May 14, 2026
Morning light crept over the horizon, casting a cold, pale glow over the river and the abandoned landscape stretching alongside it. Lucy's eyes opened slowly, her body stiff from the night spent on the hard surface of the boat. Around her, the group stirred, each of them showing signs of exhaustion from the constant days of fear and flight.
The river had offered them a brief reprieve, but as Lucy scanned the murky waters and the forested banks, an uneasy feeling settled in her gut. Safety was a distant memory, a fleeting idea growing thinner by the hour. Yet, she couldn't let that discourage her, not with these people relying on her.
The previous day had left a clear impact. Sam and Frank sat across from each other, sharing a silent understanding—both men exhausted, their faces shadowed by grime and worry. David stretched, casting a glance toward Lucy, the weight of unspoken questions in his gaze.
"What's the plan?" David's voice was steady, but Lucy could detect a faint tremor beneath it.
Lucy took a deep breath, the crisp morning air biting at her lungs. "We keep moving upriver, stay as far from populated areas as we can. If we're lucky, we might find somewhere… untouched." She hesitated on the word, knowing how rare it was becoming.
Frank leaned forward, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the boat's edge. "You really think there's anywhere left?"
Lucy glanced away, watching the water ripple as the boat slowly drifted. "I don't know. But we need to keep trying. We need to believe there's something out there."
A silence settled over them, heavy with doubt. But for now, that silence was broken by the faintest glimmer of hope, an ember that Lucy clung to despite everything.
As the boat glided forward, they passed by overgrown riverbanks, where tall reeds swayed in the breeze. The day seemed deceptively peaceful, a calm that belied the chaos gripping the world beyond the river. Every so often, they saw signs of human presence—abandoned docks, rusting cars submerged in shallow waters, small houses with broken windows and doors ajar. The remnants of civilization loomed on the banks, haunting specters of a world left behind.
The radio they'd managed to scavenge from an abandoned car crackled to life, startling them all. David fumbled with the dial, tuning it carefully until a voice came through, faint and distorted.
"This is… Station 87. Reporting… new outbreaks in the Midwest… New York… Boston. Hospitals… overwhelmed. Stay… indoors if you can…"
The voice faded, and another transmission crackled over the static, this one more desperate. "—infection spreading faster than anticipated. Reports… rural areas… no region safe. Survivors advised to isolate… repeat, isolate and avoid all contact—"
The transmission fell silent, leaving a void of despair that pressed down on the group like a weight. Lucy's hands tightened on the wheel, her mind racing. Even the most isolated places were falling, and the infection was no longer limited to dense urban areas.
"We're running out of time," Sam muttered, staring at the radio as if it might hold some answer to their predicament.
Lucy turned her gaze to the forest stretching along the bank, thoughts swirling. There were whispers of safe zones, places unlisted on official maps, rumors carried by the few travelers they'd encountered. If they could find one, it might be their only chance.
As the sun climbed higher, the river began to widen, opening into a broad, shallow bay. The water was clear, reflecting the sky like a mirror, but as they drifted closer to the shore, they noticed something unusual. Bloated figures lay partially submerged in the shallows, limbs twisted unnaturally. The sight made Lucy's stomach twist, a chill racing down her spine.
David leaned over the edge, eyes wide with horror. "Are they…?"
"Dead," Lucy whispered, though she could barely bring herself to look. "It looks like the infection reached them, too."
The realization settled over them all—there was no escape, not even in the isolated stretches of the wild. Virobacterium cataclysmica prionis was relentless, carving a path of devastation that spared no one. They were navigating a world in which safety was an illusion, a lie they clung to only to stave off despair.
"What do we do now?" Frank's voice was hollow, his eyes fixed on the bodies strewn along the shore.
"We keep going," Lucy replied, steeling herself. "There's nowhere else to go."
They pressed onward, keeping their eyes trained on the river ahead, their minds haunted by the visions of death and decay. The infected were more than a disease now; they were an omen, a constant reminder of the nightmare encroaching upon every corner of the world.
As the day wore on, they encountered more signs of ruin. The skeletal remains of bridges, sunken boats, half-submerged buildings—all markers of the speed and ferocity with which the infection had spread. Lucy felt the weight of responsibility bearing down on her shoulders. Every moment she spent leading this group felt like balancing on a knife's edge, every decision fraught with risk.
Finally, as the sun began to dip toward the horizon, casting the world in hues of gold and crimson, they spotted something in the distance: a small, rocky island jutting out of the water. It was covered in dense foliage, with tall trees providing natural cover. It was isolated, and more importantly, it looked uninhabited.
Lucy turned to the others, her voice filled with cautious hope. "We could make camp there, just for the night. It'll give us a chance to rest."
The group agreed, grateful for the respite. They steered the boat toward the island, their spirits lifted by the prospect of solid ground and a night away from the water. As they docked and climbed ashore, Lucy took in the surroundings, noting the thick vegetation that would provide cover from any passing infected.
They set up a small camp among the trees, each person falling into silent routines of setting up beds, gathering sticks for a small fire, and organizing their supplies. The atmosphere was tense but calm, the quiet of the island a balm against the chaos they'd left behind.
That evening, they gathered around a small fire, the flickering flames casting shadows over their tired faces. For the first time in days, they allowed themselves to relax, sharing stories of their lives before the outbreak, each memory a bittersweet reminder of what they'd lost.
As the fire crackled, Sam leaned forward, a somber look in his eyes. "Do you think anyone else has made it? Out there, I mean?"
Lucy met his gaze, the same question gnawing at her. "I don't know. But I have to believe there's someone. Somewhere. Maybe we'll find them… or they'll find us."
The night was quiet, the distant sound of water lapping against the shore the only reminder of the world beyond their island refuge. For a few hours, they found solace in each other's company, drawing strength from the shared bond of survival.
But as they drifted into an uneasy sleep, a new terror waited in the shadows. Unbeknownst to them, a single infected figure had washed ashore further down the beach, its movements slow and jerky, its eyes fixed on the distant glow of the fire.
As the night wore on, the creature crawled closer, its breath rasping, its limbs twisted and broken yet driven by an unyielding hunger. By dawn, it would reach the camp, a silent harbinger of the darkness they could never truly escape.