Chapter 429

The world woke up strange that morning. There was a thick silence over the city, over the entire world. The sun rose, but it felt wrong, like it wasn't supposed to. A quiet panic spread over the people when they reached down to the floor and realized, too late, that their legs were gone.

It was gradual for some, an unsettling awareness as they rolled over in bed, hands finding empty space where legs should be. The empty sockets where their legs once were were slick and red, raw like a fresh wound. A few screamed, others just stared at their mutilated bodies in disbelief.

But no one was exempt.

Outside, the chaos spread quickly. People crawled, others screamed for help, others just laid there, paralyzed by horror. It didn't make sense. No one had ever warned them of something so impossible.

Mark woke up to the feel of cold linoleum against his arms. His face pressed into the floor, and there was this sharp, metallic smell hanging in the air. At first, he thought maybe he was dreaming.

He pushed himself up, but the reality set in when his body didn't respond the way it used to. His stomach twisted in panic, his hands clawing desperately for something, anything to hold onto. His legs—gone.

Nothing but raw, open flesh, no bone, no muscle. Just empty sockets, pulsing and twitching as if they still had life in them.

He sat up slowly, trying not to scream, his eyes wide as he scanned the room. His phone was on the bed, the screen cracked. His heart raced, and he crawled toward it, hands trembling as he picked it up. He dialed his mom, his fingers sliding over the screen.

"Mom? Are you okay? What's happening?"

Nothing but static. Nothing but silence. His mind went into overdrive. He tried calling everyone—friends, family, strangers. Nothing. No answers.

The air felt thick. Like the world itself was holding its breath. He could hear the sounds of people outside, screaming, crying, begging. He heard voices calling for help, but there was no movement, just a rush of panic and confusion filling the air.

Mark dragged himself to the window and peered out. The city was crawling with bodies, people dragging themselves on their hands, their faces contorted in horror. Some had begun to panic, others to beg.

A group of people stumbled around the street corner, their faces frantic. They were all looking for something—something to make it stop, something to fix it.

But it wasn't stopping.

Hours passed in the silence, and the world outside was becoming more twisted. The government came on the radio, but their message was unclear. They spoke of an unknown virus, a catastrophe, a disaster of proportions never before seen. But nothing made sense.

Mark couldn't stay there. He couldn't just let this be his reality. He needed to find answers. He needed to know what was happening, what he could do to stop it.

He moved to the kitchen, his hands grasping for something to hold onto. It wasn't the same as it used to be—he couldn't walk, couldn't stand. He was forced to crawl. The floor felt cold against his palms, the sensation oddly soothing in the chaos around him.

But then, he heard it.

A voice, faint but unmistakable, cutting through the silence. His breath caught, his pulse quickening.

"Mark... Mark, where are you?"

His stomach dropped. It was his mom's voice.

He tried to speak, but his throat closed, choking on the words. Instead, he crawled toward the door. The hall was empty, too quiet. It didn't make sense. He had to find her.

The world had become a nightmare, and Mark was trapped in it.

The voices of the city grew more frantic. It was like a twisted carnival, all the laughter had been replaced with screams, with cries for help, for someone to save them from what had happened. But no one could.

Mark didn't stop. He moved faster now, dragging himself through the living room, into the hallway. His legs—if he could only feel them again. He could still hear his mom's voice in the back of his mind, calling for him, but it was fading, distant, like she was slipping further away.

"Mom..." he croaked out, his voice raw and weak.

He dragged himself through the front door and into the street. The world outside was chaos, a swirling mess of disconnected limbs and bodies, people crawling, dragging themselves over the pavement. The sounds of panic filled the air, echoing off the empty buildings.

There was no one in charge. No order. Just terror.

Mark's mind raced. Was anyone else out there? Was there anyone who could help him? He reached for his phone again, hoping for a signal. There was nothing, just the buzzing static of dead air. He couldn't stop crawling. His thoughts became frantic, desperate. He needed to find his mom.

But when he reached the end of the block, something froze him. He saw the bodies of people lying in the street, their faces blank, their arms reaching toward the sky. It was like they had given up. Like they knew this was the end.

And that was when Mark saw the man.

He was crawling down the sidewalk, his face pale, his eyes wide with terror. He wasn't saying anything, just moving, dragging himself forward as though he was following some unseen force.

Mark tried to call out to him, but the man didn't respond. Instead, he just kept going, dragging himself forward, until he passed out of Mark's view.

For a moment, everything stopped.

Mark breathed heavily, his hands shaking as he clutched at the ground beneath him. He didn't know what was happening. Didn't understand it. But he couldn't stay there. He couldn't just let this be the end.

He forced himself to move forward, dragging his body toward the city center. He saw the masses of people gathered in the square, their faces a mixture of pain and confusion. They had no answers. No understanding.

A woman caught his eye as he approached, her face pale and drawn. She crawled toward him, her eyes filled with desperation.

"Do you know what's happening?" she asked. Her voice cracked, weak with fear. "Why... why are we like this?"

Mark could only shake his head. "I don't know. I don't know why."

Her lips trembled, her face twisted in horror. "I can't feel my legs... I... I can't move." She began to sob, the sound raw and heart-wrenching.

Mark's chest tightened as he watched her, the helplessness of it all sinking in. They were all the same. All of them had lost everything.

But there was no time to stop. No time to pity themselves.

He moved forward, dragging himself with all the strength he had left, pushing through the crowd, past the crying, the pleading, the empty stares. There was no escape.

Then he saw it. The building. His mother's building.

He crawled to the door, his hands slipping against the slick concrete as he reached for the handle. He pulled it open, and the room was dark, empty. The smell of stale air hit him like a slap to the face.

"Mom?" he called, his voice ragged.

No answer.

He crawled through the hall, pushing open doors, searching every room. There was no sign of her. She wasn't here.

His breath grew shallow, panic rising again. He couldn't find her. She was gone.

And that was when the door slammed shut behind him.

Mark spun around, his heart thundering in his chest. But there was no one there. Just the door, locked tight.

He pounded on the door, crying out for someone, anyone to help him.

But there was no answer.

The sound of his own breath, harsh and loud in his ears, was the only thing left. The world outside had faded into nothing, a place where no one could reach him.

In the distance, he heard the sound of footsteps—slow, deliberate. They were coming closer.

But they weren't his. They were too many. And they were too quiet.

Mark's mind swirled. The footsteps grew louder, the sound deafening, like a swarm of something unseen. Something that would never stop.