Lena stumbled out of the lab, the cold night air hitting her like a slap.
She didn't know where she was going —
only that she had to find him.
Ethan.
Even if part of her screamed that he wasn't truly Ethan anymore...
her heart refused to listen.
The virus had already consumed nearly one-third of New York State.
It was on every TV, every radio, every phone screen.
> "Stay indoors."
"Do not engage with the infected."
"Help is coming."
"We repeat: do not leave your homes."
The police were desperate.
The army was preparing blockades.
The news channels were chaos — endless footage of attacks, screaming crowds, cities turning into graveyards.
But Lena...
Lena couldn't stay home.
> "If there's even a chance he's still inside there somewhere... I have to try."
"We created this... maybe we can fix it."
She pulled the hoodie tighter over her face and started moving.
---
The streets were no longer streets —
they were battlegrounds.
Cars crashed into poles.
Smoke rose from distant fires.
Bodies lay slumped against walls.
And the infected...
they were everywhere.
She saw two of them tearing into a screaming man near a broken bus stop.
She ducked behind a dumpster, heart pounding so loudly she was sure they could hear it.
And then she realized — they weren't looking.
They sniffed the air.
They twitched at small sounds.
> "They can't see well," she thought desperately.
"But they hear everything."
---
Every step Lena took felt like stepping on a landmine.
A can rattled near her boot — and instantly, a nearby infected snapped its head toward her.
It let out a gurgling hiss and rushed her.
Lena barely managed to swing a loose crowbar she had picked up, catching the creature in the side of the head.
It staggered, but another was already coming.
She gritted her teeth, adrenaline surging.
She couldn't afford mistakes.
She sprinted into the shadows, weaving between abandoned taxis and crumbling street signs.
---
She didn't know where her feet were leading her...
until she saw it:
The police station.
A stronghold.
Maybe someone could help her.
Maybe someone had answers.
She ran to it, hope flaring inside her chest.
---
The door was already broken off its hinges.
Inside, the once-proud station was a nightmare.
The front desk was smeared with blood.
Uniforms — some still attached to their owners — littered the floor.
And then she saw them.
The infected.
Dozens of them, prowling through the station.
She froze —
but the door creaked behind her.
Instantly, a dozen heads snapped toward her, nostrils flaring, ears twitching.
They screeched —
and they charged.
---
The first one was fast — too fast.
Lena ducked under its swing, rolling across the blood-slick floor, the smell of iron and rot choking her.
She came up swinging, the crowbar cracking against a jawbone with a wet pop.
Another grabbed her shoulder —
she elbowed it in the gut, then slammed the crowbar backward into its skull.
A third lunged, teeth gnashing —
she ducked low and drove the sharp end of the crowbar into its knee, sending it crashing down.
But there were too many.
Hands clawed at her clothes.
Fingers like iron digging into her arms.
She screamed and kicked, swinging wildly, desperate, every breath a battle.
One of them almost got her —
its teeth grazed her sleeve as she shoved it back with a cry.
Blood sprayed her cheek.
> "I can't do this,"
"I can't —"
"But I have to."
She fought like a woman possessed — not with technique, but with raw terror and the fierce, stubborn love in her heart.
She slammed doors, barricading herself briefly.
She smashed windows to create noise far away.
She tricked them, distracted them, outsmarted them.
Every second was a dance between life and death.
Her arms ached.
Her chest heaved.
But somehow — somehow — she made it.
---
She stumbled into an office at the back, slamming the heavy metal door behind her and collapsing against it.
She was bleeding from a cut on her forehead.
Her hands were trembling violently.
She slid down onto the floor, curling up as sobs racked her body.
> "What am I doing?"
"How can I find Ethan?"
"What if it's too late?"
"What if he doesn't even remember me anymore?"
The station was dead silent now —
except for the slow, dragging footsteps of the dead, searching, always searching.
And yet...
Even in this nightmare,
Even as hope faded,
Even as her body screamed for her to give up...
Her heart whispered one word:
> "Ethan."
She wiped her tears with bloodied hands, steadied herself, and stood up.
> "I'll find you," she whispered.
"Even if it kills me."