The Spread

Panic isn't just a sound. It's a feeling, thick in the air, choking you, pressing in from all sides until you can't think straight.

That's what it felt like when I woke up—my heart pounding, my breath shallow, and the city outside screaming. I wasn't dreaming. I could hear it clearly through the thin walls of my apartment: the shriek of sirens, the blaring horns, the unmistakable wails of terror. The world had finally caught up to what I'd been fearing for months.

I bolted out of bed, the adrenaline already pumping as I threw on my jacket and rushed to the window. The scene outside was worse than anything I'd ever covered in my career.

The street was a blur of chaos. People ran in every direction, clutching bags, babies, and whatever else they could carry. They weren't just panicked—they were desperate. A wave of human frenzy, driven by the fear of what was coming, of what they couldn't control. I could see them flooding into grocery stores, kicking in doors, piling supplies into carts until there was nothing left. Panic buying wasn't the right word for it anymore. This was survival.

Across the street, a family was dragging an old woman from their apartment, her face pale and drawn, her eyes wide with confusion. But it wasn't confusion that twisted her features—it was hunger. And her skin—her skin had turned gray, mottled like she was decomposing from the inside out.

I felt my stomach turn.

The military had arrived too, in full riot gear. Their trucks rolled down the street, engines roaring, metal screeching. Soldiers leaped from the back of the vehicles like a wave of black armor, sweeping through the crowds, forcing people out of their homes, guns at the ready. No mercy. No hesitation. If you were sick, you were dragged out. No questions asked.

I watched as they pulled a man from his apartment, his hands clawing at the pavement, his body writhing. His face was covered in sweat, his veins bulging against his skin like they were trying to escape. The soldier holding him shouted something, but it didn't matter. The man thrashed violently, spitting, snarling, like a wild animal.

The infection wasn't just killing people anymore. It was turning them into something else—something dangerous.

Suddenly, the soldier slammed the man against the side of the truck, forcing him inside the metal cage welded to the back. I winced as the door clanged shut, the infected rattling the bars like a caged beast. Inside, the others—dozens of them—pounded and screamed, their eyes glowing with something dark. Something unnatural.

I backed away from the window, my breath hitching in my throat. This wasn't just about the disease anymore. The mutation had gone too far. It wasn't just killing them—it was driving them mad. Hungry. Ravenous.

My phone buzzed on the table, snapping me back to reality. I grabbed it, my fingers trembling as I scanned the messages. They were all from Lylia, each one more frantic than the last.

"Lib, we need to move. Now. Meet me at the office."

"It's spreading too fast. The government's not saying everything."

"Lib, please. Don't wait."

Lylia was right. We didn't have time. This was worse than anyone had expected, and it wasn't going to stop. Not unless we figured out what had gone wrong, why the mutation was spreading so quickly. The military was pulling people out of their homes, and no one in the government was saying anything about it. Not a word. It was a blackout of information. But I knew one thing: things were about to get a hell of a lot worse.

I couldn't stay here. Not while the city was falling apart.

I threw my bag over my shoulder, stuffed my notes inside, and shoved the door open. The hallway was dark, the lights flickering overhead. I could hear the distant shouts of people being herded outside, the military's orders cutting through the air like knives.

My heart raced as I slipped down the stairs, two at a time, keeping my head low. Every step echoed in the narrow space, every shadow felt like a threat. Outside, the streets were chaos, but I couldn't stay here. I had to get to Lylia. We had to figure out what to do next.

As I pushed through the lobby doors, the heat hit me like a punch. The air was thick with smoke, acrid and suffocating, stinging my eyes and lungs. The fires had spread, burning through the blocks like a hungry beast. The sky was no longer gray but a sickly orange, painted by the glow of the flames that consumed everything in their path. The smell of burnt metal and flesh filled the air, so strong I could taste it on my tongue.

I tightened my jacket and slipped into the crowd, my pulse quickening as I moved through the sea of bodies. People were everywhere, jostling, shoving, their faces twisted in panic. It felt like the entire city was trying to escape, but there was nowhere to go. The military had set up barricades at every intersection, corralling the masses, pushing them toward containment zones.

That's when I saw it. The infected.

A truck rumbled by, dragging a cartload of the sick, their hands outstretched, fingers clawing at the air. Their eyes were wide, bulging, their mouths contorted into snarls, teeth bared like animals ready to bite. Some of them were bleeding from their eyes, their skin patchy and discolored. They weren't human anymore.

One of them broke free, stumbling into the crowd, eyes wild with hunger. He lunged at a woman, grabbing her arm, and she screamed, trying to pull away. The soldier next to him didn't hesitate. A single shot rang out, and the infected man crumpled to the ground, blood pooling around him. The woman's cries echoed in my ears as she fell to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably.

My stomach twisted, but I kept moving. I couldn't think about it. Couldn't stop. Not now.

I ducked into an alley, my breath coming in short, shallow bursts as I tried to make sense of it all. This wasn't just an outbreak. It was a full-blown collapse. The infection had mutated—there was no doubt about it—and it was spreading faster than anyone could control. The military was trying to contain it, but they were losing. The city was burning. The infected were ravenous. And the government had fallen silent.

My phone buzzed again, and I pulled it out, barely able to focus as Apollo's name flashed on the screen.

Apollo.

We hadn't spoken in months. I wasn't even sure why he was calling me now, in the middle of all this, but I answered.

"Apollo?"

"Liberty, where are you?" His voice was tight, strained. The noise of the hospital in the background was unmistakable—shouts, alarms, the constant hum of chaos. "It's spreading faster than we thought. I've been treating the infected all night, but the mutation… it's—it's changing them."

"I know," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "I've seen it. They're not human anymore."

"They're dangerous," Apollo said, his breath heavy. "You have to be careful. If you see anyone infected, you stay away. They're violent. And they're getting worse."

My pulse quickened. "Apollo, what the hell is happening? How did this get so out of control?"

"I don't know." His voice cracked, and for a moment, I could hear the exhaustion, the fear. "The hospitals are overflowing. We can't handle this. I… I don't know how much longer we can hold on."

I wanted to say something, anything, but the words stuck in my throat. This was Apollo—steady, confident, always the one in control. But now, he sounded broken. And that scared me more than anything.

"Be careful," he said, softer now. "Please."

"I will," I whispered. "You too."

The line went dead, and I stared at the phone, my heart heavy. There was no turning back now. The city was collapsing, the infection was spreading, and no one was coming to save us.

I stuffed the phone in my pocket and tightened my grip on my bag. I had to keep moving. I had to get to Lylia, had to figure out our next steps. The deep city was still miles away, but that was where the office was, where the answers were.

I took a deep breath and stepped back into the chaos. The fires burned brighter now, casting long shadows across the streets, and somewhere in the distance, the sound of gunfire echoed through the air.

The end had already begun.