Chapter 1: Two Weeks to Midnight
The last thing I remembered was the screech of tires and the world tilting sideways.
I'd been crossing the street, headphones in, some podcast about zombie survival strategies playing in my ears. Ironic, really. The light was green. The truck ran it anyway. I had time to think one thing before impact: This is stupid. This is such a stupid way to die.
Then nothing.
Then everything.
I jolted awake gasping, hands scrabbling at my chest expecting blood and shattered ribs. Instead, I found intact skin beneath thin scrubs. My fingers moved. My lungs worked. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed too loud.
"What the hell?"
The break room smelled like burnt coffee and antiseptic. I was sitting in a cheap plastic chair, slumped over a table covered in medical charts. My phone lay beside my arm, screen dark. When I grabbed it with shaking hands, the screen lit up.
Monday, August 15th, 2010. 3:47 AM.
The date punched through my confusion like a knife. August 2010. Two weeks before the church. Two weeks before Gloria.
"No. No, that's not right."
I stood too fast. The chair clattered backward. My reflection caught in the darkened window—wrong face, wrong body, wrong everything. Younger than I should be, sharper features, dark hair instead of brown. The hospital ID clipped to my scrubs read MERCER, J. - MEDICAL RESIDENT.
Memories crashed into me like a second collision. Two lives, two sets of experiences, trying to occupy the same skull. I remembered studying for medical boards I'd never taken. I remembered watching Fear the Walking Dead on my couch with a beer in hand. I remembered the truck hitting me. I remembered working a shift in this exact hospital yesterday.
My knees buckled. I caught myself on the table, charts scattering across the floor.
Then the text appeared.
Not on my phone. Not on any screen. Floating in the air six inches from my face, blocky white letters that burned themselves into my vision:
[ PATIENT ZERO SYSTEM INITIALIZED ]
[ HOST INTEGRATION: COMPLETE ]
[ WELCOME, JAX MERCER ]
I blinked hard. The text didn't vanish. It just hung there, impossible and undeniable, while my heart hammered against my ribs.
"Okay. Okay, I'm having a psychotic break. That's fine. That's manageable."
[ CURRENT STATUS ]
[ NAME: JAX MERCER ]
[ AGE: 19 ]
[ INFECTION STAGE: PATIENT ZERO ]
[ ZOMBIFICATION TIMER: 72:00:00 ]
[ TIMER STATUS: ACTIVE - COUNTING DOWN ]
The numbers ticked down as I watched. 71:59:58. 71:59:57. 71:59:56.
My mouth went dry. The clock in my peripheral vision kept ticking, red and merciless.
[ WARNING: FAILURE TO RESET TIMER WILL RESULT IN CONSCIOUSNESS LOSS ]
[ TIMER RESETS UPON SUCCESSFUL INFECTION OF VIABLE HOST ]
[ INFECTION METHODS: BLOOD CONTACT, SALIVA TRANSFER, BITE ]
I read it twice. Three times. The words didn't change.
"Infect someone. Infect someone or I turn."
The break room walls pressed in. I needed air. I needed to think. I needed—
My hands moved before my brain caught up. I shoved through the break room door into the empty hallway, fluorescent lights stretching into the distance. The night shift was quiet. Most staff were on other floors. I walked fast, not running, couldn't afford to draw attention.
The supply closet at the end of the hall had a lock I knew the code for—Jax's memories, rising unbidden. I punched in 2-7-4-3 and slipped inside, closing the door behind me.
Darkness. I fumbled for the light switch. The bulb flickered on, illuminating metal shelves packed with bandages, IV bags, surgical tools.
I grabbed a scalpel with trembling fingers.
The System text was still there, hovering at the edge of my vision. Waiting.
"This isn't real. This is shock. Brain damage from the accident."
But I could feel it now—something wrong with my body, something moving under my skin that shouldn't be there. A coldness in my veins. A hunger I couldn't name.
I pressed the scalpel to my left palm.
The blade bit deep. Blood welled up, dark and thick. I'd cut myself before—clumsy kitchen accidents, stupid teenage mistakes—and it always hurt like fire.
This didn't hurt.
I felt the pressure of the blade, the parting of skin, but the pain was distant. Muted. Like it was happening to someone else's hand.
And then the wound started closing.
Not fast. Not instant movie regeneration. But the edges of the cut knit together, skin crawling over exposed flesh in a way that made my stomach lurch. Thirty seconds later, the gash was a thin red line. A minute after that, even the line was fading.
The scalpel clattered into the sink. I gripped the edge of the counter, breathing hard through my nose.
"Infected. I'm infected. The System is real. This is real."
[ PHEROMONE CLOAK: PASSIVE ABILITY UNLOCKED ]
[ WALKERS WILL NOT PERCEIVE YOU AS A THREAT ]
[ EFFECT: INDEFINITE WHILE CONSCIOUS ]
More text. More impossible information. I wanted to scream. Instead, I turned to the sink and dry heaved, choking on nothing.
When I could breathe again, I looked at my reflection in the small mirror above the sink. Jax Mercer's face stared back. Nineteen years old. Medical resident. Patient Zero.
"Why me? Why this body?"
No answer. The System didn't explain. It just gave me the rules and set the clock ticking.
I grabbed paper towels and cleaned up the blood. Washed my hands twice, watching the last traces of the wound disappear. Then I left the supply closet and walked through the hospital like a ghost.
The emergency room had three patients. An elderly man with chest pain. A woman with a broken wrist. A teenager who'd overdosed at a party. None of them looked at me. The nurses were busy. I drifted past them, through the automatic doors, out into the warm Los Angeles night.
August in LA meant heat that didn't break even at four in the morning. The parking lot lights cast orange halos across the asphalt. A few cars sat scattered near the entrance. Ambulance bay empty. The city hummed in the distance—traffic never really stopped here, even at this hour.
I walked to the edge of the lot and just stood there, staring at the skyline.
"Two weeks. Two weeks until Gloria attacks Nick in that church. Two weeks until everything falls apart."
I knew the story. I'd watched it play out on TV, yelling at the screen when characters made stupid decisions. Madison's denial. Travis's optimism. The military's lies. I knew where the safe zones would fail. I knew who lived and who died.
And I was here. In this world. With a countdown in my vision and a virus in my veins.
[ QUEST ISSUED: SURVIVE THE FALL ]
[ OBJECTIVE: SURVIVE THE INITIAL OUTBREAK ]
[ REWARD: SYSTEM ABILITIES UNLOCKED ]
[ FAILURE: DEATH ]
The text hovered patiently, waiting for acknowledgment.
I laughed. Couldn't help it. The sound came out harsh and bitter.
"Survive the fall. Sure. Easy. Just need to infect someone every three days for the rest of my life. Simple."
But even as the words formed, part of me—the part that was Jax, that belonged to this body and this world—was already thinking ahead. Already planning.
The Clark family. Madison, Nick, Alicia. I knew where they lived. I knew what was coming for them. And I knew that Nick was the key—he'd seen Gloria already, he just didn't remember it yet through the heroin haze.
Strand's marina. The Abigail. The military's Operation Cobalt.
I could change things. I could save people. I could—
[ WARNING: REVEALING OUTBREAK KNOWLEDGE TO UNINFECTED POPULATIONS CARRIES SEVERE CONSEQUENCES ]
[ SYSTEM WILL ENFORCE SECRECY PROTOCOLS ]
My jaw clenched. Of course. Can't be a hero. Can't just warn everyone and save the day.
The timer ticked in my peripheral vision. 71:42:17.
I pulled out Jax's phone—my phone now—and opened the notes app. Started typing.
Gun stores. Check multiple locations. Spread purchases across days.
Pharmacy. Antibiotics. Painkillers. Surgical supplies.
Storage unit. Somewhere near the coast.
Clark family address. Don't approach directly yet.
Strand's marina. Location confirmed in memories.
Firing range. Need to learn to shoot properly.
My fingers kept moving, filling the screen with plans. The pre-med training helped—I could think clearly even while panic sat like a stone in my chest. Triage the immediate threats. Prioritize resources. Plan for contingencies.
The sun would rise in a few hours. My shift ended at six. I had thirteen days to prepare for the apocalypse.
The phone buzzed in my hand. A text from the hospital supervisor: Where are you? Need you in trauma bay 2.
I typed back: On my way. Needed air.
Then I looked at the skyline one more time. Somewhere out there, the Clark family was sleeping. Nick was probably high, dreaming about nothing. Madison was probably awake, worrying about him. Alicia was probably studying, because she always studied.
And Gloria was already sick. Already dying. Already turning into the thing that would kill the world.
"I can't save everyone. But I can save some of them."
The timer ticked down. 71:38:42.
I walked back toward the hospital, mind churning with lists and strategies. The city lights blurred together. Everything looked normal. Everything was about to burn.
[ TIMER: 71:37:19 ]
[ QUEST: SURVIVE THE FALL ]
[ STATUS: ACTIVE ]
I had two weeks to become a monster, or find targets who deserved it. Two weeks to build a foundation. Two weeks to decide what kind of survivor I wanted to be.
The automatic doors slid open. I stepped back into the fluorescent world of beeping machines and hushed voices. A patient groaned somewhere down the hall. A nurse hurried past with a tray of medications.
Nobody knew. Nobody could know.
I was Patient Zero, and the countdown had already begun.
My shift ended at dawn. I drove to a pawn shop on the east side, where the clerk barely glanced at my scrubs before showing me the handguns. The Glock 19 felt heavy and unfamiliar in my palm. I bought it anyway, along with two boxes of ammunition.
"Home defense," I said when he asked.
He nodded like that explained everything. Maybe it did.
The sun was rising as I walked back to my car, the weight of the gun hidden in a paper bag. The sky turned pink and gold over Los Angeles. Beautiful. Thirteen days left of beauty before the screaming started.
I got in the car and drove home to an apartment I barely remembered but knew completely. Jax's life. My life now.
The timer ticked in the corner of my vision.
71:02:34.
71:02:33.
71:02:32.
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