Ahmed turned off the TV around midnight. The comedy show had ended.
He walked to the bedroom—the dead doctor's bedroom—and lay down on the bed without bothering to undress. The gun was still there, the one the doctor had used. Ahmed picked it up, felt its weight, considered it.
Two bullets. The doctor had loaded two. Used one.
One bullet left. One quick end to all of this.
But no. He had work to do. Data to collect. Observations to make.
And if he was being honest with himself, he wanted to see how this ended. Wanted to know if humanity would survive, or if they'd all become monsters.
He set the gun on the nightstand and closed his eyes.
Outside, the infected groaned and shuffled and learned.
Inside, Ahmed smiled in the darkness and slept like the dead.
MORNING (DAWN)
Sunlight stabbed through the blinds. Reyan jolted awake, muscles stiff. For a second he forgot where he was, until the memory crashed back.
He looked around the room. Everyone was still asleep. Samir curled up on the floor near the door, one hand still gripping his pipe. Taj sprawled on the couch, mouth open, snoring softly. Vikram in the chair by the window, head tilted back. His daughter on the makeshift bed of cushions, wrapped in her blanket.
All sleeping. All safe. For now.
Reyan stood quietly, not wanting to wake them, and moved toward the balcony. His legs felt stiff, unsteady. When had he last eaten? Slept properly? He couldn't remember.
He stepped onto the balcony and looked down at the street.
Empty.
Completely, utterly empty.
No infected. No bodies. No movement at all. Just abandoned cars, scattered trash, and morning sunlight painting everything in gold. The street looked almost peaceful, like the city was just sleeping in on a lazy Sunday morning.
Reyan's heart hammered. Where had they gone? There had been dozens of them last night. He'd watched them hunt, coordinate, kill. And now—
"Papa, look!"
He turned. His daughter stood in the doorway, pointing at the empty street below.
"They're gone! The sick people are all gone!"
Relief flooded through him. "Yeah, baby. I see that."
Footsteps behind him. Samir appeared, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Reyan? Why are you—" He looked down at the street. "Holy shit. Where did they go?"
"I don't know." Reyan said. "They were here last night. Dozens of them."
Taj joined them, squinting through his cracked glasses. "Maybe they migrated? Followed some sound?"
"All of them?" Reyan shook his head. "At once?"
"Well, they're definitely gone now." Samir leaned on the railing. "Maybe this is our window. We could get to the car while the street's clear."
"We should move fast," Taj agreed. "Before they come back."
Reyan nodded slowly. It didn't make sense, but maybe it didn't have to. Maybe this was just luck. Good luck, for once.
"I'll wake Vikram up," Samir said, heading back inside.
Reyan stood there a moment longer, staring at the empty street. Something felt wrong. Off. But he couldn't put his finger on what.
He turned to follow Samir inside—
And froze.