Chapter 132

The fog had been creeping in for days, a dense, choking thing that covered every inch of the country, slowly swallowing it whole. At first, people thought it was just a freak weather pattern, something temporary. The media had their usual experts, spinning their narratives, making people believe it would clear up soon. But it didn't. It only grew thicker, denser, as if it had a mind of its own. And with it, people started disappearing. At first, it was just one person here, another there. Then it got worse. Entire neighborhoods vanished without a trace. There was no warning, no explanation. One minute, they were there. The next, nothing. As if they'd never existed at all.

The government had scrambled at first. National Guard, FEMA, soldiers. The usual. But no one came back. No one returned from the fog. As the days passed, it became clear—no more help was coming. The cities emptied out, one by one, the streets left silent and empty. The fog swallowed it all. And then, one day, it stopped.

In a small town somewhere near what used to be New York, Ben woke up to an eerie silence. The kind of silence you can feel in your bones, as if the world itself is holding its breath. He was the last person. The last one left. No more cars on the road. No more voices. Just him. And the fog.

He'd always been good at surviving. That's what he'd told himself when everything started falling apart. He knew how to keep his head down, keep moving, keep alive. But there was no one left to talk to. No one left to keep him company. He'd gotten used to the quiet, but that didn't make it any easier. Days blurred into nights. There was nothing but the fog, rolling in from the horizon like some slow, inevitable tide. He'd checked every building he could find—houses, stores, schools—but they were empty. Dead quiet. The people who had once lived there were just… gone.

He didn't know what happened to them. There was no sign, no warning. They weren't murdered or taken by some military force. They were just gone. Like the fog had swallowed them whole.

The first few weeks, Ben had tried to keep hope. He'd rationed food, moved through the streets, keeping a wary eye out, praying that maybe—just maybe—someone else was still alive. But the fog didn't care. It kept coming. Slowly. Rolling in like it was waiting for something. Each time it came, it seemed to take a little more of the world with it.

There were no birds in the sky anymore. No dogs barking in the distance. The only sound was his footsteps, echoing off the deserted pavement. It was like the world had been hollowed out. And the fog, that thick, oppressive presence, had claimed it all.

Ben was used to the loneliness by now. He'd learned to live with it. He had to. There was no one else. No phone calls. No messages. No helicopters buzzing overhead. Just him and the fog.

At first, he'd gone to the big cities, the ones that had been abandoned. He'd seen the signs of life that once were there. People's personal belongings left in the street, children's toys scattered on sidewalks, half-eaten meals in restaurants. But there was no one. No trace of where they had gone. It was like they'd vanished.

Ben had tried to ignore the fear that twisted inside of him. He wasn't stupid. He knew the fog had something to do with it. He'd read the reports—news reports, government bulletins—before they stopped coming. The fog wasn't natural. It wasn't just weather. It was alive, in its own way. It moved, it changed, it absorbed.

By the time it was just him, Ben had stopped fighting it. The days had turned into weeks, and the weeks had turned into months. He couldn't even remember when the last person disappeared. When the last sound of a human voice echoed through the streets. He was the last. And the fog was getting closer. It was always getting closer.

He didn't know why he kept moving. He didn't know what he was hoping for anymore. There was nothing left to do. The fog was all around him now, pressing in, rolling through the cracks in doors and windows, curling through alleys. He could feel it, thick and suffocating, brushing against his skin. Like it was waiting for him. Or maybe it was just waiting for everything.

Ben tried to keep his mind off the terror that gnawed at him every time he woke up alone. But it was hard. Harder every day. He'd started to notice something. The fog wasn't just a passive observer. It wasn't just rolling in and taking people. It was changing him. He could feel it. Slowly, but it was happening. The air around him was thick with something he couldn't describe. It clung to him, filled his lungs, left a bitter taste on his tongue.

And then one day, it happened. Ben woke up and felt it. The fog had touched him. He could feel it deep inside of him, creeping under his skin, twisting into his veins. It wasn't just a thing outside of him anymore. It was part of him. And it was only getting worse.

He stumbled out of his house, his breath quick and shallow. The fog was everywhere now. It wrapped around his legs, crawled up his arms. He tried to run, but his legs didn't work right anymore. They didn't move the way they used to. They felt heavy, sluggish, like they were being weighed down by the fog itself.

Ben didn't know what to do. There was nowhere to go. The world was gone. Everyone was gone. He was the last.

The fog was changing him, piece by piece. He could feel his skin crawling. His thoughts were becoming muddled. His heart pounded in his chest, and he could feel the blood moving through his veins, but it felt wrong. Cold. Like something was pulling it out of him, taking it from him.

His legs buckled, and he collapsed onto the ground. He couldn't breathe. It wasn't just the fog, not anymore. There was something inside of him, something deep and dark, something that had come from the fog. He could feel it in his chest, spreading like a disease, wrapping itself around his heart.

Ben tried to scream, but no sound came out. It was like the fog had stolen his voice, too. He clawed at his chest, his heart pounding in his throat, but it didn't stop. The fog was inside him now, and he was just another part of it. Another soul lost to the mist.

It didn't matter anymore. There was no fight left. The fog had won.

The last breath he took wasn't his own. It was the fog's. It was the fog filling his lungs, taking him, turning him into nothing more than another wisp of it. And as his body went cold, and his thoughts began to fade into the thick, suffocating fog, it moved on. Across the ocean. Towards Europe.

And there was no one left to stop it.