{TIME: 5:39 a.m.}
The air inside the makeshift medical camp felt thick—too thick for any kind of comfort. A sharp contrast to the storm still raging outside, the cold fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as nurses hurried by with syringes, charts, and worried faces. We sat in a row, patched up and bandaged, watching the crowd shift like restless shadows around us.
No one said much. The silence was heavy, broken only by the distant hum of generators and the faint murmur of survivors trading stories that never seemed to end well.
Then the announcement came—clear and sharp through the crackling speakers.
"Attention all survivors: Two evacuation flights remain. Priority boarding will begin shortly."
My heart thumped hard enough I thought it might burst. A flight? An escape? Hope, for once, wasn't just a dream.
Zayn looked at me with a tired, weak smile. "We're actually gonna get out of here."
{TIME: 5:44 a.m.}
But as the nurses gave us reports, our relief was tempered. None of us showed any signs of infection or sickness. Still, Zayn and I were dizzy—our bodies running low on blood, exhausted from the ordeal. Insha sat quiet, her gaze distant, lost in a trauma she wasn't ready to share.
Then came something unexpected: food.
A nurse handed Aaron a small packet wrapped in paper, simple but warm. He looked at it like it was a treasure, his fingers trembling.
"What's that?" I asked.
Aaron's voice cracked. "It's… it's the same thing my mom tried to feed me this morning."
He swallowed hard, eyes watering. "I missed it 'cause I was late… I didn't eat it."
The tiny packet held a simple porridge, but it might as well have been a feast of memories. Aaron's shoulders shook as tears spilled, a rare crack in the hardened armor we'd all built.
{TIME: 5:48 a.m.}
Before we could say anything, a thunderous crack split the sky. Lightning slammed down like a hammer, and all heads turned outside toward the runway.
We froze.
Because we saw it.
The rescue plane—the one that had taken off just before the last two flights—was crashing.
Smoke poured thick and black, the metal bird twisting and falling like a wounded beast. Flames licked at the ground as the wreck exploded in a shower of fire and sparks.
Our breaths caught in our throats. The sky lit up red, reflecting in the wide, horrified eyes of everyone in the camp.
{TIME: 5:53 a.m.}
And then the worst part:
The crash sent a signal—drawn like a magnet to every hungry nightmare prowling nearby.
Zombies started moving.
Drawn toward the fire, the noise, the chaos.
The airport, our fragile sanctuary, was about to become a battlefield.
Aaron whispered hoarsely, "We're not safe yet…"
And with that, the storm inside the airport began to rage louder than the one outside.
{TIME: 5:54 a.m.}
The fire from the crash still burned fiercely on the runway, lighting up the dark sky with eerie orange and red. Panic rippled through the crowd, but something else crept in behind the chaos — a deeper, more dangerous threat.
Out of nowhere, a nurse came sprinting toward us, her face pale and eyes wide with terror. She clutched a tablet tightly, its screen flashing a name in bold red letters. The urgency in her voice shattered the tense silence.
"Everyone, listen! We've got an infected survivor in the camp. He's been hiding it."
We barely registered her words before a sickening groan came from just ahead.
A man collapsed right in front of us — skin mottled, eyes glassy and lifeless, hands twitching like strings were pulling him.
The crowd froze.
And then it happened.
The man convulsed violently, his body jerking uncontrollably before he lunged forward — teeth bared, eyes wild.
Chaos exploded.
We started running.
"Boarding gate, now!" a soldier barked, herded us like cattle toward the exit.
Every step was frantic, every breath sharp, every heartbeat screaming 'move faster.'
{TIME: 6:01 a.m.}
The "BOARDING" sign glowed faintly above a heavy metal gate — the last barrier between us and salvation.
Behind us, screams and the unmistakable growls of the newly turned infected chased us like death itself.
We shoved through the gate, bodies colliding, the metal clang echoing like a gunshot.
Safe? Not yet.
But for now, we were one step closer.