{TIME: 4:36 A.M.}
We sat on the cold floor, backs against the wall, breath shallow and hands still trembling from everything we had just survived. Our clothes were soaked, not just with the downpour outside but with the blood we couldn't even tell was ours anymore. The silence between us wasn't awkward—it was necessary. Like if we talked too loud, the world would remember we existed and try to finish what it started.
Zayn was the first to break it.
"You think they'll even let us in after this?"
Insha didn't answer. Her eyes were locked on the sealed door ahead, lips pressed tight like a dam trying to hold in a flood. Aaron tapped his fingers on his knee, rhythmically, anxiously. I just hugged myself tighter. The adrenaline was wearing off, and every inch of my body was starting to feel like it was breaking down.
Then—BOOM.
Not an explosion this time. Just the reinforced doors sliding open with a heavy mechanical groan. Floodlights spilled in, blinding us for a second. And then came the soldiers.
Three of them, all masked, all holding rifles that looked way too clean for a world so messy. Behind them were medics—white scrubs stained with mud and panic, stretchers lined up in the hall like a conveyor belt of broken lives.
"On your feet," one soldier said, not unkindly, but not gently either. "You're being processed."
"Processed?" Aaron echoed.
"Like canned beans," Zayn muttered, attempting a joke but wincing immediately. He was still bleeding through his back bandage. I could see the red soaking into his shirt. I wanted to say something, but the words didn't form. My throat felt like it was sewn shut.
{TIME: 4:39 a.m.}
We stumbled out of the room, one by one. The corridor outside wasn't empty.
It was crowded.
Hundreds—maybe more—sat slumped along the tiled floor of what used to be one of the busiest airports in the country. People of all ages, faces hollow, some wrapped in makeshift bandages, others just staring. Kids clung to backpacks like teddy bears. A man coughed violently into his sleeve. A woman next to him didn't even flinch.
"This is…" Insha whispered, but her voice trailed off. Words wouldn't do it justice.
We were in a war hospital disguised as a terminal.
Everyone was watching us.
I don't know if it was because we were the newest ones. Or the blood. Or because we didn't look half-dead like some of them. But hundreds of eyes turned to us like they expected us to bring answers or miracles or maybe just distraction.
It felt like walking into judgment.
The soldier guided us toward a cordoned-off area where the baggage claim used to be. Now? It was the medical bay. White tents and gurneys. Crates of surgical gear. Buckets of what I hoped was water.
Two nurses sat behind a foldout table under a yellowed lamp. Clipboards, vials, needles. You know, casual apocalypse stuff.
"Names?" the nurse asked without looking up.
"Insha, Zayn, Aaron," I mumbled, then added, "I'm… just me."
The nurse nodded. "Sit."
We sat. In perfect formation, like schoolkids waiting for vaccinations.
I couldn't help but feel everyone was still watching us. Not talking. Just… watching. Like if we made the wrong move, they'd scream or riot or worse—hope.
{TIME: 4:40 a.m.}
The nurse moved fast. Quick alcohol swab, then the pinch of a needle. A few drops of blood collected into a clear tube, labeled and stashed.
Zayn flinched when they touched his back. The nurse froze.
"You're injured."
"Yeah," he said. "A little souvenir from a nameplate."
"Keep pressure on it." She handed him gauze. "If it gets worse, yell."
"I'm not really a yeller," he said.
I rolled my eyes. "You literally screamed when that rat ran past us last week."
"Bro, that was not a rat. That was a small demon."
Aaron laughed under his breath, the sound cracking like it had been unused for days.
It was weird. That moment? The smallest giggle, a stupid rat joke—it made us feel human again. Even if it lasted just for a blink.
{TIME: 4:47 a.m.}
After blood collection, we were told to sit on one of the empty benches near the far end. They called it the "Observation Zone." Basically: Sit there until we're sure you're not infected or turning into a teeth-grinding corpse.
We sat. Zayn leaned back, eyes closed. Aaron stared at the flickering monitor showing a crude map of the airport zones. I watched Insha.
She looked pale. Too pale.
"You good?" I whispered.
She nodded. Then blinked twice. "Just tired."
But something about the way she said it—it didn't sit right. Like the words were leaking out instead of being said. She shifted slightly. Winced.
"Insha—?"
And then she dropped.
Just collapsed.
Her knees gave out, arms twitching, eyes wide like she'd seen something behind us that didn't exist.
Aaron lunged forward. "Hey! Hey! She fainted—!"
"MEDIC!" I yelled, panic clawing through my chest.
One of the nurses rushed over with a flashlight, waving it in front of her eyes. "Pulse steady. She's breathing."
Then Insha's eyes fluttered open—and locked onto someone behind the nurse.
Her face twisted into horror.
"There… him," she gasped.
We all turned.
A man in a blood-soaked hoodie was standing just a few feet away, swaying, barely upright. His face was torn. One eye gone. His mouth slack.
And his arm—
It had bite marks.
Fresh.
The nurse gasped and stumbled back. A soldier raised his gun in one motion.
"EVERYONE DOWN!"
People screamed. Survivors scattered like rats from a sinking ship.
But the man didn't attack. He just… collapsed. Right there. No growl. No hiss.
Dead?
Turning?
We didn't wait to find out.
{TIME: 4:56 a.m.}
The soldier pulled Insha to her feet. "You need to move. Now."
"But he—he touched me," she stammered, shaking. "What if he—"
"You're not bitten," the nurse snapped. "But you can't stay here."
"Then where—" I started, but the soldier cut me off.
"We have a clean quarantine wing. Move."
As we were hurried through the panicked corridor of the wounded, I looked back one last time.
The man's body still lay there.
Unmoving.
But his fingers twitched.
Then
BAAM !!
The soldier pushed him onto the door and stunted out his Kukuri.
Slided it against the Turning one's neck.....
then CRKK!-SHH!! THE NECK FELL OFF ON THE SIDE OF HIS SHOULDER....
The assassination felt revengeful but somehow, DISTURBING because we felt that this might be a 0-TOLERANCE ZONE.....