Ash stared at the crimson smear on the sidewalk, a sticky trail leading to the empty road beyond. The sun was still rising, casting a strange golden hue over the scene, as if it didn't understand that everything was falling apart. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked—sharp, frantic, a sound that carried too far in the unnerving stillness.

Her dad had always said the world wouldn't end in fire or ice, but in boredom. "Another virus," he'd muttered weeks ago, sipping coffee at the kitchen table. "We've lived through worse."

He was wrong, of course. He'd died proving it.

The house behind her was too quiet now, the silence thick and oppressive. Every step she took away from it felt heavier than the last, like the house itself was trying to pull her back. Her dad's face was still fresh in her mind—the pale, waxy skin, the way his chest rose and fell slower with each passing moment, his hand clutching hers as he whispered, "You're going to be okay."

He hadn't looked scared. Even as the light left his eyes, he'd looked at her like he always did—with love. She clung to that memory like a lifeline, unwilling to let herself think about the empty stillness that had followed. She hadn't stayed long after he stopped breathing. She couldn't.

She didn't know where to go or what to do. Her dad had been everything—her anchor, her only real family—and now she was floating, weightless and lost, in a world that no longer made sense.

She kicked a can down the driveway, watching it skitter and spin before disappearing into the shadows. It wasn't just the virus that had come for them—it was the silence. The stillness. The way the world felt hollow, like a shell of what it had been.

The faint shuffle of footsteps made her stop. Her breath hitched as she turned, the weight of the silence pressing against her chest.

It wasn't her dad. She knew that much. He was gone.

But maybe she was still hopeful.

The footsteps stopped.

Ash didn't move. Didn't even blink. There was a rhythm to it, a familiar shuffle, but it was wrong. Too slow. Too deliberate. Too much like something that shouldn't be.

She backed up, inch by inch, her foot brushing against the edge of the porch. The wood creaked under her weight, a sound that felt too loud in the quiet. Her heart thudded in her chest, and her mind screamed for her to run, but her legs wouldn't listen.

Then she saw him.

Her dad.

The realization hit like a punch to the stomach, stealing the air from her lungs. He stumbled into view, his face pale and his movements sluggish. His shirt was torn, and there was a dark stain spreading across his chest—fresh blood. His lips parted slightly, his head tilting in a way that almost seemed... wrong.

"Dad?" The word slipped out before she could stop it, her voice trembling.

He didn't answer. He didn't even blink.

"Dad," she tried again, louder this time, her voice cracking under the weight of her desperation.

Her father took another step forward, his foot dragging through the wet grass with a sickening squelch. Something about the way he moved made her stomach twist, but she didn't understand why. He looked so tired, so lost, like he didn't even know where he was.

Ash's legs wobbled. Her hands trembled, the cracked phone slipping from her grip and clattering onto the porch. She couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. This wasn't real. It couldn't be real.

The distant crash of glass breaking snapped her out of her haze. A scream followed, high-pitched and panicked.

Ash's pulse roared in her ears. She didn't know why she couldn't move, why her body felt frozen in place. Her dad—no, this thing that looked like her dad—was getting closer, his feet dragging with every step.

Her throat closed up. She wanted to scream, to do anything, but all that came out was a shaky breath.

"You need to—"

The words caught in her throat as a sharp snap echoed through the air.

Eve appeared out of nowhere, stepping into view like she'd been waiting just outside the edges of reality. Her shirt was smeared with grime and sweat, and in her hands was a bat—a battered, blood-streaked bat that Ash didn't recognize.

Eve didn't hesitate. She shoved Ash aside, her movements quick and urgent.

Ash opened her mouth to stop her, but the words wouldn't come.

Eve's eyes flicked to her for a split second, wild and determined, before she lunged forward. The bat swung down with a sickening crunch.

"No!" Ash's scream finally broke free, raw and anguished, but it was too late.

The bat struck her father's head again and again, each hit punctuated by the wet, bone-cracking sounds that would haunt her forever. Blood splattered onto the porch, pooling near her knees.

Eve didn't stop until the body crumpled to the ground, motionless.

She stood over it, chest heaving, her face a mix of sweat and fury. The bat dangled loosely in her grip, its bloodied tip dripping onto the wood.

"This is happening," she said, her voice hard and jagged. "Get your shit together."

Ash couldn't move. She couldn't speak. Her entire body felt numb as she stared at the lifeless form sprawled in front of her—the man who had taught her to cook pancakes on Sundays, who'd made bad jokes when she was sad, who had always been her safe place.

Eve wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, glancing down at Ash. Her expression softened for a fraction of a second, but she didn't say anything.

She turned and started walking away, her steps echoing on the pavement.

Ash stayed where she was, her knees pressed to the bloodstained wood, her shoulders shaking. A choked sob escaped her lips, and then another, until the tears came in full force.

She was alone. Truly, completely alone.

And for the first time, she didn't know what to do.