[Jonathan Bennet''s POV]


    "I''m telling you, it''s like those zombie shows," I say, pushing the last box onto the pile of things going to the trash.


    It had been a few minutes since I looked it up online. And, as scary as it was, I couldn''t just stay in my room staring at the walls. So I went down to the garage and got back to my cleaning mission. Which didn''t make much sense given the situation, but... I didn''t want to piss off my mom.


    Ellie came back in the meantime and sat on one of the boxes, watching me as I worked.


    "Zombies are scientifically impossible, Jon," she said.


    I shake my head and walk up to her, stopping in front of her. "Then how do you explain those news reports? And the pool of blood in the parking lot?"


    Ellie brings a hand to her chin and furrows her brows. I know that expression well enough to understand it means I''m in deep thought, don''t talk to me.


    "Let''s see... maybe a virus that makes people violent?" she said after a few seconds.


    I fix my gaze on her. "... Isn''t that basically the same thing?"


    "Obviously not, zombies are... well, zombies! Walking corpses, the undead, all that classic stuff. A virus that makes people violent is... it could work as a catalyst for rage, but it''s not the same thing," Ellie says, raising a finger as if giving a lecture. "And if the infected can still move even when extremely injured, the virus must also induce a very high adrenaline spike."


    I open my mouth to add something, but she keeps going. "Besides, scientifically speaking, a virus that reanimates dead tissue is impossible. Decomposition is an irreversible chemical process. Now, a virus or fungus that alters human behavior... that''s more plausible."


    I close my mouth and reflect for a moment. Okay, a literal zombie virus really doesn''t make sense, but the idea of a mind-controlling virus has its flaws too.


    For a virus to create something similar to "zombies," it would have to act in an extremely specific way, selectively attacking the areas of the brain responsible for empathy, pain, and reasoning while preserving functions related to aggression and survival instincts. That seems... unlikely.


    A fungus, on the other hand, makes me think of Ophiocordyceps unilateralis—the parasite that infects ants and takes control of their nervous system, basically turning them into living puppets. It forces the host to climb to a high place before killing it, ensuring its spores spread as effectively as possible.


    If something similar happened to humans, it would make way more sense than a virus. The fungus could invade the brain and manipulate basic impulses, suppressing free will while preserving motor control.


    But still, there''s a problem. Ophiocordyceps doesn''t reanimate corpses. It needs the host to be alive to function. So how the hell were those infected I saw on the news still moving, even with fatal injuries?


    This just doesn''t make sense—


    "What are you two doing?"


    A soft voice interrupts my thoughts. I turn around and see a woman standing at the garage entrance, watching us with her arms crossed. She was wearing a closed robe with slippers. Her eyes had deep dark circles, evidence of yet another sleepless night.


    Her skin was pale, with exhaustion lines that seemed to carry the weight of years. And the most striking thing: her head, completely devoid of hair.


    This was my dear mother, Sophia Bennet, the strongest woman I know. Two years ago, we found out she had cancer. Since then, our lives turned upside down, but she never stopped smiling and fighting. Even now, with exhaustion written all over her face, she stood there, staring at us with that mix of concern and curiosity only she could convey.


    "I''m... cleaning the garage," I answer, a little awkwardly.


    "Good morning, Mrs. Bennet," Ellie says beside me, waving at my mom.


    "Hi, Ellie, sweetheart." Mom smiles at her before turning back to me, frowning. "I asked your dad to do that."


    "Huh... and he asked me to do it," I say, fully aware that I''m making my old man''s life harder.


    She lets out a sigh, shaking her head. "Haa... that man." Her eyes then scan the garage, evaluating my work. "Hmm... you did a good job, son. Did you set aside what we can donate?"


    "Yeah." I point to the donation pile and then to the things that can go in the trash. "And those over there can be thrown out."


    "Alright." She nods, but soon covers her mouth with her hand as a yawn escapes. "Hmm... now you two get inside, the sun is getting too strong."


    "Okay, Mom." Apparently satisfied with my response, my mother heads back inside, leaving Ellie and me alone again.


    "Well, I think it''s better if we discuss this inside." Ellie stands up and stretches before starting to walk toward the house.


    "Yeah... let''s go."


    ***


    [Next day]


    One of the dumbest things someone could do upon learning that extreme violence cases are happening would be to leave home and go to crowded places. The right thing to do would be to stock up on supplies for weeks, reinforce home security, and get some weapons.


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    In the end, the worst-case scenario might never even happen... but those who prepare always have a better chance of dying of old age.


    I know this. I know exactly what I should be doing.


    But the problem is that I''m a teenager.


    And teenagers don''t have money for food stocks, access to weapons, or the authority to say, "Hey, maybe we should lock ourselves inside indefinitely."


    So, instead of building my own personal bunker, I''m here, in the back seat of the car, going with my parents to yet another one of my mom''s hospital appointments.


    Outside, the world keeps turning as if nothing is wrong. People walking on the sidewalks, cars honking, crowded cafés. Everything seems normal.


    But I know it''s not.


    I trust my mental ability to read situations, and the same instinct that told me things were about to go horribly wrong in 2020 has come back in full force.


    "Jon?"


    My dad''s voice pulls me out of my trance. I look up and see him watching me through the rearview mirror.


    "Huh?"


    "You''re too quiet." He narrows his eyes, as if trying to read me. "Are you okay?"


    I could tell him about what I saw and read. But what would I say? That I think we''re on the verge of an apocalypse? That maybe the whole city is on the brink of chaos? My mom wouldn''t believe me, and my dad, even after seeing the video of that woman yesterday, would probably brush it off.


    If only I had proof, like news reports of multiple cases worldwide. Maybe that would work, but whoever is behind this has made sure to take them down, and any thread on the subject disappears quickly.


    So, all that''s left for me to do is force a smile and shrug. "Just tired."


    My dad doesn''t seem convinced, but he doesn''t press the issue. My mom, sitting beside him, just watches the street through the window, unaware of our conversation.


    When I look back out the window, the hospital is already in sight.


    I take a deep breath and prepare myself for a few more hours of waiting in cold white hallways, pretending everything is fine.


    The car slows down at the hospital entrance, and my dad maneuvers into a parking spot. The white, towering building rises before us, so familiar that it has lost any sense of newness.


    I''ve been here so many times, waiting, listening to the monotonous beeping of machines and the murmur of muffled conversations in the hallways.


    My dad turns off the engine and lets out a sigh before turning to my mom.


    "Do you want me to come in with you?"


    Sophia smiles slightly, the same tired smile she always has on these days. "I''m fine, Adam. It''s just another appointment."


    He presses his lips together, clearly dissatisfied with the response, but he knows arguing won''t change anything.


    My mom opens the door and steps out of the car with the calmness of someone who has been through this countless times. My dad and I follow right after, and the summer heat hits me the moment I step out of the vehicle. The hospital air, on the other hand, is cold and carries that distinct antiseptic smell.


    The reception area is busy, as always. Patients sit in neatly arranged chairs, some coughing, others looking at their phones or staring at the television.


    As my mom approaches the counter to check in, I glance around, looking for any sign of… I don''t even know what exactly, but I look.


    Thankfully, after scanning the area twice, I don''t see anything screaming "Infected!"—which should be a good sign.


    At that moment, I feel my dad''s hand on my shoulder. "Yeah, Dad?"


    "Are you sure you''re okay?" Adam asked, concerned.


    Huh, my behavior must be anything but normal. Sorry, Dad. "I am."


    He furrows his brows, but before he can say anything, my mom turns to us.


    "I''m going up now."


    My dad immediately shifts his attention and holds her hand. "Are you sure you don''t want me to come with you?"


    She squeezes his hand and smiles. "No, stay with Jon. It shouldn''t take long."


    He hesitates but nods. "Alright."


    My mom waves goodbye before disappearing down the hallway. My dad sighs and looks at me. "Wanna grab a coffee while we wait?"


    "Sure, I''ll just hit the bathroom first."


    "Alright, I''ll get the coffees."


    I give him a slight nod and head down the hallway toward the restroom. Pushing the door open, I step inside and walk to one of the stalls, closing the door behind me before undoing my belt.


    Just as I start pissing, I hear a knock on the door.


    "Occupied!"


    For a moment, the only sound filling the space is the steady stream hitting the porcelain. "Haa..." I sigh, relieved to finally empty my bladder, but then—another knock, this time louder.


    I frown. Something feels off. "It''s occupied, man!"


    No response. Just a low, heavy breathing on the other side of the door.


    I finish quickly and flush. The muffled sound of the mechanism echoes through the silent restroom. Facing the door, I focus on the outside. The breathing is still there, but now, there''s also a faint clicking of teeth.


    "Hey… you okay out there?"


    Whatever is on the other side doesn''t answer. But then, I see something red crawling under the door.


    Blood.


    Ah… I''m screwed.