Day 59

7th July 2026

Was it meant to be like this?

You've been here since yesterday. Or maybe longer—I've lost track of time. It's strange, though. You don't speak. You listen, and maybe that's what I needed—someone to hear me out.

You know they say a person can survive seven to ten days without food or water. That's what I've been telling myself every day since I got stuck here, clinging to the hope that someone would come. That if I could just hold on, I'd make it out alive.

But just like I told you yesterday when you first came in. it isn't about endurance—it's about the will to keep going when everything inside you screams to stop.

I do wish that I could have saved that sandwich for later and my want for water is the same one as when I want to have something cold and bubbly on a hot summer day. But all I can have right now is a cut-open bottle to lick the last drops.

Let me tell you what it's like when the world falls apart and as you watch every part of it.

Day 1: The Newsroom

"Still haven't finished that?" Johan asked, leaning over my desk with a smirk. His tone was light, but his eyes betrayed the exhaustion from our late-night research.

"Saving it for sunrise," I replied sarcastically, biting into the cold sandwich I'd been hoarding.

Johan grinned. "We've got something, Aarav. This might be it—the connection we've been looking for."

"You're seriously betting this all on a decade-old murder case?" I asked skeptically.

Johan had been chasing a theory: a family's dark past, a revenge-fuelled killing, and an escaped father. Somehow, he believed this tied back to the virus. It was a leap, but we'd seen stranger things.

"I'm telling you, this is it!" he said, practically buzzing with excitement.

"Sure. Let's celebrate by leaving this room for the first time in 12 hours," I joked.

We stepped out into the corridor, and the chaos hit us like a wave. The hum of the office was gone, replaced by frantic shouts, pounding footsteps, and the unmistakable wails of the dying.

"Tell me that's not what I think it is," I whispered.

Johan's face paled. "We're miles away from the Dead Zone… it can't be here."

But it was. The chaos outside told us everything. The infection had reached us.

The building erupted in panic. Thudding footsteps echoed as people fled. A guardrail above shattered, and bodies tumbled to the floor below like discarded toys.

"This is insane!" I shouted.

Johan grabbed my arm. "We need to move. Get to the terrace. Higher ground is our only chance."

We ran. The crowd around the elevator was thick, a frantic mass of people desperate to escape.

I didn't even know this many people worked on the same floor as I did.

And then I saw them—up close, real, unstoppable. They weren't just biting; they were devouring. Flesh was torn from bodies in chunks, blood spraying like some grotesque horror movie brought to life. They didn't stop, didn't slow down. One victim fell, then another, and before I could process what I was seeing, the fallen were back on their feet, twisted and feral. Their transformation wasn't slow like in the reports. It happened in moments, their movements becoming frenzied and wild. With every second, their numbers grew with every blink, spreading like fire, unstoppable and all-consuming.

"Back to the newsroom!" Johan shouted, dragging me by the arm.

The chaos behind us was deafening—screams, growls, and the thunder of feet. But as we dashed through the corridor, I realized something—most of the zombies were still feeding on the others. A few had noticed us, and they were closing in fast.

Johan held the door open, urging me inside. "Hurry! GET IN! NOW!".

I was so close when someone pushed me from behind.

"AHH! F****" I stumbled into the room, and the door slammed shut. I glided for a few meters before falling in.

I stood up immediately, but the impact from the fall and the sudden rush of dizziness left me disoriented. For a few seconds, everything was a blur, as if I were strapped to a seesaw, jerking between falling and rising. Through the haze, I could hear Johan's frantic screams for help, piercing the chaos around me.

When I gained my sanity, I could see Johan banging his hands on the door. I tried to open it but was unable to do so. Might be because of the hit, the door was locked and the nob broke. I could see the blood rushing out from his neck and thighs. In a few seconds, the echo for help became just a scream a very loud scream.

You can't imagine what it feels like to see that and survive. Or maybe you can.

In the beginning, the fear was so overwhelming that I lost track of everything. I couldn't tell when night had fallen or when I had crawled under the desk. Everything blurred together, my mind consumed by the terror outside.

That night, I stayed under the desk, listening to the sounds outside. Footsteps. Moans. The wet slap of flesh against bone. Johan's coat button scratches against the glass door. It swayed back and forth, back and forth, like a cruel reminder of what had happened.

I tried to sleep, but the silence inside was worse than the noise outside. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't even close my eyes.

The hours stretched on endlessly. I didn't know if it was the darkness or my fear, but time felt distorted. All I could do was wait. Wait for the morning, wait for someone to come, wait for anything to change.