"We need a plan," Ethan said, staring at the grid of security feeds. His eyes drifted from the carnage in the lobby to the blinking network status icon in the corner of the monitor.
It was yellow. Connected.
"The phones are down," Claire said, wiping her face with a shaking hand. She was sitting on the floor, hugging her knees. "I tried calling my sister ten times. It just fails."
"The cell towers are overloaded," Ethan said, his fingers flying across the keyboard. "Everyone in the city is trying to call 911 or their families at the same time. The grid collapsed in minutes."
He pointed at the thick bundle of fiber-optic cables running from the ceiling into the server rack behind him.
"But this building... Helios has a dedicated enterprise fiber line. Hardwired underground. It bypasses the local cell towers."
Jessica looked up, her eyes red and swollen. "Can we... can we call out?"
"We can try using the VoIP software on this terminal," Ethan said. He clicked open the communication suite. "It's internet-based calling. If the backbone is still up, we might get a signal."
He looked at the two women. They looked shattered. They needed hope. Or at least, they needed closure.
"I'm going first," Ethan said. He needed to know. He needed to hear their voices.
He typed in the landline number for his parents' house in Brookside. He pressed Enter.
The speakers on the desk crackled with static. Then, a ring tone. It was distorted and digital, but it was ringing.
Ring.
Ring.
Click.
"Hello?" A male voice. Breathless. Terrified.
"Dad!" Ethan leaned into the microphone, gripping the edge of the desk so hard the wood creaked. "Dad, it's me! It's Ethan!"
"Ethan!" Robert Miller's voice broke. "Oh thank God. Susan! It's Ethan! He's alive!"
"Dad, listen to me," Ethan said, speaking fast and hard. "Are you safe? Is Mom okay?"
"We... we don't know what's happening," Robert stammered. "The mist came down. Mr. Johnson next door... he started banging on our windows. He was screaming, Ethan. But he looked... wrong. I saw him bite the mailman."
"Dad, listen carefully," Ethan commanded. The "Strong is Law" mentality was already taking root. He couldn't be a panicked son; he had to be a commander. "Do not open the door. Not for the neighbors. Not for the police. Not for anyone."
"But Mr. Johnson—"
"Mr. Johnson is dead!" Ethan shouted. "Whatever is out there, it's not human anymore. Lock the doors. Push the sofa against the front entrance. Fill the bathtub with water right now in case the pipes fail. Do you have food?"
"We... we just went shopping yesterday," his mother, Susan, spoke from the background. Her voice was trembling. "We have groceries."
"Good," Ethan said. "Stay inside. Turn off the lights. Be quiet. I am coming to get you."
"Ethan, the news said to evacuate to the stadium," Robert said.
"No!" Ethan slammed his fist on the desk. "The stadium will be a slaughterhouse. Too many people. Stay in the house. I am coming. I promise."
Cr-cr-crack...
The line began to disintegrate into digital noise.
"Ethan? ...love you... stay..."
"Dad? Mom!"
The line went dead. The icon turned red for a second, then flickered back to yellow.
Ethan slumped back in the chair. They were alive. They were scared, but they were alive. A fierce, burning determination ignited in his chest. He would burn this entire city to the ground if that's what it took to reach Brookside.
[Ding!]
[Quest Updated: The Family Reunion]
[Objective: Reach Brookside Suburbs.]
[Reward: ???]
He stood up and stepped away from the chair. "Your turn."
Claire scrambled up. She sat in the chair and typed a number with trembling fingers.
It rang for a long time. No answer.
"Pick up," she whispered. "Pick up, pick up, pick up..."
It went to voicemail.
"Hi, this is Mark. Leave a message."
"Mark!" Claire sobbed into the mic. "Mark, it's me. I'm at the office. Please, if you get this, lock the apartment. Don't go outside. I'm... I'm going to try to come home. I love you."
She disconnected. She looked at Ethan, her face pale. "He didn't answer."
"He might be driving," Ethan said, though he knew the roads were death traps. "Or the network is spotty."
Jessica crawled toward the chair. She looked like a ghost. She typed in a number.
"Mom," she whispered.
The call connected instantly.
"Jessica!" A woman's voice screamed through the speakers. It was high-pitched, hysterical. "Jessica, help me! He's inside! He broke the glass!"
Jessica froze. "Mom? Who?"
"Your brother! It's Tommy! He... he bit your father! Oh god, there's so much blood! Tommy, stop! STOP!"
Crash.
The sound of furniture breaking echoed through the connection. Then a wet, guttural snarling sound.
"Mom!" Jessica shrieked. "Mom, run!"
"No! Get away! Ahhhhh—"
The scream that followed was not human. It was raw, wet, and abruptly cut short by a gurgling sound.
Then, silence.
Then, the sound of chewing.
Jessica stared at the screen. Her mouth was open, but no sound came out.
Ethan reached over and hit the End Call button.
The silence in the server room was heavy, suffocating. The hum of the fans felt like the buzzing of flies over a corpse.
Jessica didn't move. She didn't cry. She just stared at the black screen.
"Jessica," Ethan said softly.
"He ate her," Jessica whispered. "Tommy ate her."
She turned to look at Ethan. The fear in her eyes had been replaced by a hollow, broken void. "My brother is twelve years old."
Ethan didn't offer empty platitudes. He didn't say 'it will be okay.' In this new world, false hope was a poison.
"I'm sorry," Ethan said. "But we have to keep moving."
He turned to the monitors. The yellow connection icon flickered and turned grey. Disconnected. The internet was gone.
"That was the last line," Ethan said. "We are on our own now."
He looked at the two women. Claire was terrified but holding it together. Jessica was broken, teetering on the edge of catatonia.
Ethan checked his inventory. He had the letter opener. He had the water. But they were defenseless against a horde.
He looked around the server room again. Now that the adrenaline of the escape had faded and the emotional blow of the calls had landed, the reality of their situation set in.
They were trapped in a steel box.
Ethan walked over to the red tool cabinet in the corner labeled Facilities.
"We aren't walking out of here with letter openers," Ethan said, his voice hardening. "If we want to reach my parents, if we want to survive... we need weapons."
He yanked the drawer open.