The loud clatter of debris being dragged across the pavement jolted Paris from her restless sleep. Her eyelids fluttered open, and through the cracked windshield, she saw the old man—Eli—clearing the road of fallen branches and twisted wreckage. For a brief moment, she forgot the nightmare she had just escaped. The soft morning light filtering through the trees almost made it feel like a regular day.

But when her gaze drifted down to her skin, stained with dried blood, and the tattered remains of her dress, the crushing weight of reality came crashing back. Panic swelled in her chest. “No… no… no…” she muttered under her breath, the word falling from her lips like a prayer against the horrors she’d witnessed.

Eli, oblivious to her internal struggle, climbed back into the truck, wiping his hands on his worn jeans. “Little lady, you sure were in a scare back there,” he said in his thick, country drawl, his voice carrying an almost casual tone. “Mind tellin’ Mr. Eli what happened?”

Paris froze, her body beginning to tremble. The images of the zombies, the screams of her colleagues, the blood, and the fear—they replayed in her mind like a broken record. Each memory hit her like a punch to the gut, and her breath came in short, sharp gasps, as if the terror was squeezing the air from her lungs.

Sensing her distress, Eli leaned closer, his voice softer now. “Breathe, little lady. It’s alright. You’re safe now.” His hand settled gently on her shoulder, the warmth and solidity of his touch strangely comforting amidst the madness.

Paris blinked, trying to focus on the present moment. His voice had a calming rhythm, like the low hum of the truck’s engine. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she wasn’t alone with her terror.

“You’re the first person I’ve seen in months,” Eli continued, his tone almost wistful. “Don’t get out much these days. Hope you’re alright.”

His words were simple, but in that moment, they grounded her. She looked up at him, her breathing gradually slowing, though the weight of her situation remained heavy on her chest. She didn’t know if she was alright, but something about Eli’s steady presence made her feel, if only for a fleeting moment, that she could be.

Paris slowly regained her composure, her breathing evening out as she focused on the comforting presence of Eli. The old man glanced over, his concern evident in his weathered features. “I don't know where to begin,” Paris finally admitted, her voice shaky but calmer than before.

Eli gave her a gentle nod, his expression kind but serious. "Start from anywhere, little lady. I'm all ears."

Taking a deep breath, Paris began recounting the horrors she had just escaped. The chaos at the Specter Research Facility, the blood-soaked halls, the relentless undead creatures that had turned on their creators. She told him about the frantic scramble for her life, the colleagues she had seen torn apart, and the scientist she was forced to kill in self-defense. Her words spilled out in a torrent, as if speaking the events aloud would somehow make them less terrifying.

As Paris continued, Eli's eyes widened in shock and confusion. His grip on the steering wheel tightened, and he stared straight ahead, absorbing every detail. It was a lot to take in, and after a few moments, he raised his hand, signaling her to stop.

"Wait, wait, little lady," Eli interrupted, shaking his head in disbelief. "That is a lot! I don't know how to process this. Just give me a minute."

Eli gripped the steering wheel with both hands, his knuckles turning white as he stared out the cracked windshield. His face went blank, a mixture of fear, confusion, and disbelief washing over him. Paris, exhausted and on edge, couldn’t read his expression. Was he scared? Doubtful? Was he going to throw her out of the truck?

"This can’t be!" Eli muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible. "If what you're saying is true, little lady, we’ve got a big problem—bigger than any of us could imagine."

He turned to Paris, his eyes meeting hers. "In all my years, I’ve heard some pretty wild stories, seen some strange things, but this—" He shook his head again. "This is far too extreme for my ears."

Eli glanced down at her, noticing the blood splattered across her clothes. "That’s a lot of blood on you, little lady. Are you injured anywhere?"

Paris looked down at herself, startled by the reminder. The dried blood on her skin and clothes was a stark, grim reminder of the nightmare she had barely escaped. She ran her hands over her arms, her chest, her legs, searching for any pain she had overlooked in the rush to survive. "No," she said, her voice quieter now. "I'm okay. Well… physically, at least."

Eli nodded slowly, his expression softening. "Well, little lady, I believe you."

His words stunned her. She had expected disbelief, maybe even mockery. But Eli’s calm, matter-of-fact tone left her speechless. “You… believe me?”

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"Yeah, I do." Eli sighed and shifted in his seat. "First, we're gonna get you to the hospital to make sure you're really alright. Then I'll take you home, wherever that may be."

Paris didn’t know how to respond. She had never expected to find someone, much less a stranger, who would take her at her word. She thought about refusing the hospital trip, but her exhaustion spoke louder. “Thank you,” she whispered, grateful beyond words.

The truck rattled forward along the dirt road. It was quiet now, the only sound the soft rumble of the engine and the distant rustling of the wind. The sun was beginning to rise, casting a faint glow on the horizon, though the air still carried the weight of the long, dark night. Paris felt the overwhelming fatigue pulling at her again but forced herself to stay alert.

Up ahead, something moved on the road.

Eli slowed down, peering through the cracked windshield at the figure limping toward them. It was shrouded in shadow, its gait unnatural, shambling. Paris’s heart raced, and Eli’s grip on the steering wheel tightened again.

“What is that?” Eli murmured, squinting.

Paris's blood ran cold. She didn’t need to look twice. "Keep driving," she urged, her voice low but firm. "Don’t stop. Please, Eli."

Eli hesitated for a moment, then nodded. He pressed his foot down on the gas, and the truck rolled forward. The figure remained in the road, turning slightly as they passed by, but Eli didn't slow down. Paris glanced back out of the window, but the figure was just a blurry shape in the distance now. She couldn’t make out any features, but something about its movement, the slow, agonizing limp, filled her with dread. She pushed the thought from her mind. There was too much to deal with already.

Silence filled the truck again as they drove on, both Paris and Eli lost in their own thoughts.

When they arrived at the hospital, Paris was shocked by what she saw. The parking lot was packed with cars, most of them abandoned haphazardly. People were milling about, some clutching wounds, others screaming for help. Blood stained the pavement in places, and the moans of the injured echoed through the air. The place looked less like a hospital and more like a warzone.

Eli finally found a parking spot on the grass near the back of the hospital’s emergency department. He shut off the engine and turned to Paris. “Geesh, little lady. Surprised we found any parking at all. Let's get you inside.”

Paris grabbed her suitcase, almost forgetting about the box and the folder inside. Her mind was reeling from everything she had witnessed. The hospital was teeming with injured people, some of them bloodied, holding different parts of their bodies in agony. Paris’s heart sank as familiar cries of pain filled her ears. The screams and moans were eerily similar to those she had heard back at the Specter Facility.

As they made their way to the emergency entrance, the scene grew even more chaotic. People rushed about, doctors and nurses overwhelmed by the sheer number of wounded. Paris and Eli reached the administration desk, but there were no workers present. The place was in disarray, papers scattered across the floor, and the only sound was the constant, robotic voice over the intercom, repeating, "Code Blue."

A few moments later, a man burst through the doors, screaming, “He’s been bitten! Someone help, please!” His arm was covered in blood, the flesh torn as if something had been gnawing on it. Paris’s stomach turned, and her hands clenched around the handle of her suitcase.

"We need to go," Paris whispered, panic rising in her throat. She tugged at Eli’s arm. "We need to get out of here. Now!"

Eli’s eyes darted around, taking in the pandemonium. He nodded, his voice grim. "Yeah, little lady, I think you’ve got the right idea. Let’s get the hell out of here."

They turned to leave, but just as they reached the exit, a voice boomed over the hospital intercom: “Code Silver! Code Silver!”

Eli frowned. "What’s Code Silver?"

Paris’s eyes widened in horror. "It means someone has a weapon." Her heart pounded in her chest, fear clawing at her insides. "We need to move. Fast!"

They reached the glass doors, but before they could slip through, a loud click echoed through the air—the doors had locked automatically.

“No!” Paris screamed, pounding her fists against the glass. Around them, the sounds of people screaming and running in panic filled the air. The sense of impending doom thickened with every second.

Trapped inside, the hospital had become a cage, and with every passing moment, Paris’s fear grew. They were no longer safe, and the question of whether they would find a way out loomed large over them. And somewhere in her suitcase, the box and the folder waited, holding secrets that Paris had barely begun to uncover.