wanted to admit what they’d seen—what they’d left behind. No one wanted to say the word for what those things had become.

  “Turn left at the fork,” Hunter muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “Cabin’s about two miles out.”

  In the bed of the truck, Kellan sat with his knees pulled to his chest, eyes fixed on the road disappearing behind them. He hadn’t blinked in a while. Neither had Emma, who clutched her bag like it was a lifeline.

  Claire sat beside Jayah, her eyes hollow.

  “They were our teachers,” she whispered. “I saw Mr. Atlee eating someone. Eating.”

  “They’re not teachers anymore,” Jayah said. Her voice didn’t shake, but she was gripping a broken pipe like she meant to kill with it.

  Kellan finally spoke. “We need a plan.”

  “There is no plan,” Elan replied flatly. He sat with his back to the cab, arms crossed, dried blood crusted on his face. “The world just ended. Best we’ve got is surviving the next twelve hours.”

  “Stop talking like it’s over.” Easton’s voice cracked as he climbed through the sliding back window into the cab. “There’s going to be a rescue. Military. Quarantine zones. This happened too fast—they’ll respond.”

  Hunter said nothing.

  Emma did. “You think this was fast?” she asked quietly. “We were just lucky to see it today. The outbreak didn’t start in Phoenix. It started before Phoenix.”

  Kaylie turned, eyes narrowing. “How do you know that?”

  Emma hesitated, then reached into her backpack and pulled out a wrinkled paper folder. “My dad works for the county emergency office. This was in his files. They’ve been monitoring spikes in violent outbreaks for months. Tucson, Yuma, San Diego. It was spreading, and they kept it quiet.”

  Jayah leaned forward. “Why?”

  “To avoid panic,” Emma said. “To buy time.”

  “Well, they ran out of time,” Elan muttered. “And we’re running out of gas.”

  Hunter glanced at the gauge. The needle hovered near E.

  He slowed as they crested a hill. Below them, nestled in the trees, was a dark, weather-beaten cabin with a wraparound porch and boarded windows. A single chimney puffed smoke from long ago, now cold.

  “This is it,” Hunter said. “Everyone inside. Weapons out. First rule now is: we don’t take chances. If someone gets bitten, they tell us. No secrets. No ‘I’m fine.’ We clear?”

  Everyone nodded.

  They stepped out, surrounded by the creaking of trees and the scent of pine. The quiet here was thick, but not peaceful—like the forest was holding its breath.

  Inside, the cabin was dusty but intact. A fireplace. Two bedrooms. A cellar door with a heavy padlock. Food supplies—canned and dated, but not expired.

  Claire collapsed onto an old couch, wrapping herself in a wool blanket. “This feels… wrong. Like we’re just waiting to die.”

  “No,” Kellan said, his voice firmer than before. “We’re going to live.”

  Elan raised an eyebrow. “Got a magic cure in your bag?”

  “No,” Kellan said. “But I’ve got people. And that’s better than being alone.”

  Outside, an owl screeched in the distance.

  Then silence.

  Then... a growl.

  Hunter stepped to the window. His breath caught.

  A man stood on the edge of the clearing.

  Naked. Pale. Staring.

  Then he dropped to all fours, and sprinted toward the cabin.

  The man—or what used to be a man—was on all fours, running like a wolf, limbs jerking unnaturally fast. His eyes caught the moonlight: milky, wide, and locked on the cabin.

  “DOWN!” Hunter shouted, dragging a cabinet in front of the window just as the thing lunged.

  The window exploded inward in a hail of glass and splinters. The infected creature hit the wooden cabinet with a sickening thud and snarled, clawing madly at the barrier.

  Kellan grabbed a fireplace poker.

  Jayah didn’t hesitate. She drove her makeshift pipe through the shattered window and into the thing’s neck with a grunt. It twitched violently, gurgled, then went still.

  “Board it up now!” Emma cried.

  Elan was already dragging a table to block the second window. Kaylie found nails and a hammer near the door and worked like her life depended on it. Maybe it did.

  Claire stood frozen in the middle of the room, staring at the body twitching on the porch.

  “Claire!” Kellan shouted. “Look at me!”

  She blinked.

  “Focus,” he said. “We’re okay.”

  “No,” she whispered. “We’re not.”

  The group worked fast, adrenaline overriding fear. Within minutes, the windows were sealed, the doors braced, and the body dragged twenty feet into the forest.

  It was Emma who insisted on burning it. “The infection might spread through blood,” she said. “We can’t risk contact.”

  They watched the fire for a long time, the creature’s body turning to smoke and ash beneath the stars. No one spoke. There was nothing left to say.

  Back inside, they gathered around the fireplace.

  “We need rules,” Kaylie said, rubbing her arms. “Like, right now.”

  “Agreed,” Emma nodded. “We rotate watches. We stay inside after dark. We don’t open the door for anyone unless the whole group agrees.”

  Easton shifted uneasily. “We can’t stay here forever.”

  Hunter stared into the flames. “We don’t have to. Just long enough to figure out our next move.”

  Kellan watched Elan in the corner, who hadn’t said a word since the attack. He was cleaning the blood off his bat with slow, deliberate strokes.

  “Hey,” Kellan said, approaching him quietly. “You okay?”

  Elan glanced at him. “I’ve seen worse.”

  Kellan hesitated. “Before all this?”

  “Before all this,” Elan echoed, then stood. “Don’t worry about me. Worry about the people who can’t do what I do.”

  He walked away, leaving Kellan with a gnawing unease.

  Later that night, Kellan took first watch, sitting by the front door with the poker still in his grip. The others tried to sleep—some on couches, others on the floor under blankets and coats. The silence outside was oppressive, like the forest itself was holding its breath.

  At 2:13 a.m., he heard something.

  Snap.

  A branch. Not from the wind. From footsteps.

  He held his breath.

  Then a soft thud. Another. Closer.

  He raised the poker, heart pounding in his ears.

  Tap-tap.

  Something touched the door.

  Kellan stood slowly and reached for the latch.

  “No,” Emma’s voice came from the shadows. She was awake. Watching him.

  “You heard it too?” he whispered.

  She nodded, holding a kitchen knife in one hand. “They test you. The ones that still think.”

  “They think?”

  “Some do.”

  The tapping stopped.

  For now.

  Chapter 5 – Safehouse 47

  By morning, the forest had changed.

  It was too quiet—like something had warned every bird, every insect, every living thing to leave. The wind had settled. The trees stood like watchers. And the group inside the cabin hadn’t slept well—except maybe Elan, who dozed with his weapon across his chest, like a soldier born for this world.

  Kellan stood on the porch, poker still in hand, watching the horizon through a gap in the boards.

  Emma stepped out beside him, squinting into the trees. “No sign of them?”

  “Nothing all night.” He paused. “It’s almost worse than if they were out there.”

  Hunter came out next, holding a weathered map. “There’s a communications site northeast of here. Old ranger station. Might still have power, maybe even a radio.”

  Easton perked up. “Like, call for help radio?”

  Hunter nodded. “If it’s operational.”

  Jayah folded her arms. “That’s a long shot.”

  “Everything’s a long shot now,” Hunter said. “We’re out of food by tomorrow. We need a plan before this cabin becomes a coffin.”

  Kellan stepped forward. “We go. A few of us. The rest stay and hold the cabin.”

  “I’ll go,” Emma said.

  “Me too,” Easton added. “If there’s a chance someone’s out there, I want to find them.”

  Kaylie bit her lip. “I’ll stay. Claire needs someone with her. And… I’m not great with blood.”

  Elan stood, slinging his bat over his shoulder. “I’ll go. Someone’s gotta watch your backs.”

  That settled it. Four in the search party—Kellan, Emma, Easton, Elan.

  Hunter marked the map. “Ranger station’s marked as Safehouse 47. Ten miles. You’ll need to be quiet and fast. If anything moves, you don’t hesitate.”

  “Got it,” Kellan said. “We leave in ten.”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  The forest swallowed sound. The deeper they went, the more every step felt like trespassing.

  Easton broke the silence. “You think there’s still people out there? Somewhere?”

  Emma kept her eyes ahead. “Maybe. But if they are, they’re not broadcasting. Have you noticed? No planes. No news. No signals. It’s like the world is unplugged.”

  Elan, behind her, spoke softly. “The infection shut us down fast. Someone wanted it that way.”

  Kellan frowned. “You think this was done on purpose?”

  “I think nature doesn’t evolve that fast. And these things—” he gestured at the woods, “—they move with coordination. Packs. Scouting. Have you ever seen a virus act like it has a brain?”

  No one answered.

  They reached Safehouse 47 just after noon.

  The building was built into a ridge, half-camouflaged with stone and ivy. The door was ajar.

  Inside, it was dark and musty, lit by shafts of light from broken vents above. Dust hung in the air like fog.

  Kellan stepped carefully, feet crunching on broken glass.

  Emma found the terminal first. An ancient emergency radio console, cracked but intact. She flipped switches, adjusted dials.

  Nothing but static.

  “Damn it—” she slammed her fist on the panel.

  And then—a voice.

  Faint. Metallic. Scrambled through the noise:

  “…Safehouse 12… repeat, Safehouse 12 is operational… survivors welcome… transmit coordinates if you receive…”

  Easton’s eyes went wide. “We’re not alone.”

  Emma fumbled for the mic. “This is Safehouse 47. We copy. Please confirm coordinates of Safehouse 12!”

  No response.

  Just dead air.

  Kellan looked at the others. “We have a location. We just became part of something bigger.”

  But Elan wasn’t looking at the radio.

  He was staring at the floor.

  A blood trail.

  Fresh.

  He followed it into the next room—and froze.

  “Guys…” he called.

  The others rushed in—and saw.

  The back wall was smeared with claw marks. The window shattered outward. And on the floor—

  —a dead soldier in riot gear, his helmet crushed, a flare gun still clutched in his hand.

  On his vest:

  CDC – Outbreak Response Unit

  And beneath it, stenciled in white:

  Safehouse 12: Entry by Code Only

  Emma’s breath caught. “There was a plan…”

  Kellan reached down, gently pulling the flare gun from the man’s hand. In the barrel was a coded cartridge. Etched on the side: 12-TRI-8A

  They had a lead.

  But they also had blood on their boots. And whatever did this—it might still be nearby.

  They ran.

  Through the brush, over roots, across dead leaves that whispered with every step—Kellan, Emma, Easton, and Elan sprinted through the forest, breath ragged, eyes wide.

  Behind them, something howled.

  Something not human.

  “It followed us!” Emma shouted, gripping the flare gun tight in one hand and the code cartridge in the other.

  “We led it straight to the cabin,” Kellan hissed, fury cutting through his exhaustion. “We have to get back—now!”

  They didn’t stop. Not even when Easton tripped and tore his knee open, not when Elan slowed to swing wildly at something rushing through the trees behind them. Whatever stalked them didn’t need to be fast—it was patient. It hunted like it knew they were running toward its next meal.

  By the time they broke through the treeline, the cabin was already in sight—and it was wrong.

  The front door hung open.

  The porch was splintered.

  And blood painted the steps.

  “No, no, no…” Kellan breathed.

  Emma reached his side and froze. “Where’s Kaylie?”

  They rushed forward. Elan charged through the doorway first, bat raised. Inside, it was chaos. Furniture overturned. Blood smeared across the wood floor. But no sign of the infected. No sign of Claire. No Kaylie.

  Then—movement.

  A shadow from the back room lunged.

  Kellan dove instinctively, grabbing a fire poker just as Kaylie shrieked, swinging a hammer at his head.

  “WAIT! IT’S US!” Kellan shouted, blocking the blow.

  Kaylie fell back, panting, face streaked with tears. “I—I thought you were them!”

  “Where’s Claire?” Emma asked, voice sharp.

  Kaylie just stared.

  “I tried to stop them,” she whispered. “I tried.”

  Elan moved past them into the hallway.

  He found Claire’s body there.

  Neck snapped.

  Eyes still open.

  Kellan stood frozen, heart pounding. “No…”

  “She couldn’t run,” Kaylie sobbed. “When they broke in—these two... they weren’t like the others. They moved smart. They didn’t just charge in. They waited until I opened the door for Emma—except it wasn’t Emma.”

  Easton’s stomach turned. “They can mimic?”

  “No.” Elan stared out the shattered back window. “They’re evolving.”

  He pointed into the woods—bloody drag marks led into the dark.

  “They took her.”

  No one spoke.

  Claire was buried beneath a pile of stones behind the cabin. There was no time for ceremony, no words strong enough to close what had just opened between them.

  Emma clutched the cartridge in her hand. “This code... it might be the key to Safehouse 12. The only place that’s still secure.”

  Hunter—silent since they returned—finally spoke. “If there’s something out there that thinks… plans… then Safehouse 12 isn’t just a goal. It’s a race.”

  “Against what?” Easton asked.

  Hunter’s eyes met his. “Against whatever took Claire.”

  Kellan stood at the window, jaw tight. The sky was turning red.

  “We leave tomorrow at dawn. All of us.”

  “What if we’re not ready?” Kaylie asked, voice trembling.

  “We don’t have time to be ready,” Kellan replied. “This thing—this infection—it’s not just surviving. It’s learning. And if we wait... it won’t just kill us.”

  He turned to face them, eyes full of fury and purpose.

  “It’ll replace us.”

  They left the cabin before sunrise.

  Hunter led the way with his shotgun slung over one shoulder and a hunting knife strapped to his thigh. Kellan followed close behind, navigating with the map and the cartridge they’d recovered. The others came in silence, eyes constantly scanning the woods.

  The forest was a graveyard.

  Blackened trees leaned like broken ribs. Flocks of birds had vanished. Even the insects had gone still.

  Kaylie whispered, “It’s too quiet again.”

  “Good,” Elan said flatly. “Means they’re watching. Better than when they’re screaming.”

  Emma tapped the code cartridge nervously against her palm. “We don’t even know what kind of place Safehouse 12 is. Could be a bunker. Could be abandoned. Could be a trap.”

  “Could be salvation,” Easton said. “We have to believe something is still working.”

  “No,” Hunter said, without turning. “We don’t have to believe. We have to move.”

  By midday, they found the first sign.

  It was a fence. Twelve feet high, wrapped in razor wire, half-collapsed but still straining to stand.

  Spray-painted across the metal in blood-red letters:

  YOU LEFT US HERE

  WE LEARNED.

  Beneath it, skeletons. Not just corpses—piled bones. Clean. Arranged.

  Like a warning.

  Elan crouched beside them. “This wasn’t rage. This was a ritual.”

  Kellan’s stomach turned. “What kind of mind does this?”

  Emma looked away. “One that used to be human.”

  They moved on in silence.

  That night, they camped in the shell of an abandoned gas station off an overgrown highway. Jayah stood watch near the door, her pipe across her lap. Kaylie sat beside her, too shaken to sleep.

  Inside, Kellan lit a small fire in the corner and unfurled the map.

  “We’re here,” he said, pointing. “If the code’s right, Safehouse 12 is inside a restricted military zone—old blacksite. Not on civilian maps.”

  Emma sat across from him, her face pale in the firelight. “I’ve seen something like that. My dad once mentioned a place west of here—‘Area TRI-8A.’ He said if things ever went bad, that's where they'd go to ‘contain the uncontainable.’”

  “Contain?” Easton asked. “Or create?”

  She hesitated. “Both.”

  Hunter knelt beside the fire. “Tell them what you’re not saying.”

  Emma exhaled. “My dad didn’t just work for emergency services. He was part of a contract group for the CDC and the DoD—monitoring biohazard escalation zones. Three weeks ago, he said he had to disappear for a while. ‘Drills,’ he said.”

  “No such thing as drills anymore,” Elan muttered.

  Kellan looked at her hard. “Are you saying this outbreak… was on purpose?”

  “I’m saying it was expected,” Emma replied. “And Safehouse 12 might not just be a refuge. It could be the origin.”

  Suddenly—glass shattered.

  Jayah spun around just as something burst through the window—small, fast, hunched.

  She swung.

  It dodged.

  Kaylie screamed.

  Hunter fired.

  The thing flew backward into the wall and shrieked—not in pain, but rage.

  It didn’t look like the others. Its skin was bone-white, but stretched tight over a thin, long-limbed body. Its mouth unhinged far too wide. Its eyes were pitch black. It was young—barely adolescent in form.

  Emma’s voice cracked: “That’s a child.”

  “No,” Elan said coldly. “That’s a warning.”

  Kellan stepped forward as the creature twitched and finally stilled.

  He looked at its hands—each finger sharpened to a claw, skin embedded with black threads of something synthetic.

  He looked at its neck.

  A small metal tag.

  Stamped:

  Test Series: 4C-Beta – Origin 12

  It took them two more days to reach the outer perimeter.

  They’d passed through what used to be towns—now overgrown ruins, scorched by fire and silence. Signs of panic were everywhere: burnt vehicles, barricaded homes with no survivors, and spray-painted messages scrawled in haste.

  But it wasn’t just the undead anymore.

  There were eyes in the woods.

  Unseen.

  Unblinking.

  Watching.

  “We’re not alone,” Jayah muttered that night as they made camp inside a collapsed motel. “Not them. Not the infected. Others.”

  Kaylie looked at her. “You mean survivors?”

  Jayah shook her head slowly. “No. Survivors don’t leave bait.”

  She pointed to the clearing they passed earlier—bones set in a spiral, lit with broken glow sticks.

  Emma’s hands trembled as she held the flare gun. “We’re being herded.”

  Hunter wiped sweat from his brow. “And we’re heading right where they want us.”

  On the third morning, the trees stopped.

  A massive chain-link fence stretched across the horizon. Beyond it, concrete structures rose like forgotten tombs. Steel watchtowers. Floodlights, dark. Bunkers sealed beneath the earth.

  And in the middle:

  A black monolith of a building, windowless, humming faintly with power.

  Safehouse 12.

  Kellan approached the gate, holding the cartridge with the etched code: 12-TRI-8A.

  There was a small terminal buried in rusted steel.

  He slid the cartridge into the slot.

  It clicked.

  A low hiss.

  Then: Welcome, Tier-8 Clearance. Safehouse 12: Active.

  The gate groaned open.

  Elan raised his bat. “If this is salvation, it’s got a real funeral vibe.”

  They stepped through together.

  Inside the walls, it was worse.

  Empty streets lined with flood-damaged barracks. Crates labeled “BIOCONTAINMENT.” Dark smears across the concrete like blood had been dragged for miles. There was no movement—no infected, no people.

  Just silence.

  Then they found the door.

  It led underground.

  A steel vault door, ten feet high, with biometric locks and hazard signs scratched beyond recognition. But it stood open—ajar. As if something left.

  Or something went in.

  Emma stared at it, her voice barely a whisper. “My father said there were six test sites. Only one with full human trial clearance. This one.”

  Hunter read the faded sign above the door.

  TRI-8A: GENESIS ROOM

  “I don’t like that word,” Easton muttered. “Genesis? Sounds like something started here.”

  Kellan glanced back the way they came. “We’ve come too far to turn back now.”

  Inside, the corridor was sterile. Cold. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead.

  As they descended deeper, murals on the wall appeared. Painted by hand. But not by children. Not by the insane.

  Detailed depictions—figures transforming. Human to creature. Then creature to something else.

  Not mindless. Not wild.

  Ascended.

  At the bottom, they found the lab.

  Shattered glass lined the floor. Medical chairs with rusted straps. Tanks of murky liquid, empty but labeled with chilling names:

  “Subject Delta-5”

  “Cognitive Reintegration, Phase 2”

  “Neural Amplification – Juvenile Variant”

  Then they found the screen still blinking with power.

  A terminal.

  Emma typed quickly, bypassing ancient security protocols.

  The log on screen read:

  PROJECT PROMETHEUS: FINAL STAGE – SUCCESSFUL

  Outbreak Deployed: Containment compromised.

  Directive Shifted: Observe natural evolution.

  Subject behavior exceeded projections.

  Phase 3 awaiting field integration.

  “Field integration…” Emma whispered. “They're releasing something new. Not just surviving. Spreading. Testing us.”

  Hunter backed away. “This wasn’t an accident. It was never about control. It was about what comes after.”

  Suddenly—movement.

  From the far hallway.

  A figure stepped into the light.

  Human. Clad in black military armor, visor down. Gun lowered.

  Kellan raised his weapon. “Who the hell are you?”

  The figure paused—then lifted the visor.

  A woman. Late 40s. Cold eyes. Recognition flashed across her face when she saw Emma.

  “…Emma?”

  Emma’s breath caught. “Mom?”

  The woman lowered her weapon fully.

  “I told him not to start this,” she said. “But your father didn’t listen.”

  Everyone froze.

  Kellan stepped forward. “Start what?”

  The woman looked at them all. “The next generation of humanity. And if you’re here—if you made it this far—then you’re either a miracle…”

  She raised her rifle.

  “…or a mistake.”

  No one moved.

  Emma’s mother kept her rifle leveled—eyes sharp, calculating. Behind her, the lights flickered in the underground lab like the last pulse of a dying nerve.

  “You’re alive,” Emma whispered. “All this time—you were here?”

  Her mother didn’t blink. “We had to monitor the progression. We didn’t expect any of you to make it this far.”

  Kellan stepped in front of Emma, protectively. “You knew what this place was. You let it happen.”

  “We didn’t let it happen,” the woman said coldly. “We engineered it. And your survival means the data is good.”

  Easton laughed bitterly. “You sound proud. You turned cities into graveyards.”

  “We turned humanity into something that could finally adapt. You think this was the first extinction-level threat? The next virus. The next war. This was evolution with a leash.”

  “Then you lost control,” Hunter growled.

  “Not lost,” she replied. “We released it.”

  Emma stepped forward. “What happened to Dad?”

  Her mother’s gaze faltered, just for a moment.

  “He went into Phase 3. Voluntarily.”

  Elan raised his bat. “What the hell is Phase 3?”

  She pointed to the tanks. “You’ve met them already. Enhanced cognition. Accelerated regeneration. Hive awareness. He believed in the next form.”

  Emma’s hand dropped to her belt. Her fingers brushed the flare gun—the cartridge still inside.

  “I don’t,” she said quietly.

  Her mother raised the rifle again. “Then you’re not part of the solution.”

  The shot rang out.

  Kellan tackled Emma to the ground as the bullet ripped past her head. Easton dove behind a steel crate, yelling, “SHE’S FIRING!”

  Hunter returned fire—his shot catching Emma’s mother in the side. She staggered, fell to one knee.

  “Fall back!” Kellan shouted. “We’re not dying in this lab!”

  Jayah grabbed Kaylie and pulled her toward the door, Elan covering their retreat. Hunter stayed back, laying suppressing fire as the group scattered through the corridor.

  Emma paused just long enough to look back—her mother bleeding, eyes full of steel.

  “You were never going to save us,” Emma said. “You just wanted to replace us.”

  And then she threw the cartridge.

  It clattered across the floor—and exploded into white fire.

  Emergency lights blared.

  Alarms screamed.

  CONTAINMENT FAILURE – BREACH IN CORE CHAMBER

  They ran.

  The facility groaned around them as systems failed. Old doors slammed shut. Locks melted from emergency heat triggers. And from somewhere below—

  They heard them.

  Not the slow ones.

  Not the screamers.

  These were fast.

  Coordinated.

  Intelligent.

  And they were coming up.

  Easton turned, panicked. “That flare—it called them here!”

  “No,” Emma said. “It woke them up.”

  They burst through the final doors onto the surface. The air was thick with smoke. Alarms blared from towers. Red lights rotated across the field like the heartbeat of the dying base.

  But something new was waiting at the gate.

  Figures.

  Human at first glance.

  But taller. Too smooth. Faces featureless. Limbs longer. Clothes melted into skin. They watched—not attacking. Observing.

  Kellan raised his weapon. “What the hell are they?”

  Emma stepped forward slowly.

  “…Phase 3,” she whispered.

  Then one of them spoke.

  Its voice was like six mouths speaking in harmony.

  “We were not born. We were made.

  We remember you.

  And we are at the end of your line.”

  The group stood frozen.

  Kaylie broke first. “We can’t fight that.”

  “No,” Hunter said. “But we can finish what her parents started.”

  He looked at Emma.

  “You said there was a failsafe.”

  Emma nodded, swallowing hard. “There’s a fusion core beneath the lab. Emergency protocol. If activated, it’ll take this entire place—and everything inside—with it.”

  Elan stepped forward. “You sure?”

  “No,” she said. “But we don’t have another option.”

  Kellan looked at the others. “We make a stand. Half of us go back. The other half clears the way north. We split the line. Burn the future to save what’s left.”

  Easton’s face twisted. “You’re talking about suicide.”

  Kellan looked him in the eye. “I’m talking about making it mean something.”

  The choice was made.

  The line was drawn.

  And below, the heart of the monster pulsed louder… as if it knew.

  The night was fire.

  A red glow lit the compound from below as systems melted down, lighting towers flared, and the air trembled with movement—not wind, but the whisper of the evolved ones approaching. Too many. Too quiet.

  The group stood just inside the northern exit tunnel.

  Kellan drew a line in the dust with the edge of his boot. “This is it. Cross this, and there’s no going back.”

  No one spoke.

  Then Emma stepped forward and said, “I’ll do it. I’ll go down. I know the system. I can trigger the failsafe.”

  “I’m going with you,” Kellan said. “You’re not dying alone.”

  Hunter cocked his shotgun. “We’ll hold the gate. Give you time.”

  Elan grinned grimly. “Been dying to hit something smarter than me anyway.”

  Jayah, Kaylie, and Easton all stared at each other—then at the figures gathering in the smoke.

  “I’m not running,” Jayah said.

  “You’re not staying,” Kellan ordered. “You and Kaylie—you get out. Find anyone left. Warn them. Burn every other Safehouse map you find.”

  Kaylie’s voice trembled. “But—”

  “No buts,” Emma said softly. “We already lost Claire. We won’t lose everyone.”

  Easton put an arm around Kaylie. “I’ll get her there. I promise.”

  Emma gave them a weak smile. “You better. Or I’ll haunt you.”

  Kellan and Emma moved through collapsing corridors as alarms echoed like dying heartbeats. Pipes burst above them. The walls bled light. Beneath it all—the roar of something massive awakening.

  At the lowest level, the door to the fusion chamber stood ajar, heat pouring out like breath from a dragon.

  Inside, the console pulsed red.

  Failsafe ready. Voice authorization required.

  Emma stepped forward, her hands shaking.

  “Kellan... if I don’t make it out—”

  “Don’t.” He grabbed her face, held her eyes. “We finish this. Then we go.”

  She nodded, voice cracking. “Authorization: Dr. Emma Hartley. Code Red. Confirm.”

  The system hesitated—then answered:

  Confirmed. Detonation sequence armed. Sixty seconds.

  Above, something screamed.

  Not in pain.

  In rage.

  Hunter, Elan, and Jayah stood shoulder to shoulder at the surface gate. Easton and Kaylie were already sprinting toward the forest, away from the compound’s heart.

  From the smoke, they came.

  Dozens. Maybe more.

  Tall. Silent. Perfect in their design. Once-human shapes twisted by purpose.

  Elan was the first to charge.

  His bat shattered bone, broke limbs—but they kept coming.

  Hunter fired until he was down to his last shell.

  Jayah swung her pipe like a demon.

  One of the creatures reached her—its hand wrapped around her throat—

  And she smiled.

  “I see you now,” she whispered.

  Then the light hit them.

  Beneath the facility, Kellan grabbed Emma’s hand as the countdown dropped below ten. The console was melting. The floor was glowing.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  Tears streamed down her face. “No.”

  “Good,” he said. “Neither am I.”

  3... 2... 1—

  The world exploded.

  White fire devoured the lab. It roared upward through the compound, incinerating the corridor, the tanks, the evolving creatures. The evolved didn’t scream—they vanished into ash, unfinished.

  Above, Hunter’s face vanished in the fire. Elan’s laugh was the last sound anyone heard. Jayah stood defiant until the light took her.

  And Kellan and Emma, hand in hand, disappeared into the light.

  Two Weeks Later – Somewhere North

  Kaylie sat beside a campfire.

  Easton slept a few feet away, wounded but breathing.

  They’d found others. Survivors. A pocket of humanity, hidden deep in the hills.

  Children. Elders. People who still remembered the world before.

  Kaylie pulled out a scorched piece of metal from her backpack. It was from the gate at Safehouse 12. Bent. Melted.

  But still legible.

  GENESIS ROOM

  She threw it into the fire.

  And for the first time in weeks—

  She smiled.