{TIME: 6:03 a.m.}
We ran.
No words, no backup plans, no second thoughts.
Just legs screaming in exhaustion, lungs begging for breath, and the primal knowledge that if we slowed even once, we'd die.
Behind us was a stampede—half survivors, half infected. And the line between the two was fading with every heartbeat.
The corridor lit up in flickers—overhead lights sputtering like they were losing hope too. We dashed under the flickering glow of Gate 5. A sign above blinked in harsh red:
"FINAL EMERGENCY FLIGHT BOARDING – DOOR CLOSES AT 6:06 A.M."
That's all we needed.
Somehow, we broke ahead of the others. Maybe they hesitated. Maybe we didn't care anymore. Maybe fate had just… spared us again.
Aaron shoved a luggage trolley aside, clearing a path. I grabbed Insha by the wrist as she stumbled from a loose shoelace. Zayn limped hard but never stopped moving. We bolted toward the airbridge stairs.
The plane stood there like salvation—no airline name, just military grey with dried blood stains near the hatch. Soldiers were yelling something. We couldn't hear them over the chaos behind us.
But we didn't need instructions.
Just a way out.
{TIME: 6:05 a.m.}
We hit the metal steps like we were storming heaven.
Insha almost tripped, but I caught her. Aaron pushed Zayn up, practically carrying him. My legs burned, but I didn't stop. The moans behind us were growing louder. The growling wasn't animal anymore—it was human rage, twisted into hunger.
We made it inside just as eight others caught up—one soldier grabbed the last child and threw her in.
Then—THUD!
The doors slammed shut behind us like a prison cell, locking the monsters out.
The sounds were immediate. Hands pounding. Metal clanking. A muffled screech against the steel frame. Someone outside was still begging. Crying. Fists. Blood. A scream that turned into a gurgle.
Inside, silence.
Our breaths echoed like thunder in the pressurized cabin.
Insha collapsed onto the floor. Aaron dropped into a seat, hands on his face. Zayn leaned against the bulkhead, clutching his side. I stood, frozen, dripping sweat, clothes torn, face numb.
We were inside the final flight.
But none of us felt safe.
{TIME: 6:07 a.m.}
Static crackled overhead.
Then a voice—deep, accented, Chinese, and clearly operating on zero patience.
"This is Captain Wang. You are aboard the second-to-last evacuation flight initiated by allied forces. Final destination: Shanghai, People's Republic of China. This aircraft departs in 60 seconds. No exceptions."
Shanghai?
My brain lagged behind.
"Wait, China?!" Aaron half-laughed, half-wheezed.
Zayn groaned. "Did we just board a flight to a whole different country?"
"Shut up," I muttered. "You want to go back outside?"
No one answered.
Even if Shanghai was the wrong place—we had no other place.
{TIME: 6:08 a.m.}
The engines roared beneath us, vibrating through the floor. Soldiers moved down the aisle, locking doors, checking for signs of infection. One paused to look at Insha.
"She's fine," I said quickly. "Trauma. Not infected."
He nodded without a word and moved on.
For once, no one questioned us. No one doubted. Maybe they were too tired. Or maybe the blood on our clothes spoke louder than our mouths ever could.
The flight attendant handed each of us a sealed foil packet—emergency rations.
I peeled mine open. Inside: a dense block of some protein bar, and a lukewarm fruit box. I didn't care. I devoured it like I hadn't eaten in days.
Aaron held his in both hands. His lips trembled. He stared at the bar without moving.
Zayn noticed. "You good?"
Aaron didn't answer right away.
Then he whispered, "This was the same thing. The same packet. My mom… she handed it to me the morning it started. Said I should take it for the day."
He sniffed. Swallowed hard.
"But I left it. Told her I'd eat at school instead."
His voice cracked. "She was still holding it when they took her."
Silence.
Insha slowly reached out and placed her hand over his.
No one said anything. Because what do you even say to that?
{TIME: 6:10 a.m.}
CRAAACK!
A thunderclap tore through the sky outside, followed immediately by a white flash that lit the entire cabin like a photo negative.
Everyone jumped.
Zayn pressed against the window, squinting. "Dude… look outside."
We all looked.
There, barely 500 meters from the runway—
—a rescue plane had crashed.
Black smoke spiraled into the pre-dawn sky. One wing was ripped off. Flames licked the fuel tanks. A line of survivors stood near the wreckage, screaming, waving, burning.
They never made it off the ground.
And we watched it… while eating nutrition bars.
Aaron wiped his mouth. "What the hell are we even surviving for?"
I didn't have an answer.
{TIME: 6:14 a.m.}
Then came the yelling.
A nurse sprinted into the aisle, face pale, waving a tablet. Her voice was shrill, urgent.
"Red Label! We have a Red Label—SOP breach! One survivor lied on his medical scan!"
The entire cabin tensed.
She shouted again. "He's infected. And—he's already converted twelve. TWELVE confirmed."
Gasps. Panic. A woman screamed.
Soldiers stood instantly, rifles raised. Everyone was on their feet, scanning. Heartbeats deafening.
We were near the middle aisle when it happened.
Someone fell in front of us. A man. Jaw slack. Eyes glazed.
He started convulsing.
Insha screamed.
"MOVE!" I yelled.
{TIME: 6:15 a.m.}
The crowd exploded into motion.
We ran.
No thoughts. Just survival.
The pilot hadn't even taken off yet. The gates weren't secure. The infected were in the aisles.
But we ran straight for the boarding gate, where the LED sign above still blinked faintly:
"FLIGHT 2-ZEETA: BOARDING"
We tore through the human mass—jumping over seats, knocking over trays. The screams were deafening now. The infected were in the aisles, on the walls, crawling like spiders on adrenaline.
One bit into a soldier's shoulder. Another lunged for the cockpit door.
But we were ahead.
The metal staircase leading to the second aircraft was still open.
{TIME: 6:17 a.m.}
We made it to the second-to-last gate. The final one.
We didn't just run up the stairs—we flew. Our feet barely touched each step.
By some miracle, the flight crew saw us and held the door.
Zayn shoved past the last soldier. Aaron dragged Insha in. I stumbled in after.
A final scream from behind. Then CLANG! — the door shut.
T-MINUS 0.The gate sealed behind us.This was it.
Breathing hard, eyes wide, ears ringing—we were inside.
And alive.
Again.
But we didn't know for how long.