The group pushed forward, navigating the chaos of the highway, heading for the boundary between Cainta-Annex and Marikina City. The glow of the overhead sign—Welcome to Marikina City—flickered through the smoke and haze. The sight should have brought some sense of relief, but the moving crowd around them made it impossible to slow down. Rio held onto Elaine’s arm tightly, feeling her tremble as the noise and panic swelled. Behind them, Maxine and Florence followed closely, struggling to keep up with the surging mass of evacuees, each breath heavy, every step desperate.

As the crowd thickened, bodies pressed tighter, and the shouts turned into screams. The panic was palpable. Rio scanned the highway for an escape, the infected rabidly spitting, growling, their incoherent rants filling the air. Their bloodshot eyes glowed with anger, their twisted faces illuminated by the sporadic flashes of light from overturned vehicles.

Rio's heart raced. "This way!" he shouted above the roar of the crowd, his voice steady, though every fiber in him was tightening with fear. Grabbing onto the bumper of a nearby car, he hoisted himself up, then turned to help Elaine climb after him.

"Come on! We're almost there," he called out as she struggled to find her footing.

Elaine’s wide eyes met his. Her breaths came out in short bursts, fear gripping her chest, but the strength in Rio’s voice anchored her. She reached for his hand, her fingers cold and shaking, but she trusted him—she had to. He pulled her up, and they balanced atop the car, surveying the chaos from above.

Rio steadied her with a firm grip on her arm, the hard metal of the car hood beneath them shaking with the tremors of the crowd below. Elaine’s gaze darted across the sea of people when something caught her eye—a motorcycle, headlights still flickering, engine faintly humming. The world seemed to blur around her as she recognized it.

Isko’s motorcycle.

Her stomach twisted, the sudden realization hitting her like a punch to the chest. The Halili family—they might not have made it out. "Oh please, no..." Elaine’s throat tightened, her voice trapped by the sudden wave of dread. She was about to speak, to say something—anything—but her voice failed her. All she could do was follow as Rio pulled her forward across the row of cars, moving faster now, trying to block out the growing stampede beneath them.

Maxine, not far behind, jumped onto the car with a grunt. "Damn, this is actually working!" she shouted, glancing back at Florence. "Your turn! Come on!"

Florence hesitated for a moment, the vehicles wobbling slightly under their weight, but then Maxine extended her hand. "Hey, give me your hand, and quit whining."

Florence grabbed it and scrambled up, his nerves getting the best of him. "Urgh, your ass is heavy," Maxine teased as she hoisted him onto the car roof.

"Bitch, I haven’t eaten since this morning! What do you mean heavy?!" Florence fired back with a forced chuckle, trying to shake off the panic.

Maxine grinned, but it was fleeting. The fear was still there, right beneath the surface, in all of them.

As the group leaped from car to car, Rio kept the pace, his eyes scanning ahead. His mind was racing just as fast as his feet, but he refused to let panic slow him down. Every now and then, an infected figure would stagger into view, their violent shrieks blending into the background noise of the crowd, their arms swinging wildly at anything or anyone within reach. They were close—too close—but as long as they stayed on top of the cars, they had a slim chance of avoiding them.

Minutes felt like hours as they finally crossed the creek and intersection marking the boundary.

Yet there was no relief. The sight before them was just as grim—the same stalled traffic, the same desperate crowds. Only now, the panicked screams came with the sharp crackle of police radios and the shouts of officers desperately trying to maintain control.

Rio cursed under his breath. The reason for the stampede became all too clear: a police checkpoint loomed ahead, blocking off the road like an impassable wall. Behind it, a sea of evacuees surged, the police barely holding their line, weapons drawn, struggling to keep order. Rio could hear the crack of gunfire in the distance, and for a moment, he felt the urge to turn back—but there was no way out.

"Shit, there’s a fucking checkpoint," Maxine muttered, wiping the sweat from her brow. "Just what we need."

Rio clenched his jaw. There wasn’t time to think—they had to find a way through, and fast. But then Elaine froze, her grip tightening on Rio’s arm. Among the crowd near the checkpoint, she heard a voice—desperate, pleading.

“Please, let us through!” the man cried out. “I have a son in the school, I need to get him! Let me bring my family to the evacuation center, sir! Please!”

Elaine’s breath caught in her throat. It was Isko.

"We have a child here, please! Let us through!" Lydia's voice cracked as she clutched little Lucia, her pleas almost drowned by the swell of desperate voices around them. Lucia’s tiny hands clung tightly to her stuffed toy, Bun-Bun, but her cries were swallowed by the overwhelming noise of the panicked crowd.

Other evacuees were shouting, their voices rising in fear and frustration as they pushed against the barricade. “Come on! It’s only a matter of time before they reach us!” Florence shouted, joining the sea of voices. “What are you waiting for? We’ll get infected out here!”

Elaine’s heart skipped when she spotted familiar faces in the midst of the chaos—Isko, Lydia, and Lucia. Without thinking, she wrenched her arm free from Rio’s grip and dashed towards them, her mind racing.

“Miss Lydia? Sir Isko? Lucia?” she called out, trying to squeeze through the horde of bodies, her voice cracking with urgency.

“Elaine!” Rio’s shout was drowned in the rising tide of panic, but he bolted after her without hesitation, weaving through the crowd.

Seeing the movement, Maxine grabbed Florence by the arm before he could get too far into his shouting match with the police. “Come on! Don’t lose them!” she snapped, dragging him with her as they pushed through the throng.

Isko, amidst pleading with the officers, did a double take when he saw Elaine approach. “Elaine? Kid, you decided to evacuate?” he asked, his face a mixture of relief and surprise. The last he’d heard, she planned to stay behind. “How the hell did you make it this far? It’s chaos back there!”

Lydia’s eyes widened when she saw the dried blood on Elaine’s arm, remnants of an infected’s spray. “Elaine, dear God, are you alright?” Her hands shook as she reached out, checking for injuries with frantic worry.

“I’m fine. I have someone with me,” Elaine assured her, trying to sound brave, though her voice wavered under the weight of everything they’d gone through. The sight of the Halili family, alive, sent a rush of emotion through her chest.

“Ate Elaine!” Lucia’s small voice cut through the madness, and in the next second, the little girl was rushing into her arms, clinging tightly. Her tiny body trembled against Elaine, the stuffed bunny crushed between them.

Elaine knelt down, hugging Lucia back, her throat tightening with emotion. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the din. Holding the child in her arms brought a brief, fleeting sense of calm in the middle of the storm.

From a distance, Rio, Maxine, and Florence finally caught up, the police line looming ahead, a wall of uniforms and weapons against the surging crowd. They spotted Elaine, holding Lucia close, standing with the Halili family, a brief moment of reunion in the middle of the chaos.

“Elaine!” Rio called again, but the growing chants of the evacuees drowned his voice out. The crowd, desperate and furious, pressed harder against the barricade, their voices rising in unison.

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“Let us through! Let us through!” they chanted, fists pounding against the barriers, faces contorted with fear and anger. The police officers, overwhelmed, tried to hold their ground, their voices swallowed by the chaos.

As Elaine turned to introduce Rio and the others, the crowd suddenly fell into a brief, eerie silence. All eyes turned toward the rear of the mass, where an unmistakable terror gripped those at the back.

“Infected!” a scream ripped through the air, sending a shockwave of panic that surged through the crowd. The evacuees at the back began pushing forward, desperate to escape the violent rabid figures now emerging from the shadows.

A cacophony of screams and desperate cries erupted as the infected—rabid, bloodshot eyes wild with fury—charged at the crowd. Their incoherent, snarling voices echoed through the night, saliva foaming at their mouths as they swung their arms, biting and clawing at anything in their path.

Isko’s face paled with fear. He turned back to the officers, pleading with renewed desperation. “Please! Please let us pass through!” His voice broke, raw with panic.

“Let us in! We’re begging you!” Lydia cried, clutching Lucia tighter, her own voice cracking under the weight of impending doom. Tears streamed down her face, her words blending with the terrified shouts of the crowd.

Behind them, the infected were closing in, their twisted faces illuminated by the flickering headlights of the abandoned vehicles. Time was running out.

“No! Stay away!” one of the armed police officers shouted, his voice cracking under the pressure, eyes wide with panic as the infected drew closer. The situation was spiraling out of control.

"Sir, there are infected breaching the perimeter!" another officer shouted into his radio, his hand trembling as he gripped the device. "What's the protocol? Over."

Static crackled on the other end as the officer held his breath, waiting for orders. His fellow officers exchanged nervous glances, fingers hovering over triggers, unsure whether to shoot or wait.

"Open fire. Over." The order finally came through, cold and detached.

The officer hesitated, staring at the surging mass of evacuees and infected alike. "There are civilians at the front. We can't just open fire! We can't tell who's infected or not, over!" His voice shook, desperation creeping into his tone.

Another pause. The static lingered for a few agonizing seconds before the voice returned, firmer this time. "The protocol is shoot-to-kill. Over."

The officer froze, his disbelief etched into every line of his face. "What? Can you repeat that, over?" he stammered, turning to his comrades, who looked just as shocked.

"This protocol just came from higher command. The president is dead, and we’re under martial law. Director General Alejandro Sangalang's orders are to shoot-to-kill. Over." The voice on the radio was eerily calm, like it was just another routine command.

The officer’s face paled. "We're going to shoot everyone?" He glanced at the crowd of terrified evacuees, people begging for their lives just moments ago.

"Every target on sight except for uniforms. Over." The final words crackled through, final and merciless.

The gravity of the order hit like a sledgehammer. Panic rippled through the line of police officers. One officer, unable to process the command, fumbled for his handgun, shaking violently. His face twisted in horror, tears welling in his eyes. Without a word, he raised the weapon—not at the crowd, but at himself. Before anyone could react, the sickening sound of a gunshot pierced the air. The officer collapsed, blood pooling beneath his head, his lifeless body falling into the chaos.

The remaining officers were left stunned, some visibly trembling. But then, in the confusion, they raised their rifles, hands unsteady as they pointed them at the crowd.

“No… you’re not gonna do that, are you?” Isko’s voice was shaky as he backed up, his arm shielding Lydia and Lucia, who clung to her stuffed bunny with wide, terrified eyes. “We’re not sick!” His words were desperate, trying to appeal to whatever humanity was left in the officers before him.

But it was too late.

The deafening crack of a gunshot echoed across the highway. Time slowed to a crawl as Isko felt something wet splatter against the side of his face. His mind refused to register it at first, but then he looked to his right.

Lydia had collapsed.

The world around him dissolved into nothing. Isko stood frozen, his breath stolen from his lungs, staring down at his wife’s body lying motionless on the ground. Blood poured from the bullet hole in her skull, pooling beneath her head, her brain matter smeared across his cheek. Her eyes, once full of life, were now dull and unseeing.

His knees buckled, and he sank to the ground beside her, trembling, numb. His hands reached out to touch her, to shake her awake, but there was nothing left. She was gone.

“Lydia... no... no, no, no...” Isko’s voice was barely a whisper, fragile and hollow, lost in the storm of screams and chaos. His world had shattered in an instant, and everything around him—the frantic evacuees, the gunfire, the approaching infected—faded into an indistinct blur. All that existed for him now was Lydia. His Lydia, lying motionless in a pool of her own blood. Her lifeless eyes stared upward, unseeing, as if the world had turned its back on them both.

Isko couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He knelt beside her, his trembling hands hovering over the grievous wound in her head, as if somehow, through sheer will, he could undo what had been done. His fingers grazed her skin, still warm but fading fast, and his heart twisted violently in his chest.

“Lydia...” His voice cracked, barely holding back the flood of emotions. “Lydia!” he called out again, louder this time, as if calling her name could summon her back, as if there was some magic in the syllables that could rewrite this nightmare. But her stillness answered him with cold finality.

Tears welled in his eyes as he lowered his face to hers, his forehead pressing against her cheek, still damp with the warmth of life that had just been stolen from her. His hands, shaking uncontrollably, traced the side of her face, lingering as if memorizing every detail, every line, every piece of the woman he loved.

“Don’t do this to me, babe, please. Don’t do this to me,” he begged through ragged breaths, his voice breaking. The weight of his grief was unbearable, crushing him from the inside. He clutched her body to his chest, as though holding her tighter might somehow stop her from slipping away completely. “I need you... Please don’t leave me. Not like this. Not like this.”

But there was nothing. No breath, no heartbeat, no sign that the woman he adored, the woman who had shared his life and his dreams, was still with him. The world, cruel and merciless, had already taken her away.

Around him, the chaos surged on, the infected drawing nearer, their guttural moans and frantic movements growing more frenzied. But Isko was trapped in his own silent agony, cradling Lydia’s body as the world around him crumbled.

“Mom!” Lucia’s shrill cry pierced the air, her small body convulsing with grief as she tried to leap toward her mother. Tears streamed down her face, her voice shaking with a childish hope that somehow, her mother could still wake up. “Mom!”

Elaine caught her before she could reach Lydia’s body, pulling the little girl into her arms, shielding her from the sight of her mother’s corpse. “Lucia, no,” she whispered, voice trembling as she held the child close. “Don’t look, Lucia. Don’t look.”

Tears welled up in Elaine’s eyes as she struggled to contain her own grief. “Miss Lydia…” Her voice wavered, barely audible against the storm of chaos and gunfire around them. She hugged Lucia tighter, trying to offer some small comfort in a world that had just shattered.

Suddenly, the deafening crack of gunshots ripped through the night, drowning out the cries of the evacuees. The police officers had begun to fire indiscriminately into the crowd, their rifles and handguns spitting bullets. Screams filled the air as panic erupted once again, the desperate crowd turning violent in their fight for survival. Some evacuees, armed with nothing but makeshift weapons—bats, metal rods, anything they could grab—charged at the police in a frenzied attempt to defend themselves.

"They're fucking shooting us! Why the fuck are they shooting?!" Maxine’s voice rang out in panic as she and Florence ducked behind a nearby vehicle, trying to find cover as bullets whizzed past, ricocheting off metal and concrete. The situation was spiraling out of control. No one knew where the next shot would come from—or who it would hit.

Rio stood frozen, paralyzed by the sheer chaos around him. His heart pounded in his chest, every instinct screaming for him to flee, to get as far away as possible. The infected were closing in, their bloodshot eyes and twisted expressions cutting through the night as they staggered toward the living. The police had turned on the people, and now, it was every man for himself.

His thoughts raced, trying to find some way out, but in the pit of his stomach, he knew the truth. There was no time left. He glanced at Elaine, still holding Lucia, her tear-streaked face filled with desperation as she clung to the child.

They locked eyes for a brief, heart-wrenching moment. She was looking to him, pleading for help without saying a word, silently begging him not to leave her alone in this nightmare. But Rio could feel the weight of the situation crushing him, the enormity of the danger they were facing. He had made a promise to protect her back at the apartment, but now, that promise felt like an impossible burden, too heavy to carry.

“They’re coming,” his mind screamed, and instinct kicked in. He looked at Elaine one last time, the guilt tearing at him as he gripped his knife tightly, feeling the sharp edge against his palm. His heart ached as he mouthed the words he knew would break her heart.

“I’m sorry.”

Before Elaine could react, Rio turned and ran. He darted through the crowd, weaving between evacuees and infected alike, blending into the chaotic mass of people who were now overwhelming the police checkpoint. His legs moved faster than his thoughts, driven by raw survival instinct, but with every step, the weight of what he had done gnawed at him. He had broken his promise.

Elaine’s eyes followed him as he disappeared into the swarm of fleeing evacuees, her chest tightening in disbelief. “Rio…?” Her voice was barely a whisper, drowned in the chaos. She stood there, holding Lucia in her arms, helpless as the world crumbled around them.

The sound of gunfire, screams, and the guttural growls of the infected filled the night, but for Elaine, it was the echo of Rio’s absence that rang loudest. He was gone, and she was alone.