Chapter 100 — The Warning

Chapter 100: Chapter 100 — The Warning

Victor’s P.O.V.

The military command center had never been this loud.

Telephones rang without pause.

Radios crackled over one another.

Officers barked orders across the room while satellite feeds flickered on enormous monitors lining the walls.

No one sat down.

No one had time.

Victor stood before one of the screens, arms folded across his chest as footage from the city’s downtown played repeatedly.

Traffic accidents.

Riots.

People attacking one another.

At first, everyone assumed it was terrorism.

Then drugs.

Then mass hysteria.

None of those explanations lasted very long.

"...Run that footage again." Victor ordered.

The technician obeyed.

A man lay motionless on the pavement.

Three officers cautiously approached him.

The body suddenly sat upright.

Within seconds...

It lunged.

Victor frowned.

"...Pause."

The image froze.

The man’s shoulder bent at an unnatural angle.

His neck twisted far beyond what should have been possible.

Blood covered half his face.

Yet...

He moved.

No...

He hunted.

Victor felt an uncomfortable chill crawl up his spine.

"What the hell..."

Before anyone could answer...

His cellphone vibrated across the desk.

The caller ID made him blink.

Killian.

He answered immediately.

"Finally remembered I exist?" Victor said with a smirk.

Silence.

Then—

"Where are you?" Killian asked.

Victor’s smile faded.

"Military headquarters."

"I need you to leave."

Victor frowned.

"...Excuse me?"

"Come back."

"I’m already back."

"No."

Killian’s voice remained frighteningly calm.

"I mean leave the base."

Victor looked around the command center.

Everyone was rushing.

No one paid attention to his conversation.

"What happened?"

"I don’t have time."

"Killian—"

"Listen carefully."

Victor’s expression gradually became serious.

"I need you to post an anonymous warning."

"...About?"

"The zombie outbreak."

Victor stared at the paused screen.

"...The what?"

"Warn people."

"Killian."

"I’m serious."

Victor pinched the bridge of his nose.

"...You’ve officially lost your mind."

"I hope so."

Silence.

"If I’m wrong..."

Killian continued quietly.

"You’ll lose one day."

"If I’m right..."

His voice became almost painfully steady.

"...You’ll save thousands."

Victor looked toward the frozen image on the monitor once more.

The corpse.

The bite.

The attack.

Something inside him became unsettled.

"...You’re scaring me."

"I know."

Another silence.

Then—

"Go home." Killian said. "Find your wife."

The call disconnected.

Victor lowered the phone slowly.

For several long seconds...

He simply stared at the black screen.

"...What the hell did you know..."

Thirty minutes later...

He was driving.

Not because he believed Killian.

Not completely.

But because...

Killian had never sounded afraid before.

Not once.

Not during military exercises.

Not during live-fire operations.

Not even when bullets had flown over their heads years ago.

Today’s voice...

Had been different.

It wasn’t panic.

It was certainty.

Victor tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

His destination wasn’t Killian.

It never had been.

The Azar Estate.

Dahlia.

Silver.

Everything else could wait.

He had already uploaded the anonymous warning before leaving the base.

Most people would probably dismiss it as another conspiracy theory.

He almost had.

Until...

The first emergency broadcast interrupted every radio station.

A woman screamed through the speakers.

Then static.

Then silence.

Victor instinctively switched it off.

"...Come on..."

His foot pressed harder against the accelerator.

The city was falling apart around him.

Smoke climbed into the afternoon sky.

Abandoned vehicles blocked intersections.

People ran in every direction.

Some begged for help.

Others chased them.

Nothing made sense.

A police cruiser slammed into a bus.

No one got out.

Victor’s military instincts took over.

Avoid bottlenecks.

Never stop unless necessary.

Watch rooftops.

Watch mirrors.

Always leave yourself an escape route.

His breathing remained controlled.

His heartbeat did not.

Then...

A sharp pain stabbed behind his eyes.

Victor hissed.

"...Damn..."

It felt as though invisible fingers were pressing against his skull.

The pain vanished almost as quickly as it came.

He shook his head.

Probably stress.

Nothing more.

Several blocks later...

It happened again.

Longer this time.

His vision blurred.

For the briefest instant...

He could have sworn someone whispered his name.

"...Victor..."

He slammed on the brakes.

The street was empty.

No one.

Only abandoned cars.

His pulse quickened.

"...I’m hearing things now?"

He rubbed his temples before forcing himself to continue driving.

Sleep deprivation.

Stress.

Adrenaline.

There had to be an explanation.

There had to be.

Yet...

As he turned another corner...

A strange certainty settled over him.

Don’t take the next street.

Victor frowned.

Why?

He had driven this route dozens of times.

It was the fastest.

The feeling only grew stronger.

Heavy.

Persistent.

Wrong.

"...Forget it."

Against his better judgment...

He turned right instead.

Barely ten seconds later...

A city bus barreled through the intersection he had intended to cross.

It slammed into a line of abandoned vehicles before erupting into flames.

Victor stared through his rearview mirror.

His mouth slowly fell open.

"..."

That...

Should have been him.

Silence filled the truck.

The pain behind his eyes returned.

Sharper.

Closer.

And for the first time...

Fear settled deep inside his chest.

Not because of the zombies.

Not because of the burning city.

But because...

He no longer trusted his own mind.

The truck sped down the empty roadway.

Victor kept one hand on the steering wheel while the other massaged the dull ache behind his eyes.

"...Get it together." Victor muttered.

He had gone nearly thirty-six hours without proper sleep.

The world was falling apart.

People were killing one another.

Whatever was happening...

His body had finally decided now was the perfect time to betray him.

Another abandoned vehicle blocked half the road.

Victor smoothly maneuvered around it without slowing down.

Military discipline had long become instinct.

Observe.

Assess.

Adapt.

His eyes continuously swept across every mirror.

The rooftops.

The intersections ahead.

Every parked vehicle.

Every shadow.

Years of training refused to let him relax.

A sudden movement flashed across his peripheral vision.

Victor immediately eased off the accelerator.

A woman stumbled into the middle of the road carrying what looked like a little girl.

Her clothes were soaked in blood.

"...Help!" the woman screamed.

Victor’s grip tightened around the steering wheel.

His foot hovered over the brake.

Everything inside him told him to stop.

She had a child.

She needed help.

Then...

That strange feeling returned.

Sharper than before.