Chapter 2: Reconnect Protocols
Caleb stood at the window, his face pale in the faint red light that pulsed through the flooded city.
Rain drizzled outside, light and constant, barely enough to be heard over the distant sound of alarms and the soft ripples of water brushing against metal and stone.
His apartment, once noisy with fans, screens, and the chaotic click of keys, now felt hollow.
The city beyond was worse—it was silent, dark, and most lower parts were drowned.
The street he always looked down on from his window—normally alive with motorcycles, vendors, and flickering signage—was unrecognizable.
Most of the cars were submerged just their windows barely visible from his position.
Trash and debris floated slowly past the third floor. A toppled streetlamp sparked uselessly near the corner of a building, its light strobing weakly underwater like a dying eye.
As he watched, trying to piece together what had happened, he noticed something moving in the distance.
At first, it was just a ripple. Then a shift in the water. Then—
A massive shadow slid across the far intersection, easily the size of a bus, though it moved with unnatural grace.
It had no distinct form—just a heavy shape, wide and uneven, slithering or walking on limbs that were hard to count. It moved slowly, purposefully, sending small waves through the flood.
Caleb's breath caught in his throat.
Behind it came hundreds—maybe thousands—of smaller figures.
They poured into the street like insects from a cracked nest. Some crawled, others scrambled across rooftops and railings, some even swam. They were too far to make out clearly, but their movements were erratic and jerky, like puppets on tangled strings.
He didn't wait to see more.
He stumbled backward from the window, feet sloshing through the water as he moved quickly toward the kitchen counter.
His old emergency phone lay there—an old, rugged model built like a brick. He snatched it up and turned it on, the screen lighting up with a satisfying buzz.
No signal.
No Wi-Fi. No carrier. Not even the time synced. The screen simply read:
"NO CONNECTION."
He opened the messaging app. Nothing loaded. He tried his contacts—blank. Maps wouldn't start. The emergency alert system opened briefly, flickered with a red triangle, then crashed back to the home screen.
"Useless," he muttered under his breath, tossing the phone onto the counter with a wet slap.
A faint splash outside pulled his attention again, and he froze.
Something had moved closer to his position.
Panic stirred in his chest. He didn't dare look out again. Instead, he moved quickly through his apartment, checking every window and door, trying to remember what was open and what wasn't.
The main door was shut. Deadbolt locked. Chain still in place.
He stepped to the back door, leading to the fire escape. The handle was stiff—it had already been locked.
The kitchen window was also sealed. So was the one in the bathroom. Even the tiny hatch that led to the ventilation shaft was bolted shut. Somehow, every possible entry point was already secured.
He smiled till he heard the alarms blaring once more making him tenser by the second.
With each second, his heart began to beat faster.
He stood still in the middle of the room, listening to everything around him. Just the occasional drip of water. The tick of cooling metal. The distant splash of something moving outside.
He slowly backed away from the window, not taking his eyes off it.
Whatever was out there was still coming.
And somehow, his habit of being a shut-in might have just saved his life.
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His heart pounded so loudly it felt like it echoed through the apartment. Fast, erratic, panicked—like it was trying to break out of his chest.
"What's happening…?" he whispered under his breath, trying to make sense of any of it.
The massive shadow, the crawling swarm, the flooded street, the locked doors he didn't lock—it all collided in his head, and none of it added up.
He clicked his tongue. "Tsk."
There was no time to process it. The water was rising—slowly, but steadily. It had already reached halfway up his shin.
He moved.
Kicking open drawers, pulling open cabinets. He didn't stop to think, just grabbed what instinct screamed he might need. Two cans of tuna. A few bottles of water. A six-pack of cheap soda. Three energy drinks. A half-full bag of rice in plastic. Crackers. Salt.
Anything sealed, anything edible, he stuffed into a pile on the couch.
Next—gear.
He yanked open the hallway closet, only to be greeted by the sour smell of damp fabric. His clothes hung limply, soaked through.
A steady trickle of water ran down the back wall—there was a crack near the base, narrow but relentless, letting the flood seep in like a quiet intruder.
"Why do you test me..." Caleb's face crunched in frustration .
With no choice, he opened a small cabinet — inside was a thick raincoat, mostly unused, still in a plastic wrapper. He tore it open and slipped it on, its rubbery surface cold and stiff.
Then the boots in the next compartment—cheap rubber ones meant for storms. They sloshed uncomfortably as he pushed his wet feet in, but they'd have to do.
In the corner of the living room, hanging unused on a wall hook, was an old black hiking backpack. He pulled it down, water dripping from the straps.
He packed in order, fast and tight.
Cans. Bottles. Snacks. Pocket tissues.
Small first aid kit from the bathroom.
His phone in the counter—useless, but familiar—went into the front pouch.
A roll of scotch tape. An old, rust-specked multi-tool. Two power banks. Batteries.
Even a half-empty lighter from an old habit he never kept.
And at the bottom: a sealed bag of instant noodles and the only clean socks he could find.
He zipped it up, double-looped the straps, and slung it onto his back.
The weight felt like reassurance.
He moved to the kitchen one last time, opened the knife drawer, and grabbed the largest one—a long, slightly curved kitchen knife, the kind used for carving meat.
He gripped the handle, frowned at how it slipped slightly in his wet hand, and wiped it on his raincoat.
Not a weapon by design, but it would have to do.
Outside, something distant gave a low, echoing groan—metal on metal, like a ship being torn open underwater.
Caleb paused. He stared at the front door.
He was ready. As ready as he could be.
But whatever was out there wasn't waiting.
And whatever had locked those doors before him... might not have been human.
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End of Chapter 2