Too late.

---

Sirens wailed in the distance, and hurried footsteps echoed outside. Ella stirred awake, disoriented by the commotion. She sat up straight in bed, glancing toward the window. It was pitch black outside.

She reached for her phone—4 AM.

"Why are they waking us up this early?" she muttered, rubbing her eyes. She was still in yesterday's clothes.

Her gaze fell on the crumpled letter beside her.

'I must have dozed off while reading it.'

She picked up the letter, smoothing it out with her fingers.

"Dear Ella, I am safe. The government said there's a strange virus spreading. I hope you are safe too—I can't stop worrying about you."

Ella barely had time to process those words before another piercing wail pulled her attention back to the chaos outside.

Without hesitation, she grabbed a coat from her study desk and tossed it over her shoulders. Then, she rushed to the door.

The moment she stepped into the hallway, she saw other students emerging from their rooms—some hesitant, others visibly annoyed at the early wake-up call.

"Can someone turn off that stupid siren? I barely got any sleep."

"Slept? I didn't sleep at all."

"But seriously, what's going on?"

"No idea. Should we go check?"

"What if we're under attack?"

The hallway suddenly fell into an uneasy silence. The reality of their situation settled in. They weren't safe in this world anymore—not since they were told they weren't.

"W-Who's going to check?" one student whispered.

"Not me."

"Me neither."

"No way."

"How about you, Ella?" someone finally asked.

Dozens of eyes turned to her expectantly.

Ella crossed her arms. "Why me? If it's a zombie attack, do you think I can stop it?"

"Well, no, that's not what I meant—"

"And it doesn't matter what you meant."

A firm voice cut through the conversation.

Professor Bailey.

The students immediately straightened as he approached.

"Dr. Sanders, Dr. Thompson, and the rest of you—get to the front. Now." His tone left no room for argument.

"But why? What's going on?" a student in pajamas asked.

Professor Bailey looked her up and down, unimpressed. "For a doctor supposedly ready for a crisis, your outfit is disappointing, Dr. Sanders."

Then, his gaze swept over the group. Most were still in their pajamas. Ella, at least, was wearing a coat, though beneath it was the blue dress from the day before.

"And you, Dr. Thompson? I expected better."

Ella straightened her posture. "I'm sorry, Professor, but I thought there was no time for changing on the frontlines."

Professor Bailey paused before chuckling. "Very well. That makes sense. As expected from our top student. Thanks to her, you all have *two minutes* to change and report outside."

With that, he turned and left.

The moment he was gone, whispers filled the air.

"What makes her so special?"

"She's so annoying."

Ella ignored them. If she hadn't spoken up, they would have been paraded in front of everyone in their pajamas.

She returned to her room, heading straight to the bathroom to freshen up. She pulled out her scrubs but hesitated.

'Mother said the temperatures had been unstable since this all started… This material is too light.'

Still, it would have to do.

Next, she grabbed her backpack.

"If the professor's words mean anything, we won't be coming back here." She muttered.

Then she packed her stethoscope first—it was a simple but essential tool. Then, she took a notebook filled with her scribbled notes.

She rushed to the fridge, grabbing a handful of water bottles and snacks, stuffing them into her bag.

"Alright. All set."

Just as she was about to leave, she remembered something.

'The keys.'

Her mother's letter flashed through her mind.

"My baby girl, I couldn't bear leaving you, so when they announced the outbreak, I started stocking supplies. Take the keys. You know our storeroom at home—it has enough food rations to last you a few months. Share them wisely, love, Mother."

Ella grabbed the keys and took one last look at her room.

Then, without hesitation, she locked the door behind her and walked away.

At the front of the school, students gathered in clusters. Most had come empty-handed, some still in slippers, only a few in proper closed shoes.

The professors frowned.

Professor Zane stepped forward. "Good morning, students."

Silence.

"Today—" She paused, choosing her words carefully. "You are all being dispatched to military squads. You will be sent to different zones to assist with medical care and—"

Ella's eyes narrowed. 'I knew it.'

Chaos erupted.

"No way!"

"I'm not going there."

"We just graduated! Why should we go?"

Professor Zane tried to continue, but the students cut her off.

"I'll find a job in the preserved cities instead! Why should I risk my life?"

Professor Zane sighed, but before she could speak, Professor Bailey intervened.

"Oh, get a grip." His voice silenced the outburst instantly. "The world ended. Where exactly do you plan on finding jobs? The cities? They're flooded with experienced doctors—no one needs fresh graduates. If you thought you could escape and find work in the preserved zones, you're in for a rude awakening."

A tense silence settled over the students.

"Besides," Professor Bailey continued, "the government has made it mandatory. Every newly graduated doctor is required to serve on the frontlines. There's nothing you can do about it. Now shut up and let Professor Zane continue."

The shock was evident on everyone's faces.

Except for one person.

Ella.

Her mother's words echoed in her mind.

"Ella, listen to me. I hope no one else finds this letter, but even if they do, they'll understand a mother's desire to protect her child. The government has passed a new law—all newly graduated doctors must report to the frontlines."

Ella clenched her fists.

"When I heard about this law, there was one thing I wanted more than anything—to tell you to drop out. Yes, Ella, drop out of that forsaken school. Leave medical school. Don't graduate. It's not too late."

'But it was too late.' She thought, as she stood still, watching as Professor Zane opened her mouth to speak again.

' the letter was delivered, eight months later.'

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