It took Kael Voss a good while to recover from the dizzying disorientation. When he finally picked up the phone again, he found the call had ended—and somehow, the device had reverted back to being powered off.
"No!"
He cursed under his breath, frustrated with himself for zoning out. If he hadn't lost focus, he could have asked that woman more questions. Was she just playing games with him?
She claimed she was calling from the year 2025—ten years ago! How could that be even remotely possible?
It had to be a hoax. It had to be a hoax.
Yet, despite the repeated denial on his lips, a flicker of uncertainty remained in Kael's eyes. That conversation hadn't felt fake. Far from it.
He stared at his phone for a moment, then tried redialing the unknown number. Each attempt only greeted him with a dead signal. The dull tone that filled the earpiece gnawed at his nerves like a red-hot iron on flesh.
He tried again. And again. But the result was the same—nothing.
Eventually, Kael gave up. The earlier connection must have been some kind of bizarre fluke. Who knew when—or if—it would ever happen again?
Looking out the van's window, he realized the storm had passed. The deafening thunder and torrential rain were gone, replaced by the dry blaze of the afternoon sun beating down on the landscape.
With the tension easing slightly, the physical toll caught up to him—parched throat, dripping sweat, and a burning sensation in his lungs.
He shifted from the space behind the passenger seat and finally dared to scan the interior of the cargo van. He'd been frozen with fear since clambering in, afraid to move a muscle.
As he stirred, something small slipped from his clothing and clinked against the floor.
Startled, Kael glanced down.
It was a silver ring.
Old-fashioned in design, its outer band was etched with delicate floral patterns, while the inner edge bore strange, almost indecipherable symbols. It had a peculiar, antique elegance.
"Huh… Whose is this?"
He turned it over in his hand, studying it briefly before tossing it into his pocket without much thought. He then focused on the back of the van.
The vehicle had been converted for cargo transport. The two rear bench seats had been removed, and stacked inside were a dozen or so crates filled with bottled drinks and mineral water.
Kael let out a faint sigh of relief. At least he wouldn't die of thirst—for now.
He tore open one of the boxes and grabbed a bottle, downing the water in seconds. The cold liquid rushed down his throat and settled in his stomach like a balm, easing the heat coursing through his body.
But once rehydrated, he dared not make unnecessary movements. He huddled up again, listening nervously as the groans of the undead echoed beyond the van's thin metal shell. The cries—high-pitched and unearthly—sounded less like animals and more like tormented spirits dragged from the depths of hell.
He peered through the windshield.
Far in the distance, plumes of black smoke spiraled into the sky. Gunshots rang out now and then. Something was going down out there—but what?
At some point, exhaustion overtook him. Kael must have dozed off, because when he awoke, night had begun to fall.
He'd planned to slip away under the cover of darkness, but those plans quickly unraveled.
The number of zombies outside had multiplied—perhaps double, even triple what he'd seen earlier. They must've wandered in from surrounding areas.
His escape plan? Delayed indefinitely.
Unlike the slow, shambling corpses from films, these post-apocalyptic undead moved fast. If they spotted prey, their sprint rivaled—sometimes even surpassed—that of the living.
And the mutated ones?
Deadlier still.
Without a solid plan, slipping out now would be suicide. If the horde closed in from both sides, he'd be ripped apart before he even reached the road's edge.
"You only get one life," Kael reminded himself grimly. "Without absolute certainty, it's best not to risk it. Besides, the world out there belongs to the dead now. Even if I break through this stretch of road, there's no telling what fresh hell lies ahead."
Right then, his stomach growled.
He hadn't eaten all day. Fear had kept his mind off hunger until now, but the emptiness gnawed at him.
Crawling quietly into the rear compartment, Kael pried open all the crates. Disappointment struck—just water and sugary drinks. Enough to stave off thirst, but useless against true hunger.
One day without food, he could manage. Two or three? He'd collapse. Without energy, there'd be no chance of escape.
He stretched toward the glove compartment in the front seat, angling himself under a sliver of moonlight. His fingers brushed against something—a half-eaten bag of tea biscuits.
Relief flooded him.
Grinning, Kael pulled the biscuits close, though he didn't eat them yet. As tempting as it was, he knew he had to ration them. This was emergency fuel—best saved for the crucial moment when he'd need every last ounce of strength.
Only then would those biscuits serve their true purpose.
He leaned back against the crates, hands behind his head, eyes unfocused as he stared out the windshield at the dim streetlights beyond.
Somehow, he'd made it out alive. That alone must have caught Sylvan Viper by surprise.
This place couldn't be far from the nearest safe zone. If he could just escape…
He'd go back.
He'd make them pay.
He wouldn't let Sylvan and Elena Cross get away with what they'd done.
Just thinking about them made Kael clench his jaw. Time ticked slowly by, and soon, midnight arrived. Though exhausted, he couldn't bring himself to sleep.
How could he sleep?
Outside, the zombies were relentless—staggering, pacing, occasionally snarling like rabid animals. Each sudden growl cut through the silence like a blade, setting his nerves on edge.
If he passed out now and something happened… he wouldn't even know how he died.
And so, dazed and drowsy, he clung to consciousness.
Until—
Thunk.
A sudden dull thud struck the rear of the van.
Kael jolted upright, heart racing.
He turned to look.
A hulking zombie had slammed into the back of the vehicle. The brute was huge—tall and broad-shouldered. Somehow, the impact had made the whole van shudder and inch forward.
The road, Kael now noticed, sloped ever so slightly downhill. Not enough to be obvious—but enough to matter.
Realizing the van was rolling, Kael panicked. He turned to pull the handbrake—only to stop midway, his expression shifting.
Hope.
Instead of halting the motion, he let the vehicle slide.
The wheels crawled forward like a sluggish beast. The motion was fragile, hesitant—ready to stall at any moment.
Kael squeezed his fists, whispering under his breath:
"Come on… come on… just a little more. Don't stop. Don't stop…"
A sudden thought had struck him.
No matter what lay at the bottom of this slope—it had to be better than staying trapped here.