Ivan slowly backed away from the door and went to the living room, his heart pounding and his breath coming in short gasps. Anxiety filled him, with his OCD acting up more than ever.
I touched her earlier, right? he thought, the question gnawing at his mind.
Even though he had been wearing thick gloves, the thought lingered. He threw the gloves away and disinfected his hands with alcohol, scrubbing vigorously until they were red. Then he put on two layers of surgical gloves. He needed to analyze his situation.
The door to the bathroom was unlocked, but Ms. Henderson couldn't open it. Still, his anxiety wouldn't let him trust in chance. He quickly began barricading it with more furniture—a heavy bookshelf, a coffee table, and anything else he could move. He also barricaded the front door and any other entrances. His living room was now a mess, with all kinds of furniture used to block the doors.
He glanced around at the chaos he'd created in his living room, the furniture stacked haphazardly against the doors. "Yeah, real hero here. I bet that's what they'll write on your tombstone: 'He let in a bleeding neighbor and lived to regret it.'"
He tried dialing authorities, but all the lines were unavailable. His phone screen displayed "No Service" each time he tried to call.
"Damn it," he muttered, frustration bubbling over.
After trying and failing to get through, he suddenly heard a couple of gunshots from somewhere nearby. He looked outside the balcony, his eyes wide with fear and curiosity. What he saw made his blood run cold.
Several cops were running down the street, their faces etched with desperation. Behind them was a scene straight out of a nightmare. Countless bloodied, savage-looking people surged toward the cops. The officers were protecting a small, crying child. One cop was carrying her, trying to run away while another stayed behind, firing his weapon at the horde. The infected were trampling each other, everyone wanting to be the first to bite the poor cop.
The brave officer was quickly overwhelmed by the horde. They scratched, bit, and ripped him apart. Ivan couldn't see the details, as dozens of infected buried him. He could only tell that the cop was dead from the painful, indescribable scream filled with horror, pain, and torment.
Ivan, scared and shocked, sat down for a moment. His mind raced, filled with a mixture of fear, helplessness, and the overwhelming need to stay clean and safe.
"What should I do right now?" he thought, his mind a whirlwind of panic and uncertainty.
Then it hit him—the internet! Information, guidance, something to help him understand what was happening and how to survive it.
He quickly grabbed his laptop and scrolled through the internet. There were countless posts and videos on social media about SPX-4, so he didn't know which to go through first. His screen was flooded with images and videos of chaos, panic, and violence. People were sharing their experiences, their fears, and their desperate attempts to find safety.
One post caught his attention:
"Aim for the head! Everybody aim for the head!"
The post was accompanied by a shaky video of someone fending off an infected by striking its head repeatedly until it stopped moving. The realization hit Ivan hard. The head—that's where the key to stopping them lay.
Ivan's mind raced as he absorbed the information. He needed to stay calm and think strategically. He glanced around his apartment, taking stock of his supplies again. Food, water, basic medical supplies, and now, weapons. He had to be ready to defend himself if the situation escalated further.
As he scrolled through more posts, he found tips on fortifying his home, conserving resources, and staying hidden from the infected. He read accounts of people fighting back, forming small groups for safety, and finding refuge in secure locations. Each story added a new layer to his understanding of the crisis and gave him a small glimmer of hope.
Suddenly, a loud crash from the bathroom snapped him back to the present. The barricaded door shook violently as Ms. Henderson's growls grew louder and more aggressive. The sound of her body slamming against the door was relentless, and Ivan's fear spiked anew.
He knew he couldn't stay in his apartment forever. He needed to find a safer place, somewhere more secure and fortified. But for now, he had to focus on surviving the immediate threat.
Taking a deep breath, Ivan tightened his grip on the knife. His thoughts were a jumble of fear, determination, and the desperate need to stay in control. He knew that every decision he made from this point on could mean the difference between life and death.
This was a new chapter in his life—one filled with uncertainty, danger, and the struggle to survive in a world gone mad.
As Ivan scrolled through the internet, he searched for essential survival information: how to conserve food, how to survive in the wild, how to make weapons, and more. Each search led him to valuable tips and techniques. He downloaded every useful resource to his phone, aware that the Wi-Fi and electricity could be cut off at any moment. To be safe, he also downloaded a map of his city, highlighting potential safe zones and escape routes.
The apartment was eerily quiet except for the muffled sounds of chaos outside. He worked quickly, his fingers flying across the keyboard, trying to gather as much information as possible. Every click and download was a step toward preparedness. He didn't know how long he had before the situation worsened.
While his laptop processed downloads, Ivan turned on the TV, hoping for any new updates. The news channels were in a frenzy, but they mostly repeated what he had already heard: widespread outbreaks, mass panic, and calls for citizens to stay indoors and stay safe. The reporters' voices were tinged with fear and urgency, but the information was scarce and repetitive.
He switched through channels, hoping for more concrete advice or updates, but it was all the same. Frustration gnawed at him. He needed actionable information, not endless cycles of panic-inducing news.
Turning back to his laptop, he continued his frantic search. He found guides on first aid, basic self-defense, and even how to start a fire without matches. Each piece of information felt like a small shield against the unknown horrors outside.
Ivan also made a mental note of what he had in his apartment that could be repurposed as weapons or tools. The kitchen knives were obvious choices, but he also considered heavy objects like lamps, sturdy pieces of furniture, and even the thick wooden dowel from his closet.
As he worked, the noises from the bathroom grew more frantic. Ms. Henderson was relentless, her growls turning into a guttural, horrifying symphony of rage. Ivan's heart pounded with every thud against the barricaded door, a constant reminder of the danger just a few feet away.
He tried to focus on the task at hand, blocking out the unsettling sounds. He knew he needed to stay calm and think logically. Panic would only cloud his judgment and lead to mistakes.
Finally, with a good amount of survival information and resources downloaded, Ivan took a moment to breathe. He felt a little more prepared, but the enormity of the situation was still overwhelming. His apartment, once a sanctuary, now felt like a trap.
His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since the chaos began. He hesitated to leave his post by the bathroom door but knew he needed sustenance to keep his strength up. Slowly, he made his way to the kitchen, eyes darting between the front door and the bathroom.
Just a quick snack, Ivan, he whispered to himself, trying to stave off the growing feeling of self-loathing. Who knew the end of the world would come with such a delightful menu of canned beans?
He grabbed a few cans of food and quickly made a makeshift meal. The simple act of eating provided a small sense of normalcy, but it was fleeting. He chewed slowly, savoring each bite as if it were his last.
As he ate, Ivan's frustration resurfaced. He muttered bitterly, So, letting in the bleeding neighbor was a terrible idea. Who knew? Oh wait, your OCD instincts did. But hey, you wanted to be the good guy, didn't you? He scowled, shaking his head. Just look at where that noble impulse got you. Trapped in your own apartment, with a barricaded bathroom and no way out. Brilliant move, Ivan. He glanced around at the chaos he'd created in his living room, the furniture stacked haphazardly against the doors. Yeah, real hero here. I bet that's what they'll write on your tombstone: 'He let in a bleeding neighbor and lived to regret it.'
As the night deepened, Ivan's thoughts turned to the possibility of escaping his apartment. He considered his options carefully, weighing the risks of trying to leave against the danger of remaining trapped. If he could make it to another location—one more secure and less vulnerable—he might stand a better chance of survival.
But the thought of venturing into the unknown was terrifying. The streets were filled with chaos, and the risk of encountering the infected was high. He needed to be sure of his plan before taking any action.
Ivan was sitting at the kitchen table, his mind racing with the information he had just gathered. The silence in his apartment was oppressive, occasionally broken by the distant sounds of chaos outside. He tried to focus on his laptop, but the constant anxiety gnawed at him.
Suddenly, another noise came from the bathroom, snapping him out of his thoughts. Ivan's heart skipped a beat as he quickly turned his head towards the sound.
His eyes widened in shock and terror. The barricaded bathroom door was slightly ajar—just enough for a thin, pale hand to reach out. The sight was enough to freeze him in place. The hand, gaunt and trembling, grasped at the air, as if searching for something or someone.
Ivan's breath came in shallow, panicked gasps. His mind raced with the horrifying realization that Ms. Henderson had managed to open the door just a crack. The small, exposed gap was enough for her to extend her hand into the room, and the sight of it sent chills down his spine.
Desperately, he jumped up and grabbed a heavy lamp from the side table, clutching it tightly as a makeshift weapon. He crept cautiously towards the bathroom door, every creak of the floorboards sounding like thunder in the tense silence. The faint, guttural noises from Ms. Henderson grew louder as she struggled against the door, her movements growing more frantic.
Ivan's hands were shaking as he approached the door, trying to figure out how to reinforce the barricade without letting the situation spiral further out of control. He could see the outline of Ms. Henderson's hand, the fingers clawing at the air with an eerie, almost desperate motion.
Taking a deep breath, he used all his strength to push against the door, trying to force it back into place. He wedged more furniture against the door, feeling the strain in his muscles as he fought to keep it secure. Each second felt like an eternity as he struggled to hold the door in place.
Finally, with a loud groan, he managed to push the door back into its frame and secure it once more. The hand retreated, leaving Ivan alone with his racing thoughts and pounding heart.
He staggered back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The terror of what he had just seen left him shaken and exhausted. Ivan knew he couldn't afford to be complacent. The situation was deteriorating rapidly, and he had to stay vigilant if he hoped to survive.
The sight of Ms. Henderson's hand reaching out had made it clear that the danger was very real and very close. As he looked around his apartment, he understood that he needed to act quickly to secure his safety and find a way out before it was too late.