Chapter 430
The first signs were subtle, almost dismissible. People began to drop dead without warning. At first, it was just a few cases. Old men and women, their bodies suddenly lifeless in the middle of streets or while sitting at their tables.
It wasn't until the news began to report more instances—young people now, people who had barely seen their twenties—that the world began to panic.
Sarah had just turned thirty. She hadn't noticed the change at first. It was hard to imagine, really. The world had always felt this way. But when it happened to her childhood friend, Andrew, it was impossible to deny.
One moment, they had been sitting together at the bar. The next, he collapsed, his body a ragdoll in the middle of the floor.
"No one's safe," she whispered to herself, numb. "No one's safe."
A loud bang from the bar's door breaking open. Someone screamed outside, and she saw another person, a woman, fall. She froze. Heart pounding, unable to move. She watched as Andrew's body lay still, lifeless, blood staining the floor. His face, once full of life, now resembled a wax figure. Cold, unmoving.
She didn't even notice the bartender behind her. He was whispering into his phone, eyes wide. She caught fragments of his conversation.
"...it's happening to everyone. All over the world... no one's making it past thirty. We're cursed. It's—"
The words were drowned out by the sounds of panic escalating outside. People screamed, scrambling for an escape. A body thudded against the bar's glass windows, a sickening sound, and then silence.
Sarah swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over. Her mind kept racing. Thirty years old. That's all the time they had. There was no warning, no explanation. Just death.
"God," she whispered, shaking her head. "We've all been given a death sentence."
That night, Sarah couldn't sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Andrew. His face, twisted in that final expression. She kept hearing the echo of the thud when his body hit the ground. It haunted her, replaying again and again.
Her hand trembled when she reached for her phone. The world was starting to crumble.
In the morning, she turned on the television. News outlets were running nonstop broadcasts. Different cities. Different countries. It was happening everywhere. The death toll was rising. Nobody could explain it. People beyond thirty just... dropped. It didn't matter who they were. The strong. The weak. The innocent. They all fell.
Sarah's chest tightened as she looked at her reflection in the cracked screen. Was it really happening? Could she survive it? Was there any way out?
"Sarah, you okay?" It was Paul, her older brother. He stepped into the small living room, eyes filled with concern. He didn't understand. No one did. He was still twenty-nine. He still had time.
"I'm fine," she lied, forcing a weak smile.
"You're not fine," Paul said, his voice shaking. "This is all insane. People... people are dropping like flies. I—I don't know what to do. What can we do?"
She turned back to the news. The anchors were still speaking in frantic voices. Cities collapsing. Families shattered. And the worse news? No one beyond thirty was surviving. Just falling, one after another.
"There's nothing we can do," Sarah said, her voice hollow. "We can just wait, and we die."
"No, that's not all," Paul said, shaking his head, his hand gripping the doorframe. "There has to be some explanation. Someone has to know."
Sarah stared at him, eyes darkened with fear. Her stomach twisted. He was clinging to hope like a child holding onto a balloon, afraid to let go. But Sarah had already accepted the truth.
It was death. And it was coming for them.
Later that night, as Sarah sat on her porch, watching the empty street, she saw a man in the distance. He looked out of place, moving with strange urgency. His clothes were tattered, his face a twisted mask of fear. As he approached, Sarah could feel the unease wash over her. Something was wrong.
The man stopped at the edge of her yard, eyes wide. He trembled.
"Hey! Are you okay?" Sarah called out. She stepped forward, instinctively.
"No!" The man cried out. "You don't get it. You don't understand! There's no time—"
He froze mid-sentence, his entire body jerking violently. Then, without warning, he dropped. His body collapsed, face-first into the dirt. It was like someone had turned off a switch. He didn't even twitch.
Sarah gasped, her heart racing. She stepped back, tripping over the steps in her panic. Her hands trembled as she looked down at the man's body, at the pool of blood spreading around him.
"God," she whispered. "It's real."
Paul rushed outside, eyes wide. "Sarah, what's going on?"
"He—he's dead," Sarah said, her voice breaking. "He was thirty. Thirty or under, but he just dropped dead."
"What the hell happened to him?"
"I—I don't know," she said, feeling numb. "He was fine, and then... then he just... he just..."
"Jesus Christ." Paul took a step back, looking down at the body. "It's happening."
"No one is safe," Sarah whispered, stepping closer, her eyes locked on the man's lifeless form. "Not even those who think they're safe. There's no escaping it."
Paul didn't answer. His eyes remained fixed on the man, then slowly drifted to Sarah.
"What do we do now?" His voice cracked.
She couldn't answer. The truth hung heavy between them.
The days that followed felt like a slow descent into madness. The streets became quieter, and the silence was filled with fear. More people collapsed in public, their bodies suddenly lifeless, dropped to the ground with no rhyme or reason. Families gathered in the streets, mourning the loss of the unexplainable.
Sarah couldn't shake the feeling that her life was slipping away, like sand through her fingers. It wasn't just the deaths. It was the way time seemed to stop moving, like everything had been put on pause, but at the same time, the clock kept ticking, the days slipping away faster than she could count.
Paul tried to hold on to some semblance of normalcy, but the world was crumbling around them. The pressure of their limited time made everything feel... empty. All of it, everything, felt pointless.
They tried to stay in their apartment, but the walls felt like they were closing in. The knowledge that they would not be allowed to see their thirties, that they wouldn't survive, was suffocating.
One evening, Paul didn't come home. Sarah waited for hours, but he didn't show. The dread in her chest grew, the silence amplifying her anxiety.
Finally, after what felt like days, he walked through the door. His eyes were bloodshot, his face pale.
"I couldn't do it," he whispered.
"Do what?" Sarah's voice shook.
"I—I tried to get to the hospital," Paul said, looking down. "They... They told me to get out. They said there was nothing left for people over thirty."
He collapsed onto the couch, his hands shaking.
"I can't—" Paul stopped himself, his breath heavy, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "I don't want to die alone."
"I don't either," Sarah whispered back, choking back tears. She moved closer to him, her hands gripping his.
And then, as if on cue, both of their eyes turned to the window. The light outside dimmed in a way that didn't feel natural. Their world had been reduced to something darker, something closer to the inevitable. Both of them could feel it—death, drawing closer. There was no escape, not for anyone.
The clock struck thirty minutes past midnight. Paul gasped, his face twisting in pain. His body jerked. Sarah felt a cold rush of dread as his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths.
He clutched at his chest and whispered, "It's time. I'm... I'm…"
And then, his body fell silent.
No scream. No struggle.
Just stillness.
Sarah stayed by his side for hours, watching the clock, waiting for it to tick over. She could feel the seconds moving, counting down. As the clock struck thirty, her breath caught in her throat.
She felt the cold, the finality. The weight of the world pressing in.
And she knew—there was nothing more to do. Nothing more to fight. Just time.
It had come for them, just like it had for everyone else.