The house was silent, except for the echoes of heavy breathing and the grotesque sound of chewing. Bruno's mother, now fully infected, was finishing the last bites of Hanne's neck. Her eyes, stripped of any trace of humanity, stared blankly at something that no longer existed. Blood dripped from her mouth as she turned toward the noise coming from the bathroom.
Haissa's desperate, muffled cries tore through the silence of the house. The sound was heartbreaking—like the plea of a lost child begging for help in a world that had already abandoned her. She was alone, defenseless. Her screams grew louder, drawing the monster closer, as Bruno's mother rose unsteadily to her feet, dragging herself slowly toward the bathroom.
The screech of her nails scratching the wall as she advanced was a chilling omen of what was about to happen. Trapped inside, Haissa no longer had the strength to scream. Her sobs and ragged breaths echoed in the small space as panic consumed her. Her throat was raw from crying, her voice fading into silence.
When Bruno's mother reached the bathroom door, she hurled her weight against it, again and again, trying to break it down. The house—once their safe place—was now nothing but a prison for Haissa. In her mind, she begged for a miracle, for some sign of mercy, but there was nothing left. Only the insatiable hunger of the monster that had once been her mother.
The door rattled with each violent blow. With every second that passed, Haissa felt time slipping away. The crushing realization that no one was coming for her—that this might truly be her last moment alive—pressed down on her, smothering any remaining hope.
***
As Bruno drove toward his house, João Paulo's mind raced, replaying what Camille had said about Larissa's mother—why she had acted so desperate. A growing fear settled in his chest, worry gnawing at him over the worst possible outcome. He turned to Bruno, eyes tense, and asked:
— Hey… tell me something. What are you going to do if we get there and find them already dead or infected? Will you have the guts to… you know… kill them if they're infected?
Bruno let out a sigh, his gaze cold, as if he had already prepared himself mentally for whatever awaited them. He replied, emotionless:
— I'll do whatever the situation demands, man. No matter how bad it is, I'll do it. Doesn't matter what shit comes with it.
After a while, they finally arrived at Bruno's house. He was the first out of the car, running toward the entrance. Stepping inside the living room, the scene was grotesque. Hanne's body lay sprawled on the floor, her neck torn apart, flesh ripped open, the hyoid bone exposed, and her cervical vertebrae still slick with blood. Dark stains spread across the floor, and Bruno had to fight the urge to vomit.
With a sharp, urgent shout, he called for Haissa—but got no response. Movement at the back of the house caught his attention. Before he could process it, his mother, now fully infected, appeared in the doorway. Her face was smeared with blood, black goo dripping from her mouth. Driven solely by the instinct to kill, she charged at him.
Bruno's chest tightened with pain and fear over what might have happened while he was away. He reacted instinctively. Ducking under her arms with agility, he moved quickly, grabbed her by the waist, and slammed her to the ground with a brutal impact, her head hitting hard against the floor.
João Paulo, still frozen beside Hanne, could only watch. Seeing her lifeless, bloodied body left him paralyzed, too weak to act. But the sound of Bruno's blows breaking the silence snapped him back to reality.
Bruno, showing no emotion, climbed on top of his mother and began striking her head repeatedly with the sledgehammer. Blood and brain matter splattered across the floor, yet he showed no sign of remorse. Each blow was cold and calculated, as if he were simply carrying out a necessary task.
João Paulo watched in silence, a knot forming in his throat. He couldn't fully comprehend what was happening with Bruno. The brutality with which he killed his own mother seemed to have erased any trace of humanity that might have remained. But there was no time to dwell on that—survival was all that mattered. The world they had known was gone.
After the final blow, Bruno stood up. His face covered in blood, he did not look back, did not acknowledge what remained of his mother. There was no time for feelings or hesitation. What mattered now was finding Haissa, making sure she was alive, and doing whatever it took to protect the rest of the family.
He shouted again for Haissa, but silence was the only answer.
João Paulo, still standing, watched with a mix of anguish and despair. He knew Bruno had changed, but he had never imagined the transformation would be so complete. The loss of everything he loved, his mother's death, and the weight of his own actions were shaping Bruno into someone entirely different.
When Bruno finally stopped, his expression remained blank. But suddenly, a tear slipped from one eye. His heart raced violently, as if it might explode, and an immense weakness overtook his body, something he had never felt before. It was as if his body weighed tons, barely able to stay upright.
João Paulo could only watch, powerless to speak. Then, from the shadows, his youngest sister appeared. Her forehead was bruised, one eye swollen purple, and she walked slowly toward him. The remnants of their infected mother still smeared black goo on her face, and one of her legs was dragged, torn by her mother's bite. As she drew closer, Bruno saw tears streaming down Haissa's face—she was no longer the smiling little girl she had once been. The pain gripping Bruno's chest left him speechless.
He felt an overwhelming pressure. His mouth trembled, teeth chattering against each other, and he could barely breathe. Tears began to form in his eyes. Before giving in to the sobs, with a trembling voice, he whispered:
— No… enough…
Hearing those words, João Paulo, who had been silently watching everything, stood up. He knew what was about to happen and, tears welling in his own eyes, said:
— My brother… enough, leave it… you won't survive this, it'll hurt too much, man…
Bruno, hands clutching his chest as if trying to hold his own heart, spoke:
— I can't leave her like this! She's my little sister, man! I couldn't protect her… it's my responsibility…
Bruno's pain was palpable, and João Paulo felt the weight of something far greater than words could express. It was as if Bruno's last ounce of strength had been drained. He watched his best friend rise, letting out a scream of anguish that would haunt him forever. He saw Bruno crying and screaming while striking his youngest sister's head with the sledgehammer. He couldn't believe it, but memories of his own sister began to invade his mind. He didn't know if she was infected or not, and in those seconds, he wondered if he would have had the courage to end her life as Bruno was doing. Poor guy, he was so desperate that he didn't even realize she was already dead. He was trapped in an unbearable pain, unable to see reality.
He knew that stopping Bruno was the only thing he could do for him now.
João Paulo stepped forward, and as Bruno raised the sledgehammer again, he grabbed his hand firmly and said:
— That's enough, man. She's already gone…
Bruno froze. He dropped the sledgehammer to the floor, his eyes blurred with grief, mixed with the blood of his mother and sister. He picked her up in his arms, her fragile body, her head broken, and began to cry and scream without pause. He held her tightly, feeling the lightness of her small body as if she were a baby. Memories of the games they had shared during her six years of life, her laughter, the delicate features of his sister—her pale skin, light brown curly hair, her radiant smile—everything had now turned into the most painful memory of his life.
Bruno knew that from that moment on, these memories would never be the ones he wanted to keep. They would become the worst of all, marked by pain and irreparable loss.
And for the first time in 13 years, I cried like I had never cried in my life. And the most ironic part of it all is that I had always wanted to see a zombie apocalypse with my own eyes, like in Resident Evil movies. I imagined myself killing zombies, having fun with it, as if it were the best thing in the world, the ultimate paradise for a nerdy psychopath… But this pain, this pain was different… it was a pain I had never imagined.
I never thought I would truly feel this. No, it wasn't anything I had imagined. There was no fun, no glory. There was only loss… a loss that tore me apart from the inside. It wasn't a game. It was real. And now, the pain I felt coursed through every part of my body, through every fragment of my soul.