Chapter 2 Emergence of Undead
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The taxi driver flung the car door open and shouted angrily, "It's not my fault! This lady was walking in the middle of the road. She didn't even pay attention to the horn I kept honking!"
His frustration was evident as he continued, gesturing toward the car. "I had to swerve and brake hard to avoid hitting her, but she suddenly rushed toward the car! If you don't believe me, check the street's surveillance cameras."
A voice from the growing crowd interjected, firm but calm. "This isn't the time to argue. Someone call an ambulance! We need to get this woman to the hospital right away."
"Yes, you're right," another person agreed.
The gathered crowd quickly sprang into action. Some dialed for an ambulance and the police, while others moved closer to the unconscious woman, anxiously checking for signs of life.
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Sylas watched the commotion on the street from his window, taking in every detail. He had no intention of going down to join the chaos.
Moments later, the wailing sirens of an ambulance and a police car pierced the air as they arrived at the scene. The medical team began preparing to move the unconscious woman onto a stretcher. But just as they were about to lift her into the ambulance, the woman's reddened eyes flew open. Without warning, she grabbed the hand of a man standing nearby and sank her teeth into his flesh.
"Agghhh!" the man cried out in pain, stumbling back.
"What's going on?" someone in the crowd shouted.
"What happened?"
Hearing the commotion, the taxi driver—who was being questioned by the police—turned around. His face twisted in alarm as he yelled, "See? I told you! There's something wrong with her. I think she's a lunatic!"
Panic rippled through the crowd as people began scattering, fearful that the woman might attack them next. The police officers moved swiftly to restrain her, but the situation quickly spiraled out of control. In her frenzy, the woman bit and scratched several people, including members of the medical team and the police.
Finally, one of the officers struck her unconscious. The medical team wasted no time loading her into the ambulance, which sped off with its sirens blaring. The police took the taxi driver into custody for further questioning and left the scene. Gradually, the street returned to its usual calm.
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Standing by the window, Sylas looked down at the street, his brows furrowed as he replayed the chaotic scene from earlier. A sense of unease settled over him. Something about it didn't sit right.
His phone buzzed, jolting him back to reality. Seeing Kaelith's name on the screen, Sylas quickly answered. "Boss," he said.
"Sylas, where are you right now?" Kaelith's voice was sharp, tinged with urgency.
"I'm at home," Sylas replied, his own tone shifting as he sensed the seriousness in Kaelith's voice.
"Listen carefully," Kaelith said, his voice firm. "Lock all your doors and windows. Don't go outside for now."
Without hesitation, Sylas moved to secure every door and window. "What's going on, Boss? Is everything alright?"
There was a pause on the other end, broken only by the sound of hurried footsteps. Kaelith was clearly on the move. "The epidemic which is spreading right now is not simple. Those infected by this... illness are acting violently—waking up, biting, and attacking people. Sylas, I'm afraid this isn't as simple as it seems."
Sylas froze, his mind flashing back to the woman on the street earlier. "Boss," he said urgently, "something similar happened right outside my place. A woman attacked several people after waking up."
Sylas recounted what had happened earlier to Kaelith.
"It's good you stayed inside," Kaelith said, his tone grim.
Sylas hesitated, then asked in a low, serious voice, "Boss, is this what I think it is?"
Kaelith stopped, the faint background noise on the line fading. "I'm not certain," he admitted. "But we can't take any chances. Sylas, I don't have much time, so listen carefully. Whatever happens, don't give up. Make your way to the capital when it's safe—I'll be waiting for you there. The network is already unstable, and I doubt we'll be able to contact each other again. Take care, Sylas."
Before Sylas could respond, Kaelith had already hung up. He seemed to be busy either something.
"Boss? Hello?" he called out, but the call had already ended. Sylas stared at his phone, Kaelith's words echoing in his mind. With a sinking feeling, he knew that whatever was coming next would change everything.
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Sylas immediately rushed to the kitchen and checked his supplies.
"Enough for a week," he muttered, relieved but still on edge. Without wasting any time, he opened the kitchen cabinet and pulled out two sharp knives. After testing their weight in his hands, he set them aside and headed down to the basement.
Ignoring the layers of dust, Sylas rummaged through old, forgotten belongings until he found what he was looking for—a sturdy, meter-and-a-half-long metal rod. He wiped it down quickly and carried it back upstairs.
Back in his room, Sylas changed into comfortable clothes and sturdy boots, preparing for whatever might come. He slid one knife into his boot and tucked the other inside his jacket. The metal rod felt reassuringly solid in his grip as he made his way to his bedroom window.
Standing by the window, he scanned the street below while refreshing his phone for the latest news. The internet was painfully slow, but reports trickled in—enough to paint a grim picture.
The epidemic was spreading rapidly across the country. People were succumbing to madness, attacking anyone in sight with bites and scratches. Hospitals were in chaos, overflowing with patients behaving violently. Nurses and doctors were overwhelmed, struggling to manage the growing crisis. Police and armed forces had been deployed to public areas to maintain order, but the situation seemed to be spiraling out of control.
In just a few days, the world had changed completely. The peace and calm that once defined everyday life were gone, replaced by fear and uncertainty.
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Sylas didn't sleep well that night. Still dressed and prepared, he napped lightly, leaning against the headboard, the metal rod within reach.
January 9, 2025
Before dawn, screams jolted him awake. He moved quickly to the window and saw lights flickering on in several houses as people rushed outside in panic.
"Someone broke in!"
"There's a thief!"
"F…k, it's another lunatic! He's biting people!"
The shouts echoed through the street. Sylas spotted four crazed individuals attacking anyone they could reach.
He stayed inside, watching the chaos for a moment before heading downstairs to grab some bread and water. After eating quickly, he returned to the window, keeping watch.
The commotion spread as more people fled their homes, and nearby police officers arrived to contain the situation. But it was clear the disorder was escalating, with reports of more attacks spilling into the surrounding streets.
Sylas tightened his grip on the metal rod, his unease growing. The world outside was falling apart.
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The internet was noticeably slower today, but Sylas continued browsing the news with patience. The reports were grim—people were going crazy not just in his country but across borders, with the situation slowly spreading to other nations.
By evening, things had deteriorated further. Despite the growing crisis, there was still no official information from virologists or epidemiologists about the source or a possible cure for the epidemic. Instead, the internet was now flooded with sensational articles like "Emergence of the Undead," "End of the World," "Apocalypse," and "Zombie Outbreak."
The pattern was clear—those bitten were turning into the same crazed attackers. The infection spread through bites, and it was accelerating.
Sylas's face darkened as he read the news, occasionally glancing down at the chaotic scene unfolding on the street below.
Crack. Crack. Thump.
A sudden noise broke his focus. His heart skipped a beat as the sound echoed through the house. Gripping the metal rod tightly, he moved silently, descending the stairs. The noise seemed to be coming from the kitchen.
Approaching cautiously, Sylas peeked through the kitchen door. His breath caught. Outside the window, a middle-aged man with reddened eyes and a vacant, soulless expression was scratching and thumping at the glass. The man's movements were erratic and unnatural, as if driven by some primal urge.
Sweat trickled down Sylas's temple as he tightened his grip on the rod, his mind racing.