The elevator groaned like a dying beast as their trembling hands mashed the button for the rooftop. Clara gripped the cold metal rail, her pulse thundering in her ears. The air hung thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acidic stench of fear.
Through the flickering fluorescent lights, she counted the pale faces around her: wide-eyed Nurse Owen Lee clutching a fire extinguisher, Zoe snapping her metal-coated paper into shivs, Benjamin’s sweat-drenched shirt clinging to his linebacker frame.
And then there was him—Henry Smith—leaning lazily against the wall, his shadowed gaze slicing through the chaos to pin her in place.
Breathe. Just breathe. Clara told herself, but her ribs squeezed tighter.
The elevator jolted. A robotic voice crackled over the intercom: “Code Gray, Wing B. Patient Zero exhibiting violent—”
The message dissolved into static.
Benjamin slammed his fist against the control panel. “Who the hell let a rabid psycho loose now?!”
Zoe whipped around, her acrylic nails digging into his arm. “They said it’s rabies? You mean those monsters are already—”
A guttural snarl echoed through the shaft below. Something heavy thudded against the ceiling.
“They’re climbing the cables!” Owen Lee shrieked, scrambling back as clawed fingers pried at the emergency hatch.
Henry’s hand slid to the small of Clara’s back, warm and steady. “Don’t look up.”
Too late.
A bloodshot eye peered down through the crack, milky and inhuman. Rotted lips peeled back, revealing jagged bone shards where teeth should’ve been.
Clara froze. The thing smiled.
Henry’s arm shot out. A blade of psychic energy split the air, severing the creature’s head. Black ooze rained down as the body plummeted. The elevator lurched upward.
“R-Right,” Benjamin stammered, clutching his baseball bat. “No big deal. We’ll just… reboot civilization later.”
The rooftop door screeched open to a graveyard sky. Rotting flesh and gasoline fumes choked the wind. Below, the asylum’s courtyard writhed like a termite mound—hundreds of them, shambling over eviscerated corpses, their hollow moans rising in a grotesque hymn.
“Oh God, it’s real…” Dai Tian-Tian, the mousy nurse from Pediatrics, doubled over retching.
Zoe clicked her tongue, yanking open supply crates. “Scream now, vomit later. Weapons here. Food there. Move.”
Clara hovered at the edge, vertigo clawing at her throat. A teenage girl sprinted across the lawn below, her pink scrubs drenched crimson. Three creatures tackled her. Ribs crunched. Wet tearing.
She swayed.
Henry’s arms locked around her waist, hauling her back from the ledge. His breath brushed her ear, low and velvety. “Careful, little sparrow. I didn’t survive the apocalypse twice to watch you fall.”
She stiffened. Twenty-seven years. That’s how long he’d hinted he’d been reliving this hellscape. Yet when she’d pressed for answers, his smiles turned razor-edged. All in due time, he’d whisper, tracing the chain around his neck where his mother’s ring—the spatial artifact—hung hidden.
“Why are you really here?” she blurted.
He stilled. For a heartbeat, his mask slipped—eyes hollow and ancient, like a wolf who’d gnawed its own leg from a trap. Then he grinned, twirling a lock of her hair. “To return what’s mine.”
A crash interrupted them.
“Mine! That’s my protein bar!” John Smith, Henry’s smirking half-brother, shoved a trembling orderly aside. His designer suit was flecked with gore, but he still clutched a bouquet of funerary chrysanthemums. “Father’s assets are legally mine. You vermin should grovel for scraps!”
Henry chuckled. “Still playing heir while the world burns? How… predictable.”
“Screw you!” John Smith lunged—then froze mid-swing. His pupils dilated in panic as Henry’s psychic grip tightened.
“Ah-ah. Manners.” Henry wagged a finger. John Smith’s wrist snapped backward with a sickening pop.
Clara lunged between them. “Stop! He’s not worth it!”
Henry’s gaze flickered. The pressure released.
John Smith crumpled, cradling his hand. “You’re both insane! This whole place is a—”
A scream pierced the air.
By moonlight, they rationed supplies. Half-rotten apples. Stale crackers. Two cans of peaches guarded jealously by Zoe. Clara’s stomach growled.
Benjamin elbowed forward. “Room assignments! Men with men, girls with girls. Except Princess here.” He jabbed a thumb at Henry. “Find a buddy, psycho.”
Henry stretched lazily on a gurney, one arm pillowing his head. His shirt rode up, revealing lean muscle and a scarred abdomen. “No need. Clara’s my primary caregiver. We’ll share.”
The room stilled.
Zoe snorted. “She’s not your damn pacifier.”
“Oh?” Henry sat up, eyes glinting. “But I’m desperately fragile. What if I sleepwalk? Attack someone?” His fingertips grazed Clara’s hip—possessive, threatening. “You’d all feel safer if she… restrained me, no?”
Clara’s cheeks burned. Memories of yesterday flashed—his hands pinning hers to the mattress, whispering how easily he could fracture every bone in her body. How gently he’d bandaged the cut on her palm afterward.
Owen Lee cleared her throat. “It’s standard protocol. Patient-caregiver proximity is…”
“Bullshit protocol!” John Smith spat. “He’ll rape her by dawn!”
Henry’s smile dropped. A vase shattered against the wall behind John Smith’s head.
“Try that again,” Henry murmured, “and I’ll carve the word ‘coward’ on your spine.”
Clara seized his wrist. “Enough! I’ll stay with him.”
Triumph flickered in Henry’s eyes. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “So generous.”
As others dispersed, he dragged their bedding to the farthest corner. Clara tensed when he sprawled beside her, his heat seeping through the thin blanket.
“Relax,” he purred, tucking a flashlight into her palm. “I’ll be good… mostly.”
She glared. “Do you enjoy tormenting them?”
“I enjoy you.” He traced her jaw. “Their fear is just… seasoning.”
Outside, the horde’s wails crescendoed. Clara’s breath hitched as Henry’s thumb brushed her lower lip.
“Still afraid of me?” he whispered.
Terrified.
But his arms were the only shelter in this hellscape.
“No,” she lied.
His laugh was bitter. “Liar.” He pulled her against his chest, his heartbeat steady against her ear. “Sleep. Tomorrow’s hunt begins.”
Clara closed her eyes, her mind clawing at the unspoken truth—he’d known about the outbreak. Planned for it. And whatever redemption he sought in her, it was tangled in blood-soaked secrets no one else would survive.
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