The smell of rot and blood filled her nostrils, making her want to gag. She forced herself to breathe through her mouth, to focus on moving forward.
Around her, the newly infected were still preoccupied with their first victims—gnawing on the fallen, tearing into flesh with single-minded hunger. It was giving the uninfected just enough time to flee, just enough opportunity to escape upward.
They're distracted, Emily noted clinically, her mind still analyzing even in the midst of crisis. That means they prioritize feeding over hunting. Good to know.
She reached the third floor and immediately scanned the area.
The restaurant was ahead—partially shuttered, only a few early morning patrons inside who were just now beginning to realize something was wrong below.
Emily pushed through the entrance, her chest heaving.
I need to reach Ethan.
Pulling out her phone with trembling fingers, she dialed his number.
"Your call cannot be completed as dialed," came the automated voice, cold and indifferent.
Emily's worry spiked into full-blown panic.
No, no, no…
She tried again.
Same message.
Of course… everyone must be trying to reach their loved ones right now. The cellular network is overloaded.
She wanted to scream in frustration.
Ethan… where are you? Are you safe?
Unbeknownst to her, Ethan was frantically calling her at that very moment, pressing redial over and over as his own phone delivered the same merciless busy signal.
Chapter 3: Hell on Earth
Fifteen minutes earlier, Ethan had just left his apartment building, practically running down the front steps.
His mind was focused on a single objective: get to O'Hare, get to Emily, keep her safe.
He had flagged down a taxi—a battered yellow cab that had seen better days—and thrown himself into the backseat.
"O'Hare International Airport," he'd said, breathless. "As fast as you can. I'll pay extra."
The driver—a middle-aged man with a thick mustache and tired eyes—had nodded and pulled into traffic.
Ethan had immediately pulled out his phone, dialing Emily's number again just to hear her voice, to confirm she was still safe.
But the call wouldn't connect.
Network busy. Please try again later.
"Damn it," Ethan muttered, trying again.
Same result.
He stared out the window, watching Chicago slide past, his leg bouncing nervously. The summer heat made the air shimmer above the pavement. Traffic was moderate for a Saturday morning. Everything seemed normal.
Too normal.
Why did he feel like something was about to go terribly wrong?
And then it did.
The taxi driver suddenly jerked violently, his head snapping to the side. The car swerved wildly, tires screeching.
"Hey! Watch it!" Ethan shouted, grabbing the door handle.
But the driver didn't respond.
Ethan leaned forward, about to yell again, when he caught sight of the man's reflection in the rearview mirror.
His blood ran cold.
The driver's skin had turned a sickly gray color, like old meat left out in the sun. His eyes—once dark brown—had filmed over with a milky white glaze. And his mouth… his mouth was opening and closing mechanically, teeth clicking together with a sound that made Ethan's stomach turn.
"What the—"
The driver suddenly twisted in his seat, lunging toward Ethan with a guttural snarl.
Rotting flesh. Empty, dead eyes. Mouth gaping open, ready to bite.
Ethan threw himself backward, pressing against the far door. "Get away from me!"
The driver clawed at him over the seat, fingers curled into hooks. The smell of decay was overwhelming, making Ethan's eyes water.
Outside, the taxi was still moving, drifting across lanes as the driver's foot remained pressed on the accelerator.
CRASH!
The taxi slammed into the back of a sedan, metal crunching, glass shattering.
The impact threw both Ethan and the infected driver forward. Ethan's head smacked against the back of the front seat, stars exploding across his vision.
But the crash also jolted the driver's foot off the accelerator, bringing the taxi to a shuddering halt.
Ethan didn't waste a second. He grabbed the door handle and threw himself out of the taxi, stumbling onto the hot asphalt.
And froze.
What the hell… is going on?
The scene before him was straight out of a nightmare.
All around him—on every side, in every direction—drivers and pedestrians were turning into monstrous, zombie-like creatures. Multiple cars had crashed violently on the road, their drivers either attacking passengers or stumbling out to attack anyone nearby. Fire and explosions erupted as gas tanks ignited, consuming vehicles and asphalt in roaring pillars of flame.
Black smoke billowed into the clear summer sky.
Chaos ruled the streets—people screaming, attacking, fleeing in every direction with no plan, no coordination, just raw animal panic.
A woman ran past Ethan, her clothes torn and bloody, a chunk missing from her shoulder. She was screaming incoherently, her eyes wild with terror.
A child stood in the middle of the road, crying for his mother, while all around him, the infected stumbled closer.
A businessman in a suit was on his knees, being torn apart by three infected who had once been construction workers, their hard hats still strapped to their gray, decaying heads.
Blood. Fire. Screaming. Death.
The world Ethan had known—the ordinary, predictable world he'd woken up in this morning—was gone.
Civilization as he had known it had collapsed in an instant.
This can't be real. This has to be a nightmare. I'm going to wake up any second now…
But he didn't wake up.
Because this was real.
Terrifyingly, impossibly real.
Gritting his teeth, Ethan forced himself to focus. He couldn't afford to freeze up, couldn't afford to succumb to shock or denial.
Emily. I need to get to Emily.
He looked around frantically, trying to get his bearings. He was on the highway—or what had been the highway before it had transformed into a war zone. The airport was still miles away. On foot, in this chaos…
I'll never make it in time.
But he had to try.
Ethan climbed over the highway guardrail, dropping down onto the access road below. His feet hit the ground hard, jarring his knees, but he ignored the pain.
He spotted an outdoor sporting goods store across the street—one of those big chain stores with camping gear and hunting equipment. The front windows had been smashed, and he could see movement inside, but it was still better than being out in the open.
He sprinted across the street, dodging an abandoned car that was still running, its driver's door hanging open and blood smeared across the steering wheel.
Ethan ducked into the store through the broken window, shards of glass crunching under his feet.
Inside, the fluorescent lights flickered ominously. Display racks had been overturned. Merchandise was scattered across the floor. And there, in the camping equipment aisle…
A half-naked female zombie lay atop a child's small body, her teeth buried in the dead boy's abdomen. She was gnawing mechanically, mindlessly, pulling out loops of intestine with gray, decaying fingers.
At the sound of Ethan's footsteps, her head slowly twisted toward him, neck bones cracking audibly. Her jaw was smeared with gore, her eyes completely white, her skin mottled with patches of rot.
She opened her mouth—blood and worse things dripping from her chin—and let out a rattling hiss.
Then she began to crawl toward him, abandoning her meal, fixating on this new, living prey.
"Ugh… disgusting!" Ethan growled, his face twisting in revulsion and horror.
But he couldn't afford to panic. Couldn't afford to freeze.
Drawing in a deep breath, he grabbed a baseball bat from a nearby display rack and hefted it, feeling its weight.
The female zombie was getting closer, dragging herself across the floor with surprising speed, leaving a trail of blood behind her.
Ethan tightened his grip on the bat.
I'm sorry. But you're not human anymore.
He swung.
CRACK!
The bat connected with her skull, the impact reverberating up his arms. She collapsed, twitching once before going still.
Ethan stood there, breathing hard, staring at what he'd just done.
He'd just killed someone.
Or… something that had once been someone.
His hands trembled on the bat.
No. Focus. Survive first. Process later.
He forced himself to think clearly, to assess his situation with cold logic.
The world he knew was gone. Civilization as he had known it had collapsed. The streets of Chicago had become hell on earth.
But Emily was still out there.
Somewhere at O'Hare Airport, his sister was waiting for him.
And he would reach her.
No matter what stood in his way.
Ethan clenched his fists around the baseball bat, his knuckles white.
His only thought—find Emily, survive, and protect her. No matter what.
The apocalypse had begun.
And for the Miller siblings—separated by miles of burning city, surrounded by the walking dead, unable to reach each other—the doomsday had only just begun.