Duncan had no idea what had just happened to Jame back at the bar’s garage. His only focus now was getting home—away from the strange mist that had begun to settle over the streets like an unnatural fog.
He could feel its presence creeping closer as he drove through downtown, curling around streetlights and slowly blanketing the city in a faint, hazy shroud.
His thoughts raced, still unsettled by the fractured sky he’d witnessed. It wasn’t something natural; he was certain of that. And if there was one thing he knew about situations like this, it was that they could go from strange to dangerous in no time.
People were already panicking, dialing 911 and reporting bizarre events. Duncan wasn’t about to stick around for any police questioning, either—they wouldn’t believe him, and he didn’t have the energy to deal with it.
As he sped down an empty street, he spotted the warm glow of a convenience store ahead. A thought struck him, as if something instinctual had kicked in: better stock up on essentials. If this was the start of something big, it wouldn’t be long before everyone else thought of the same thing.
People would fight for survival in desperate times, and he’d be prepared. Food, water, supplies—they were the first things people fought over when things went south.
Ignoring the bright red “No Parking” sign, Duncan pulled up near an alley beside the store, turned off the car, and jogged inside. The fluorescent lights flickered slightly, and the young cashier at the counter looked up, startled by the hurried way Duncan entered.
“Whoa, you look like someone about to 'get lucky' for the first time!” the cashier said, laughing nervously at his own awkward joke. Duncan shot him a quick glance but didn’t respond. He was too focused on his plan.
He grabbed a shopping cart and swept through the aisles at a near-sprint, tossing in anything that would last on a shelf or in a cabinet. Canned foods, bags of rice, dried noodles, a few packs of batteries, and even some candy bars to keep his energy up. He snatched up a pack of lighters, duct tape, a multi-tool for opening cans, and a hammer with a box of nails. He didn’t care if he looked insane; he was ready for anything.
When he finally returned to the counter, he dumped a handful of bills onto the counter without even glancing at the total. Two crisp hundred-dollar bills however, was put in a small heap, and the cashier raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“Uh, thanks, man,” the kid muttered, wide-eyed as he handed Duncan his bags. “That’s… generous.”
“Get this payment done quick!” Duncan said, barely pausing as he grabbed his supplies and hauled them to the car. He shoved everything into the trunk, filling it to the brim with the essentials he hoped would buy him some security in the days to come.
As he slid into the driver’s seat, he heard the cashier calling after him. “Hey! You forgot the change!” The kid looked almost apologetic, staring at the bills left on the counter.
But Duncan was already pulling away, tires squealing slightly as he hit the gas. He glanced back only once, seeing the cashier standing outside, his gaze slowly lifting to the sky as the mist encroached further into the city.
Duncan saw the kid’s face twist in horror at the sight of the cracked sky above, that swirling, cosmic tear stretching wider and casting an otherworldly glow over everything. With a nervous shudder, the cashier retreated back inside, the neon “Open” sign flickering off moments later. A hastily written sign soon appeared on the glass door: “Closed for Business.”
Duncan drove through the misty streets, the buildings and streetlamps gradually becoming swallowed by the fog as he approached his apartment. He felt the tension creeping through him, a grim anticipation building as he realized he had no idea what might come next.
All he could do was prepare for whatever the night would bring, hoping his instincts were wrong but knowing, deep down, that they weren’t. The world, as he knew it, was about to change. And all he could do now was survive the nights to come.
Duncan finally reached his apartment building, and the scene outside was chaotic. People gathered in small groups, murmuring frantically, eyes darting to the sky and then back to each other, trying to make sense of the massive crack and the thickening mist that seemed to roll in from every direction.
Ignoring their anxious stares, Duncan parked his car close to his usual spot, grabbed his bags of supplies, and headed straight for the entrance.
As he walked to the elevator, a strange feeling nagged at him—a sense that something was missing, something that didn’t quite sit right. He tried to pinpoint what it was, but his mind was blank. He chalked it up to nerves and exhaustion, forcing the thought away. It was only as he reached the elevator that he noticed a small detail that added to the eerie atmosphere: the building’s full-time parking guard wasn’t at his post.
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Usually, the guard, a talkative older man, was always there to share a few words with Duncan, but tonight his booth sat dark and empty. The absence left Duncan unsettled, but he forced himself to ignore it.
The elevator doors slid open with a quiet chime, and Duncan stepped inside, pressing the button for the sixth floor. The ride up was uneventful, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched.
Every small noise, every flicker of the dim lights in the elevator seemed amplified in the silence. When the doors opened on his floor, he quickly stepped out, eager to reach the safety of his own space.
He hurried down the hallway and unlocked his door, stepping into the sanctuary of his apartment. It was a spacious, high-end place with wide windows that looked out onto the city’s busy highway and the peaceful park beyond. The furniture was luxurious, from sleek leather couches to gleaming kitchen appliances.
However, Duncan had never cared much about appearances; the only thing that truly mattered to him was comfort. The bed, large and inviting, was covered in soft, high-thread-count sheets that promised a deep, restful sleep—one of the few indulgences he allowed himself.
Dumping the bags on the kitchen counter, Duncan let out a sigh of relief. He felt like he had prepared for the worst, though he wasn’t sure what that might entail. Exhaustion weighed on him, both from the strange day and the nervous energy of the night.
Without bothering to change, he threw himself onto the bed, sinking into the fluffy, perfectly molded mattress that seemed to cradle him in comfort.
Staring at the ceiling, his mind drifted, but that nagging feeling returned. The apartment was silent, yet there was an uneasiness in the air, a quiet reminder that the world outside his windows had changed. As he lay there, he closed his eyes, hoping for sleep to come.
But in the silence, the city seemed to breathe with an ominous rhythm, as if something waited just beyond his door, in the mist-blanketed streets below.
Duncan woke up a couple of hours later, feeling surprisingly rested despite the chaos he’d been through. He lay there for a moment, disoriented, until he noticed the strange silence around him.
His bedroom was still dark, and when he checked his phone, he saw it was already 7 a.m. Confused, he pulled himself up and looked out the window, expecting to see daylight breaking over the city. But outside, everything was still blanketed in an unsettling darkness.
His stomach churned with unease. He needed to check on the one person he truly cared about—his girlfriend. She’d been a constant presence in his life, sticking by him through difficult times, even though they’d had their issues.
For Duncan, she was as close to family as he’d ever had. Growing up as an orphan, Duncan had learned early that people were quick to dismiss you unless you proved yourself valuable. His foster homes had been little more than stations in a system that didn’t care if he was there or not. His girlfriend was different. Despite her flaws and even her past infidelity, she had shown him a warmth he hadn’t found anywhere else.
He tried to call her, feeling the gnawing worry set in. But when he checked his phone, he saw he had no signal. It wasn’t just her he was cut off from—he was cut off from everything. He clenched his fists, fighting down the familiar anger and frustration he felt whenever he was faced with situations beyond his control.
Part of him wanted to storm out, confront whatever was causing this, but the rational side reminded him to stay cautious. With a deep breath, he steadied himself. He’d survived alone most of his life; he could handle this, too.
Determined to get his bearings, he went to his window again. From his vantage point, he could see the city shrouded in an unnatural mist, dark and dense, which had stopped just short of the bridge by the river. His apartment was on the other side of the river, and he estimated he could walk to the bridge in about 15 minutes, 7~8 minutes if he run.
As he continued to observe, he was startled by a sudden explosion in the distance, near the very bridge he’d been eyeing. His pulse quickened. Something was happening over there—something serious.
Curiosity and caution warred within him, but he knew he had to see for himself. He remembered the binoculars he’d stashed in a drawer, a relic from one of his spur-of-the-moment purchases, and retrieved them. Adjusting the focus, he peered through, his heart pounding as he took in the scene at the bridge. What he saw chilled him to the core.
Duncan lifted his binoculars, his heart pounding as he took in the sight below. Humanoid creatures—zombie-like and grotesque—emerged steadily from the thickening mist on the other side of the river. They moved with an unsettling, shambling gait, slow but relentless, their numbers swelling as they crossed the bridge toward his side. What are they? he thought, fighting the urge to panic.
I need details, he reminded himself, forcing his mind into focus. If he was going to survive, he needed to understand these creatures. He grabbed an old notebook from his desk—a journal he’d once started but quickly abandoned—and flipped to a blank page. He began jotting down quick observations. Appearance: humanoid, decaying skin, blank eyes. Movement: slow but persistent.
Below, the scene grew more chaotic. A police force had set up a makeshift barricade between two construction sites, using debris and vehicles to funnel the creatures into a narrow corridor, slowing their advance. Shots rang out as officers aimed carefully, each bullet fired with a sense of purpose. Yet Duncan knew they wouldn’t hold out for long; he could see them reloading slower, the tension evident in their movements. Their ammunition was limited, while the number of creatures only seemed to increase.
He scribbled furiously. Weak points? Fragile bodies—drop after a couple of well-placed shots. Movement limited but constant. More of the creatures shuffled closer, seeming to ignore the injured ones that dropped around them.
The police’s strategic response surprised him. They hadn’t been entirely caught off-guard; communication lines must have been cut only recently, or the officers wouldn’t have been able to organize like this. It struck him how dire the situation must be if they were risking their lives here, holding their ground without backup. A sense of respect grew in him as he watched them fight.
Brave, but outnumbered, he wrote in the notebook. As he watched them reload, their movements increasingly fatigued, he realized that if reinforcements didn’t come soon, the police blockade would likely collapse. The streets on his side of the river wouldn’t stay safe for long.