The adrenaline surged through my veins as I stared at the two lifeless bodies on the fire escape, my hands still trembling, slick with sweat. My breath came in rapid, shallow bursts, but the reality of what I had just done—what I had just survived—hadn't sunk in yet. I couldn't focus on that. I couldn't process the blood or the bone-chilling growls still echoing in my mind. I just needed to get out of there.
The thought of Isla—of what she had said—flashed through my mind, but it was drowned out by a much louder, much more primal instinct: I have to hide. I couldn't go to her. I couldn't even save myself. I can't help her.
With a panicked breath, I spun around and bolted back up the fire escape, tripping over my own feet as I climbed. My legs were jelly beneath me, my heart hammering as I threw myself back into the building, slamming the door shut behind me. My hands fumbled for the lock, but the metal latch was broken, bent from where the creature had nearly torn it off earlier.
The door. The door is broken. Panic flared in my chest, and I scrambled to find something—anything—to keep it closed. I dragged the small table from the hallway, shoving it up against the door with all my strength, the sharp edge digging into my palms as I pushed. My breath came in ragged gasps, my body trembling with the effort, but it wasn't enough.
I stumbled back, looking around wildly. There had to be something else—something heavy, something that would keep it out. I grabbed an old chair, flinging it on top of the table, then yanked down a shelf from the wall, the contents clattering to the floor as I piled it in front of the door. My hands were shaking so badly I could hardly grip anything, but I didn't stop. I couldn't stop.
I heard something from the hallway. A low growl, distant but unmistakable.
No, no, no, no... I threw a box against the door, my breath hitching, and grabbed a broomstick, wedging it under the handle as a makeshift brace. It wouldn't hold for long.
I collapsed to the floor, panting, my back pressed against the barricade. My arms were wrapped around my knees, my whole body shaking uncontrollably. I can't do this. I can't survive this.
Tears streamed down my face, hot and silent, blurring my vision as I curled in on myself. My hands covered my ears, trying to block out the sounds of the creatures outside—the moans, the scraping, the constant reminder that they were out there, waiting.
I thought about Isla again—about her panicked voice on the phone, the sobs, the fear, the way she had cried out that she didn't want to die, didn't want to turn into one of those things. But the thought of leaving this apartment, of facing what was out there—it was too much. I wasn't brave. I wasn't strong. I had barely survived a single encounter.
How could I possibly face the world beyond these walls? I couldn't.
I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my hands harder against my ears, rocking slightly as I tried to force the thoughts away. I'm not like Isla. I never was. She had always been the one people gravitated toward, the one who lit up rooms with her smile, with her energy. She was the one who had everything—the talent, the friends, the life that I had always watched from the sidelines. I was the shadow, the quiet one, the one who never measured up.
I choked on a sob, burying my face in my arms. I can't go out there. I can't help her.
I knew what was waiting for me beyond that door—more of those monsters, more death, more terror. And I couldn't face it. I wasn't like the people in the movies who fought their way through the apocalypse, who became heroes. I wasn't cut out for this.
I stayed curled up against the barricade, every muscle in my body taut, my breath shallow. Outside, I heard a distant scream—someone else's life unraveling, someone else falling victim to this nightmare. I flinched, squeezing my eyes tighter.
I was too scared. Too fragile. I can't save Isla. I couldn't even save myself.
And with that thought, I pressed my back harder against the barricade, as if I could block out the entire world. Because if I didn't move, if I didn't think, maybe—just maybe—I could pretend for a little while longer that I was still safe. That I wasn't already lost.