Part 1: A Morning Like Any Other
The faint sunlight filtered through the wrought-iron lattice of the windows in the Alam family home, casting intricate patterns on the tiled floor. Gulberg 3 was alive with the early hum of Lahore, the occasional chatter of street vendors mixing with the sharp blares of honking motorcycles. Inside the house, Subhana Alam scurried between the kitchen and the dining room, balancing a tray laden with chai and biscuits for the elders.
"Ahmed, get off the Wi-Fi! Your sisters can't attend their classes because you're hogging the bandwidth," she shouted towards the boys' room. The dull thud of something being thrown against a door—probably Aysha retaliating with a book—followed a muffled argument between Ahmed and Aysha.
Muhammad sat cross-legged in the corner of the lounge, flipping through his biology book, trying to focus on next week's test. Around him was chaos. The little ones, Afeef and Mohid, had sprawled across the carpet in a mock wrestling match. Mehmood was hunched over his phone, furiously typing in some group chat. Across from him, Shawaiz laughed heartily at a political meme he insisted on showing Khalid, who barely looked up from the newspaper.
"Stop looking at stupid jokes, Shawaiz," snapped Sajid, Muhammad's father, from his usual spot at the dining table. He adjusted his reading glasses and glanced at Muhammad. "And you—how's your studying going?"
Muhammad rubbed his forehead. "It'd be going better if the house wasn't a zoo." His comment earned a chorus of laughter, and Aysha, now storming into the lounge, chimed in, "Says the guy who can barely pass chemistry."
"Enough, enough!" Subhana interrupted with a laugh. "I have tea for everyone, but if this noise doesn't settle, I'll start with Khalid bhai and leave the rest of you to fight over scraps." She nodded respectfully to Khalid, the eldest of Sajid's brothers, who gave her a small smile.
Majid, having arrived from Dubai barely a week ago, lounged in the veranda, looking perpetually out of place. He called out, "Subhana baji, where's my favorite halwa? You promised me!"
As the banter carried on, Muhammad's phone buzzed. Picking it up, he saw a notification from his classmate.
Muzammil: Weird stuff's happening on Mall Road. My driver says some lunatics are attacking people—literally biting them.
Muhammad frowned and responded.
Muhammad: Biting? You're joking, right?
The reply was almost immediate.
Muzammil: I'm not kidding. It's everywhere now. People are saying it's spreading fast. Stay inside.
He glanced out the window. The street looked the same—vendors setting up stalls, the occasional passing car. No sign of "biting lunatics." But still, something gnawed at his gut.
"Mehmood," he called out. "Anything weird on your Insta or newsfeeds?"
"Huh?" Mehmood barely looked up from his screen. "Just some influencer drama. What's up?"
Before Muhammad could reply, the TV, which had been quietly playing a morning talk show, blared with the words, "Breaking News!"
The room went silent as everyone turned to the screen. A news anchor, pale-faced and frantic, delivered the report.
"There are unconfirmed reports of riots breaking out in multiple areas of Lahore, including Mall Road, Liberty Market, and portions of Defence. Eyewitnesses describe violent mobs attacking pedestrians and... and eating them. Authorities are advising all citizens to stay indoors and secure their homes. We will keep you updated."
"Aik aur dhamaal," muttered Majid, shaking his head dismissively. "Nothing to worry about."
"Eating them?" Shazia echoed, her face contorted in disbelief.
Sajid slammed his palm on the table, silencing the muttering. "Close all the doors. Lock the gates."
The chatter ceased as the reality began to sink in. Muhammad stood, his grip tightening around his phone. Through the window, the street still looked normal, but the piercing wail of a distant siren hinted at the chaos beginning to spill over.
Then, a high-pitched scream shattered the morning air.
Part 2: First Hints of Danger
The scream outside cut through the room like a knife, silencing everyone. It wasn't the distant cry of a vendor calling out their wares or a playful shout of neighborhood kids. This was different—raw, terrified, and desperate.
Subhana dropped the tea tray with a startled gasp, the glass cups smashing against the tiled floor. Sajid stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly behind him.
"What the hell was that?" Shawaiz muttered, craning his neck toward the window.
"Get away from there!" Khalid barked with uncharacteristic sharpness, his eyes narrowing as if trying to place the sound.
Majid snorted nervously. "Screams? Lahore is filled with them every day. Protests, robberies, God knows what else. Don't panic over nothing—"
"Shut up, Majid," Subhana snapped, clutching her scarf with trembling hands. "This doesn't feel right."
Sajid walked to the door leading to the veranda, his movements cautious but firm. "Stay inside," he ordered. "Nobody steps out, understood?"
"But, Baba, maybe someone's hurt—" Muhammad began, but his father cut him off with a stern glare.
"Not a word. You're not stepping outside for anything."
Muhammad clenched his jaw and looked toward Mehmood, who had frozen mid-scroll on his phone. "Check Twitter," Muhammad urged, keeping his voice low. "See if anything's trending about this."
While Mehmood scrambled to obey, Ahmed was already at the front window, peering through the curtains. "Guys..." he said, his voice tight, "something's happening outside."
"Aysha, get them all back," Subhana said urgently, stepping closer to her younger children and pulling Afeef and Mohid close. Her fingers dug into their arms as if trying to anchor them to her.
Ahmed flinched back from the window, his voice faltering. "It's Bilal chacha... He's on the street. But—"
"But what?" Muhammad snapped, stepping closer.
Ahmed's face had gone pale. "He's…he's covered in blood. And there's someone chasing him."
Majid let out a nervous laugh, backing toward the wall. "This is some drama. I'm telling you—police will have it under control in an hour. It's not like the end of the world!"
"No police is coming for anyone," Khalid said darkly, his voice shaking. "Can't you feel it? Something's wrong."
Before anyone could argue, the distant wail of sirens grew closer, layering over new sounds—shouts, crashes, and something more guttural.
"Mehmood!" Muhammad turned to his brother, who had gone as pale as Ahmed. "What's trending? What are people saying?"
Mehmood stammered, "People... people are posting videos. It's… Oh God, look at this…" His shaking hands barely held onto his phone as he brought up a video.
On the small screen, Muhammad saw grainy footage of Liberty Market. People were screaming and running. Others—faces contorted, eyes bulging, clothes drenched in blood—lunged at them, sinking teeth into flesh. One man had his throat ripped open, blood spraying the pavement as he gurgled and collapsed.
"Oh my God," Aysha whispered. She looked away, clapping a hand over her mouth.
"It's fake," Shawaiz blurted, stepping closer to see for himself. But his bravado faltered, and his voice grew quieter. "It's just fake. Gory movie scenes they're passing off as real, right?"
"They're calling them zombies," Mehmood mumbled, barely above a whisper. "People are saying they're zombies."
"Nonsense!" Sajid barked. "Don't talk rubbish!"
Before the argument could spiral, a thunderous bang on the metal gate outside made everyone jump. It came again, louder this time. Subhana yelped, yanking Afeef and Mohid closer to her, and the kids cried out in fear.
"What was that?" Aysha said, backing into a corner with her phone clutched tightly to her chest.
Sajid's face hardened. "Everyone stay back."
He opened the latch on the main door to the veranda cautiously. Muhammad followed, holding his breath as they stepped outside to the iron gates. Through the narrow gap, they saw Bilal chacha slamming his fists against the gate.
"Open the gate! Please!" Bilal's voice was hoarse and frantic, and his disheveled kurta was slick with sweat and blood. His arm hung unnaturally, clearly broken, and his eyes darted behind him wildly.
"Bilal sahib," Sajid called out cautiously, "what happened? Are you hurt?"
"There's no time!" Bilal screamed. "Please, Sajid bhai! For God's sake, let me in! They're coming! They're coming!"
"What's coming?" Muhammad asked, stepping closer.
Bilal froze, eyes locked on Muhammad, before letting out a ragged sob. He stumbled back from the gate, revealing what was behind him.
A man—or what was left of one—staggered into view. Its head tilted at an unnatural angle, chunks of flesh missing from its jaw. Blood-streaked hands reached forward. Another figure shuffled out next to it, a woman with half her face torn off. The movement was erratic, unnatural, and distinctly inhuman.
"Oh, Allah," Sajid whispered, pulling Muhammad back. "Get inside. Now!"
Muhammad tried to step forward again, but Bilal's desperate cries ended in a horrifying scream as the creatures lunged. Teeth sank into his shoulder. Another one pulled his broken arm at an impossible angle.
The entire Alam family, standing in the doorway, stared in frozen horror as the creatures ripped into Bilal's body, shredding flesh as blood sprayed across the road. His cries became wet gurgles before he fell silent.
"Slam the door!" Sajid roared, shoving Muhammad back into the house.
The family stumbled inside, slamming the door shut just as the creatures began clawing at the gate, their guttural snarls echoing through the air.
"What are they?" Mehmood whimpered, his face drenched with sweat.
"No one leaves this house," Sajid declared, his face stony. "Not for any reason."
As the banging on the gate grew louder, Muhammad stood in the middle of the room, trembling as the reality set in: the world outside was crumbling, and no one was safe.
Part 3: City in Panic
The iron gate rattled outside as the snarls grew louder, accompanied by wet, guttural sounds that chilled everyone to the bone. Inside, the Alam family clung together in the living room, the tension so thick it felt like a physical weight.
Maryam, the wife of Majid, knelt beside the sofa where her sons Moiz and Mohid clutched at her arms, their small faces pressed against her shawl. Her lips moved in silent prayer as she held back her tears. "This is punishment," she whispered. "Allah save us all. This is a punishment for our sins."
"Enough of that!" Shazia snapped, pacing furiously by the dining table. Zahid's wife rarely lost her composure, but this was no ordinary situation. Her sharp features were tight with fear. "Don't start blaming punishment and sins. This is—this is madness, that's what this is! Some kind of disease!" She glanced toward her sons, Shawaiz, Zaid, and Shamir, all standing silently near the window, their faces pale.
"You're scaring the kids!" Naseem chimed in, the wife of Khalid and the eldest among the aunts. She adjusted her dupatta and wrapped it tightly around her shoulders, more as a shield than for modesty. "Shazia, stop yelling. We all need to stay calm and figure out what to do!"
"How do we stay calm with that outside?" Shazia shot back, gesturing toward the gate, which groaned as something slammed against it.
Sajid stepped forward, raising his hands. His voice was calm, but the strain was evident. "Shazia's right—this could be a disease. But screaming won't change anything. We lock this house down, stay together, and keep everyone safe. Majid, double-check the back doors."
"I'll do it," Muhammad said, stepping forward, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.
"No!" Subhana grabbed his arm, her eyes wide with panic. "You're not going anywhere!"
"I'm just going to check the back doors, Amma," Muhammad replied, trying to sound confident, though his throat was dry. He glanced at his younger cousins and Mehmood, all huddled together, their fear evident. If they all stayed frozen, waiting for rescue, they wouldn't survive.
Sajid placed a firm hand on Muhammad's shoulder. "I'll check with Majid. You stay here with the others."
"Where's Zahid?" Shazia asked, wringing her hands. "What if this reaches Dubai? He's alone there—he doesn't know what's happening here! Khalid bhai, you were on the phone with him earlier, weren't you?"
"He's safer in Dubai," Khalid replied quietly, staring out of the window. His brow was furrowed, his expression grim. "If what we saw happens there too, he'll have resources we don't. Stop worrying about Zahid. Worry about the 20 people crammed into this house right now!"
A sudden cry came from one of the kids. Afeef pointed to the television, which they had left on in the corner. The news anchor was still on-screen, but now his face was ghostly pale, and his voice wavered as he read from the prompter.
"…Government officials confirm an outbreak in all major cities, including Islamabad, Karachi, and Lahore. Emergency teams have been overwhelmed. Citizens are advised to stay indoors and avoid all contact with infected individuals. The government… the government urges everyone to remain calm—"
The screen cut to shaky amateur footage of Gulberg Market, just a few streets from their home. Muhammad recognized the spot instantly. He saw bodies sprawled in the middle of the road, some moving erratically, others dragging themselves toward fleeing survivors. A shopkeeper tried to run but was dragged down by three attackers. Blood sprayed as they tore into his body with inhuman ferocity.
Subhana turned the television off with trembling hands. "That's enough," she said, her voice hollow. "We can't watch anymore. We—"
She was interrupted by a deafening sound that made the floor shake. A series of explosions ripped through the air, so loud it seemed they were coming from the next street. The little ones screamed, and even the older cousins jumped.
"That was the gas station!" Sajid exclaimed, his face pale. He looked toward the window, where plumes of black smoke rose into the sky. "It's completely out of control out there!"
"People must be trying to blow up the infected," Shawaiz said, his voice shaky but trying to sound confident. "Right? That's what they're doing? To get rid of them?"
"It won't work," Khalid muttered. He leaned heavily on the dining table, staring out into the chaos. "They don't die… Not unless you destroy the brain. You saw the footage."
"Destroy the brain," Muhammad echoed softly. The weight of it landed like a brick on his chest.
In the midst of the panic, Maryam spoke up again, her hands trembling as she cradled Mohid. "The roof," she said. "Majid bhai, what about the roof? Are the upstairs windows secure? What if they climb—what if they get inside from there?"
"They can climb?" Ahmed asked, his voice high-pitched with terror.
"Zombies can't climb!" Aysha protested, clutching her brother Asmir's arm for support. "Right? Right?"
"Would you rather gamble your life on being wrong?" Majid snapped, surprising everyone with his tone. "If they can climb, we need to prepare for it."
"Quiet!" Sajid barked, and everyone fell silent. He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. "We're going to secure the house now, all floors, all windows. Nobody opens a door or window without my say-so. And that includes the roof. Maryam baji is right—we can't risk anything."
"But Baba…" Muhammad began, his stomach twisting. "We can't stay locked in here forever. What happens when we run out of food? What happens if—"
"We'll find food if it comes to that!" Sajid interrupted harshly, his frustration boiling to the surface. "Do you want to go out there now and see how long you'll last? Because I don't think you'll make it five minutes!"
Muhammad's mouth snapped shut, his anger and fear swirling into a suffocating knot. He stepped back and sat down next to Mehmood, who hadn't said a word in minutes.
"Keep reading the Qur'an," Naseem said quietly, looking toward the children huddled around Subhana and Aysha. "We have to keep praying. Pray for Allah to give us strength."
But no amount of prayer could drown out the sound of the gate rattling against the blows of the creatures outside.
Part 4: The First Zombie Attack
The night descended faster than anyone anticipated. The Alam house was plunged into an eerie silence, broken only by the occasional muffled sniffles of the younger children and the thudding of fists—or what sounded like fists—against the main gate.
In the lounge, the family had split into smaller groups. Sajid and Khalid were pacing by the dining table, speaking in hushed, tense tones. The aunts and younger children sat clustered near the kitchen, surrounded by hastily gathered food supplies and blankets. The older cousins lingered by the windows, trying to appear brave.
Muhammad couldn't sit still. His mind raced with everything he had seen and heard—Bilal chacha torn apart, the breaking news broadcast, the inhuman snarls that grew louder every hour. He checked the locks on the front door for the fifth time, earning a sigh from Shawaiz.
"Relax, bhai," Shawaiz muttered, trying to appear calm, though his voice wavered. "The gate's locked. They're not getting in unless someone does something stupid."
"Are you sure about that?" Muhammad shot back, his voice sharper than intended. He grabbed one of the chairs and pressed it firmly against the door, as if an extra layer of protection would make a difference.
Shamir, standing near the window, let out a sharp gasp. "Wait... Wait, look!" he whispered urgently.
Muhammad and the others scrambled to join him, peeking out through the curtain. The dim glow of streetlights revealed the street outside—a graveyard of overturned rickshaws, scattered belongings, and bodies. Some bodies moved sluggishly, dragging themselves across the broken pavement.
And then there was the man at their gate.
The faint light revealed an unrecognizable figure clawing at the bars of the gate. Blood streaked his face, and chunks of flesh dangled from his torn lips. His bloodshot eyes, wide and unblinking, fixated hungrily on the house.
"He's been trying to get in for hours," Ahmed whispered, his breath shallow. "He's not... stopping."
"It's not human," Zaid said hoarsely.
"No," Khalid's firm voice interrupted as he walked up behind them, his hand gripping Shazia's arm for support. "It was human. Don't ever forget that."
The group stared in stunned silence as the man at the gate began slamming his head against the metal, the sound of wet flesh and bone cracking reverberating through the street. With every hit, his head caved a little more, yet he didn't stop.
"Ya Allah," Subhana whispered. She clutched Sajid's arm tightly. "We can't let them get in, Sajid. We can't let them near the children—"
"They won't get in," Sajid said tersely, though the strain in his voice was palpable.
Suddenly, there was a loud crash from the kitchen. Everyone whipped around as Maryam and Naseem shouted in alarm.
"The back door!" Maryam shrieked. "Something—something's trying to get in!"
Muhammad and Sajid ran toward the kitchen, joined by Majid, Khalid, and the older cousins. The flimsy wooden door to the backyard was vibrating violently, each slam pushing it closer to splintering.
"They've broken the back gate," Sajid growled, grabbing a nearby cricket bat. "They're in the yard!"
"We need something stronger to block this!" Muhammad shouted, adrenaline surging. He grabbed a heavy metal pan from the counter and looked around desperately.
Before anyone could respond, the door gave way with a sickening crack. Two figures burst in, their twisted bodies illuminated by the flickering kitchen light. One—a man—had deep gashes across his abdomen, with entrails spilling out. The other—a teenage girl with one arm missing—let out an earsplitting shriek before lunging forward.
"Move!" Sajid roared, swinging the cricket bat with all his strength. The sound of the man's skull caving in was sharp and visceral, but it barely slowed him down.
The girl leapt onto Majid, claws raking his arm as he screamed and fell backward. Muhammad acted on instinct, driving the pan into her face with a desperate yell. The force threw her off Majid, but she scrambled back up, half her face now a pulpy mess.
"Keep going for the head!" Khalid shouted as he brought down a wrench on the man's skull again and again until it finally stopped moving.
In the chaos, Shawaiz grabbed a large kitchen knife and slashed wildly at the girl's neck. Blood sprayed across the room as her head tilted at an unnatural angle before she collapsed.
For a moment, there was silence, broken only by Majid's ragged breaths. He clutched his bleeding arm and stared at the mangled bodies on the floor.
"They're not people," he muttered, as if trying to convince himself.
"They were people," Sajid corrected coldly. His grip on the bloodied cricket bat was tight. "That's what makes this worse."
"Amma, I don't feel so good," Mehmood's small voice called out. Everyone turned to see him standing in the doorway, pale and trembling. "They were going to kill us, weren't they? Just like Bilal chacha."
"Yes," Muhammad said softly, walking up to his brother and resting a hand on his shoulder. "But we didn't let them. We're still alive. That's what matters."
Maryam sobbed quietly as she wiped the blood from Majid's arm. "What's happening? This isn't natural. This isn't—"
"It's survival now," Khalid interrupted grimly. "And it's not going to stop."
From outside, a fresh wave of snarls and growls filled the night, making it clear their nightmare was far from over.
Part 5: Locking Down the House
The bodies of the two infected lay crumpled on the kitchen floor, blood pooling around them. The acrid stench of decay filled the air, mingling with the coppery tang of blood. Maryam gagged, pressing her scarf over her nose as she continued tending to Majid's wounded arm.
"You'll need to clean this, Majid," she said shakily. Her voice trembled, but her hands were steady as she wiped away the blood with a clean towel. "Allah knows what kind of infection you could get from... from them."
"I'm fine," Majid muttered, though his eyes kept darting nervously to the motionless corpses. "Don't waste time on me. Worry about those doors. If they got in through one, they can get in through another!"
He wasn't wrong. The backyard door was shattered, and a cold night wind crept in through the splintered wood. Khalid and Sajid worked quickly, dragging the kitchen table against the broken doorframe and reinforcing it with metal chairs.
"Everyone listens now," Sajid said once they were finished, turning to address the family. He stood tall, the bloodied cricket bat still in his hand, though his shirt clung to him with sweat. "We don't panic. We secure this house. Every window. Every door. Everyone works."
The kids huddled closer to their mothers, watching the scene with wide, terrified eyes. Subhana stroked Mehmood's hair absentmindedly as she muttered du'as under her breath. Naseem, the eldest among the women and Khalid's wife, stood calmly, trying to keep everyone's nerves steady.
"Sajid's right," Naseem said firmly, her voice measured and unwavering. "We can't let fear paralyze us. Maryam, Subhana—check the pantry. Make sure we have everything we need for the next few days. Shazia, come with me to secure the windows upstairs. Boys, stay with your fathers and cover the entrances."
Shazia, Zahid's sharp-tongued wife, looked startled for a moment but quickly nodded, taking charge alongside Naseem. She shot a look at Zaid and Shamir, her sons, who stood hesitantly near the kitchen. "And you two, help your father and uncle! Stop standing there like statues!"
"Yes, Ammi," Zaid stammered, his face pale.
Meanwhile, Muhammad stepped back into the lounge to check the front door. He felt Mehmood following closely, clutching at the back of his shirt like a lifeline. "Stay close," Muhammad whispered, trying to sound reassuring.
The cousins fanned out. Shawaiz and Shamir brought furniture to block smaller entrances, while Zaid worked with Ahmed to nail wooden planks over weak spots near the veranda. Even the younger boys like Asmir and Moiz pitched in, stacking boxes against basement vents.
"Is this even going to hold?" Zaid muttered, hammering nails into a loose board.
"It'll have to," Shawaiz replied darkly, casting a glance at the gate outside. The man—no, the creature—that had been banging there earlier was gone, but faint shapes moved in the shadows beyond the streetlight's reach.
From upstairs came the sound of quick, heavy footsteps. Naseem hurried into the living room, her face tense but focused. "The rooftop's safe for now," she reported. "The windows upstairs are locked and secure."
"Did you hear anything up there?" Majid asked, his voice carrying an edge of paranoia.
"Nothing yet," Naseem replied, glancing at her husband Khalid for reassurance. "But we're not taking any chances. I told Maryam to triple-check every corner."
"Do we know what's actually happening yet?" Aysha, Khalid's fifteen-year-old daughter, spoke up for the first time. Her voice trembled, though she tried to keep it steady. "Is it just Lahore? Or all of Pakistan?"
"I don't know," Muhammad admitted, gripping the cricket bat he'd taken from Sajid. He glanced at the cousins around him, many looking at him as if waiting for leadership. "But this… whatever this is—it's big. Bigger than any one place."
"This isn't human," Shamir added quietly from the far corner of the room. His gaze was fixed on the kitchen, though he spoke to no one in particular. "Those… things… their eyes, the way they moved. Nothing alive moves like that."
"We need to prepare for worse," Khalid interrupted grimly, setting his wrench on the dining table with a heavy thud. "I don't think this is going away anytime soon."
"It doesn't matter," Sajid said, cutting him off with his usual certainty. "What matters is we survive. All of us. That's the only rule in this house: no one gets left behind. Understand?"
The family nodded silently, though dread hung in the air like a stormcloud. The pounding on the front gate had ceased, replaced by the unsettling quiet of a city falling apart. Every creak, every rustle of the wind set hearts racing, but they had no choice now.
"We'll take turns keeping watch tonight," Sajid declared, looking at the other adults. "Majid, you and I will handle the first shift. Khalid, you're up after us."
"What about the kids?" Subhana asked, her voice trembling.
"They need to rest," Naseem replied gently, though her face betrayed her worry. "Tomorrow will be worse. They'll need their strength."
"Worse?" Mehmood squeaked, clutching Muhammad's arm. "How could it get worse?"
"It can always get worse," Khalid muttered under his breath, though it was loud enough for everyone to hear.
Muhammad swallowed hard, staring out the window into the desolate street. He hated how much Khalid's words rang true.
(End Of Chapter 1)