Freyah climbed the roof using the ladder, her gaze sharp as she scanned the surroundings.
Harley followed closely behind. When he finally reached the top, he saw Monica and Gwenette standing frozen, their faces pale with horror.
He turned his head in the direction they were staring.
Thick smoke rose from every corner of the city. From their vantage point, they could see the second street below, littered with wrecked cars, some flipped over, others completely crushed. Zombies roamed aimlessly among the chaos, their decaying forms stumbling along as if searching for something. Further in the distance, several tall buildings had been reduced to smoldering ruins, as though something massive had crashed into their upper floors.
Monica's trembling voice broke the silence. "Oh my God..."
"Zombie apocalypse," Freyah muttered grimly. She took a deep breath before explaining, her voice steady but cold. "It's just like what you see in movies. If you get bitten or ingest their blood, you'll turn into one of them."
The group listened in stunned silence as Freyah continued.
"Their vision is blurred at a distance, but within a ten-meter radius, they can see clearly—even in the dark. They can hear us just like normal humans, but their sense of smell and touch is completely dead. As for taste… they crave only fresh, raw meat. Human brains are their favorite, of course." She mimicked the shape of a gun against her temple, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Their classic weakness? The head. Bang! Destroy the brain, and they're done."
"But there's a twist." Freyah gestured toward a zombie wearing a torn construction worker's uniform shuffling across the street. Its jaw moved up and down, making faint murmuring sounds.
"See that one? He's talking... or rather, repeating. Some zombies can speak, but only in a loop. They echo the last words that mattered to them before they fully turned—like a broken recorder stuck on repeat. But not all of them talk. If you hear someone speaking, don't assume they're human right away. It might be a trap."
The three of them exchanged uneasy glances but remained silent, absorbing the grim reality.
Freyah's voice softened. "And then... a few days from now, you'll start seeing mutant zombies. They're stronger, faster, and a whole lot deadlier. Different abilities, too. Their weak point is still the brain, but it won't be in their heads anymore. You'll have to figure out where it is."
Harley's voice cut through the heavy silence. "Wait... How do you know all this?"
Freyah paused. Her expression shifted, eyes distant, haunted.
"I regressed," she whispered, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. "Six hours before the apocalypse began... I came back."
Monica and Gwenette stared at her, disbelief warring with the raw emotion in her words.
"You... really came back from the future?" Monica's voice was almost a whisper.
"Yes."
There was a long pause before Monica and Gwenette suddenly rushed forward, wrapping their arms around Freyah. The force of their embrace nearly knocked her off balance.
"Hey—wait! That's dangerous—"
Her protests died as Monica buried her face into Freyah's shoulder, trembling.
"That must've been one hell of a future," Gwenette whispered, her voice cracking with emotion.
"Our lazy bear... I can't even imagine what you went through," Monica added, sobbing quietly. "Something we can't even begin to understand."
Freyah's lips parted, but no words came out. The warmth of their concern felt foreign—almost unbearable. It had been so long since someone had held her like this... cared for her like this. She had forgotten how to respond to comfort. Forgotten how to cry.
Instead, she raised both hands and awkwardly patted their backs as they wept into her shoulders.
A part of her chest ached—a strange, conflicting feeling. Vulnerability. But maybe... just maybe... this meant she was no longer living in that nightmare. No longer the lone survivor in a dying world.
Harley, who had remained silent, looked away from the heartwarming scene. His gaze drifted back to the city, watching the smoke rise from the ruins. His voice, however, was a whisper only Freyah caught.
"Auntie..."
Freyah sighed deeply in her heart. The nightmare wasn't completely gone. Not yet.
---
Moments later...
They sat together in the living room, the tension lighter but still present. Gwenette, Monica, and Harley held a printed file enclosed in a thick, clear folder.
"I printed out everything you need to know for survival during the apocalypse," Freyah explained, watching them flip through the pages.
Monica and Gwenette's eyes were still puffy from crying, but their focus remained on the documents.
"Gwen, Nica, I already texted your families," Freyah added. "But... I don't know if they'll believe what I told them."
Both girls immediately grabbed their phones, dialing frantically.
"Mom? Mom! Are you okay? Where are you?" Monica's voice shook, relief flooding her face as she heard her mother's voice on the other end.
"Grandpa! Yes, I'm safe! What about you and Elisa? You're safe too? Thank goodness!" Gwenette echoed, her relief evident.
Freyah glanced at Harley, who was still pressing his phone to his ear, his expression growing more desperate with each unanswered call. She sighed and finally spoke.
"Harley."
The boy jolted at the sound of his name. "Y-Yes? How do you know my name?"
"I spoke with your aunt last night."
His eyes widened with hope. "You did?! So that's why one of the missed calls got through! Is she safe? Did you tell her I'm alive? Auntie Carla—she's all I have left. My parents died in an accident when I was young, and she—she's always taken care of me. Please... what did she say?"
Freyah hesitated. She hated this part.
"I... told her you were safe."
Harley's eyes lit up, but Freyah's next words crushed the light from them.
"But... she's already turned." Her voice softened, but there was no easy way to say it. "Before she lost herself, she wanted me to tell you to survive... to live, Harley. She was proud of you."
Silence.
Harley staggered back, the phone slipping from his fingers.
"No... This can't be true. This... can't be real—"
Suddenly, he slapped himself hard across the face, startling everyone.
The sharp sound echoed in the room.
Then, to everyone's shock, he bowed deeply, trembling from head to toe.
"Thank you... for saving me last night... And... I'm sorry for calling you a murderer." His voice cracked.
He stayed bowed, his shoulders shaking.
After a long pause, he finally asked, "There's... there's no cure, right? Nothing to turn someone back after they turn into a zombie?"
Freyah thought back to the night before—when Florence's healing powers had failed to bring back a turned victim. 'Though, he was trembling last night, he was still able to observe all of that.'
"No. There isn't."
Harley straightened. His face was pale but determined, though tears flowed freely down his cheeks.
"I see. If Auntie Carla... if she's really become a zombie... then I need to give her peace. She wouldn't want to hurt anyone. Not like this."
Freyah's breath caught. She hadn't expected that. She thought he would break. Deny it. Run straight into danger. But this boy... though he still ended up going there, but it was for a reason she never thought as young as him would thought. Someone who had lost an important person in his life and who was just experiencing the apocalypse for the first time in his life.
"Thank you but I need to leave now." Harley turned around. But before he could reach the door.
"You're not going alone," she said, lifting him off his feet like a sack of potatoes despite his struggling protests.
"Wha—?! Put me down! I have to—"
"I'm going with you. And after, we're taking a trip somewhere," she added with a smirk.
Gwenette frowned. "Freyah—what trip?"
Freyah's eyes darkened but softened toward them. "I'll explain later. Guard the supplies while I'm gone, okay? Your highness, I'll leave them in your care."
Behind them, Florence, the mysterious man from the previous night, watched the entire exchange silently, munching on fries.
Monica and Gwenette blinked.
"The... super hot guy from last night?!"
"No. I'm going with you." Florence rejected without second thoughts.