Drip.
Crimson blood slid down his cheek and fell onto the snow-covered ground. Bryan wiped the blood from his face with his palm and shoved aside the Infected corpse pinning him down. He struggled to his feet in the snow.
Blood-soaked snow sloughed off his back as he bent to retrieve his knife from the Infected's skull. He grabbed the pistol that had fallen nearby and surveyed the chaos around him—people fleeing in every direction. His eyes filled with desperate urgency.
Then he spotted several familiar figures lying motionless in the snow not far away. His heart seized.
He scrambled toward them on hands and knees, practically crawling through the snow.
When he reached them, he stared at the achingly familiar forms sprawled in the white powder. After a long moment, he finally identified them: Allen, Sylvia, Anna, Wilfred.
But they were no longer the living, breathing people he knew. They were cold corpses lying in the snow.
"How... how could this happen?!"
Their bodies were covered in wounds of all sizes, blood still seeping out. Bryan's face contorted in anguish. He collapsed to his knees in the snow, letting out a low growl of rage and despair.
"Sa... Sarah... she's not here!"
Suddenly, Bryan noticed something. His eyes darted frantically among the bodies, searching. The small, familiar figure wasn't among them.
As if guided by some instinct, he shot to his feet and pushed against the flow of fleeing survivors, driven by a premonition he couldn't explain—somehow he knew exactly which direction to go.
He shoved past everyone in his path, shooting or dodging Infected that tried to attack him, pressing forward without hesitation.
"Sarah! Where are you?!"
He shouted her name again and again as he fought through the wind and snow. But the howling gale, the crack of gunfire, and the terrified screams of the crowd drowned out any possible response. The bodies scattered across the snow made his expression grow increasingly frantic.
"...I'm... here..."
Then, carried on the wind, came a voice—faint, broken, but achingly familiar.
Bryan's whole body jolted. He sprinted toward the sound without a second thought—and there she was.
But Sarah was in dire straits. An Infected corpse lay on top of her. She was too weak to push it off and was slowly trying to wriggle free.
Several Infected had already noticed her. Shrieking their horrible cries, they charged toward her.
She could only raise her pistol and fire at the approaching creatures, trying to slow them down while continuing to squirm out from under the weight pressing down on her.
"Sarah! Don't be scared—I'm coming!"
Seeing her in danger, Bryan shouted to let her know he was there. He raised his pistol and fired at the running Infected.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The pistol barked three times. Bullets tore through the chamber and out the barrel, streaking toward the distant creatures—
But the howling wind threw off their trajectories. Every shot missed, falling uselessly into the snow.
Without support, Sarah could only keep firing desperately. But moments later, her pistol clicked empty.
Click.
With no bullets to stop them, the red-eyed Infected closed the remaining distance in seconds. Before she could break free, one lunged at her with a piercing shriek. Its gaping maw clamped down on her slender neck.
Blood sprayed across the snow.
The girl's body convulsed. Her eyes, filled with desperate longing, slowly dimmed as her strength faded. Then she went limp, eyes closing forever.
"NO!"
Watching Sarah die before his eyes, Bryan's vision went red. His heart felt like it was being carved apart with a knife. Like a man possessed, he fired wildly at the creatures, trying to stop them from—
"HSSSSS—!"
Before he could take another step, a hissing sound erupted from his flank. A Stalker launched itself from the shadows and slammed him to the ground.
Before Bryan could react, it straddled him, raised its withered arm high, and brought it crashing down toward his skull—
...
"AAH!"
Bryan's eyes snapped open, bloodshot and wild. He shot upright in his seat, gasping for air, looking around in confusion. His forehead felt cold—he reached up and found it drenched in sweat.
He scanned his surroundings again. He was still on the bus.
The images from his dream flashed through his mind. A nightmare. He let out a shaky breath, exhaustion washing over him as he slumped back against his seat.
Then he turned to check on his companions—and found them all staring at him with strange expressions.
Sarah's face was bright red. The moment he looked her way, she quickly covered her face with her hands. But he could see through the gaps in her fingers that she was still watching him.
Seeing everyone giving him these odd looks made Bryan uncomfortable. He glanced down at himself, wondering if something was on his clothes.
Finding nothing wrong, he stammered in confusion: "W-why are you all looking at me like that?"
"Hehe—!"
Anna and the others couldn't help but giggle, covering their mouths to stifle their laughter. Only Sylvia noticed Bryan's sweat-soaked face. She handed him some tissues and asked with genuine concern:
"Bad dream?"
"Yeah." Bryan took the tissues and wiped his forehead. They definitely saw everything, he thought. Between his reaction and all this sweat, it was obvious he'd had a nightmare.
But he was still puzzled by their suppressed laughter. I have a nightmare and instead of being worried, you're all laughing? What's that about?
Anna seemed to read his thoughts. She gradually reined in her smile—though the corners of her mouth still twitched—and said in a teasing, singsong voice:
"You were talking in your sleep just now... and you kept saying Sarah's name~"
She drew out the last syllable, then mimicked his dream-talk in an exaggerated, anxious tone:
"'Sarah, where are you?'"
"'Sarah, don't be scared—I'm coming!'"
"..."
Unable to continue, Anna burst into giggles again.
Bryan's face flushed crimson, as if his innermost thoughts had been exposed. He stole a glance at Sarah, who was still hiding behind her hands, then quickly turned back around and tried to defend himself.
"N-no... I... I didn't..."
But his stammering denial only made the laughter louder. Despite having an adult's soul, he couldn't help feeling mortified.
"What's—"
Just as he was about to protest further, something through the bus window caught his eye. A soldier was climbing over the hospital's security gate and sprinting toward the front of the convoy.
Bryan felt like he'd been struck by lightning. He shot to his feet. The sweat he'd just wiped away returned with a vengeance.
He stared at the soldier's retreating figure, overcome by an overwhelming sense of déjà vu—as if he'd seen this exact scene before.
Then it hit him. The nightmare. In his dream, the catastrophe had begun with a soldier running out of the hospital just like this.
Thump-thump! Thump-thump!
That inexplicable feeling of dread surged through him again—stronger than before, more urgent. It was as if something was screaming at him that danger was imminent. That everything he'd seen in his dream was real.
"Bryan, what's wrong?"
The others, who had been giggling moments ago, noticed his sudden change. His face had gone pale. They exchanged worried looks.
"Could it be... that everything in my dream was real..."
Bryan barely heard them. He kept staring out the window, his thoughts churning like a stormy sea.
The scene outside matched his nightmare exactly. But he still couldn't be certain it was real. Should he warn the military? Tell them to prepare?
He quickly dismissed the idea. He had no evidence. What am I supposed to say—'I had a dream about danger, so everyone needs to run'? They'd think he was crazy and throw him out. And even if they believed him, it was probably already too late to prepare...
Bryan took a deep breath and shook his head. Whether the dream was real or not, whether danger was actually coming—it was safest to leave now. If the nightmare proved true, at least they'd have more time to react.
He turned slowly to face the others, his expression grave.
"Everyone... I think we need to get off this bus. Right now."
...
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