Minutes of Silence Later in the Nieva Residence — 9:44 PM
Rio sat quietly at the bedside in the darkened bedroom, overwhelmed with despair over the unforgivable act he had committed: killing his own mother. Aria, his kind and loving mom, lay breathless on the floor. He had smothered her to death when she turned infected, a violent end to a gentle life.
"I hope this was all a dream," Rio muttered, glancing back at his dead mother, feeling the crushing weight of guilt and disbelief. (She was my closest friend and only parent. I never wanted to harm her — but seeing her violent like that and suffering, she was right. I had to put her out of her misery and protect myself. But I wonder if she would have done the same if I were the one infected.)
Rio stood up, his legs trembling, and crouched down beside her body. He gently placed his mother's arm around his neck and lifted her with a heavy heart.
He carried the lifeless Aria to her bed, laying her down with care. He positioned her hands on her stomach, shut her eyes, and closed her mouth, trying to make it look as though she had passed peacefully.
"I'm going to come back, Mom. I'll go prepare my things," he whispered, brushing her hair away from her face.
...
Rio left his mother's bedroom and walked into the living room. The television was broadcasting the chaos in the quarantine zone.
"Tch. What's the use of going to the quarantine zone if my mom can't go with me?" he thought bitterly as he headed to the bathroom sink to wash his face.
As he splashed water on his face, he couldn't bring himself to look in the mirror. The guilt was too much to bear. In a moment of self-loathing, he punched the mirror, causing shards to fall and cut his fist.
After drying his face with a towel, Rio went to his bedroom. His school uniform, stained with infected saliva, clung to him like a shroud. He quickly changed into a white t-shirt and black striped sweatpants. Sitting on his bed, he pulled on his socks and laced up his running shoes.
He reached for his school backpack, its fabric worn from years of use, and hesitated for a moment. With a deep breath, he upended the bag, sending a cascade of academic papers, notebooks, and textbooks tumbling onto the floor in a chaotic mess. The sight of them, once symbols of his academic life, now felt distant and unimportant.
Determined, Rio began to carefully pack his bag with the essentials. He folded each piece of clothing using the ranger roll technique he’d mastered during his scouting days, his hands moving with a mix of precision and urgency. Every item he packed had a purpose: a few sets of clothes, hygiene necessities, his phone charger, and the house keys that felt heavier than they should.
Finally, he reached for his cherished art journal, its pages filled with sketches and thoughts, and the familiar weight of his pencils and pens. As he placed them in the bag, a sense of calm washed over him—these were the things that truly mattered. They were pieces of himself that he couldn’t leave behind.
As Rio zipped up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder, he paused, his gaze drifting to the drafting table on the other side of the room. The table was cluttered with half-finished blueprints, rulers, and a stack of blank plates waiting to be filled with the precision of an industrial technology student’s hand.
A wave of exhaustion washed over him as he sighed, a bittersweet smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Guess I don't get to do plates today," he muttered, the relief in his voice mingled with a pang of guilt. For once, the relentless demands of homework felt like a distant concern, a burden temporarily lifted from his shoulders.
He took a moment to absorb the quiet stillness of his room, the familiar sanctuary that had witnessed countless late nights of frustration and creativity. With a final, lingering glance at the drafting table, Rio reached for the light switch. The room was plunged into darkness, leaving only the faint glow of the hallway seeping through the edges of the door.
...
Rio dropped his backpack on the sofa in the living room and returned to his mother's room. He sat by her bedside and gently cleaned her face with a damp towel.
"I promise I'll make it to the quarantine zone safely, Mom. I..." he paused, struggling to find the right words. "I'll live a good life for both of us and make you proud. I won't let your sacrifices be in vain. I won't die until you see my wife and your grandchildren." He tried to joke, as he used to with his mom, but his voice cracked with emotion. "I didn't get to say it before when you were alive, but I love you. Thank you for everything."
He caressed her hair one last time.
Rio stood up and covered Aria's body with a blanket. Before leaving the room, he searched through her closet. Amidst the hanged clothes, he found the gray oversized windbreaker — his birthday gift to Aria for her fortieth.
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Slipping the windbreaker on, Rio felt a semblance of comfort, as if a part of Aria was still with him. "I'll be borrowing this, Mom," he whispered.
Feeling a bit stronger, he took one last look at Aria, his heart heavy with sorrow. "I'll be going now."
Tears welled up in his eyes as he turned away, wiping them quickly. He switched off the lights, closed the door to his mother's bedroom, and stepped out, ready to face the uncertain world ahead.
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Before evacuating, Rio knew he had to understand where to go and the dangers lurking outside. He sank into the sofa and watched the TV intently, hoping to gather useful information that would help him avoid the risks of infection. He also browsed through his phone, searching for updates.
"Wait, is this the mall?" Rio mumbled, his eyes widening as he saw Elaine's past live broadcast video on social media. The familiar background of the mall and the face of the security guard sent a chill down his spine. Elaine, a popular online influencer, often appeared in his suggested feed. "I was there this afternoon looking for a job. How did it devolve like this in a matter of hours?"
In the video, a loud gunshot rang out, startling Rio as he watched the chaotic scene unfold. Scrolling deeper through the posts, he was horrified to see the infected spreading and multiplying through bites and violent acts. He read blog entries from evacuees trying to reach the quarantine zone, detailing their harrowing experiences during the outbreak.
While searching for more information on where he should go, Rio came across recent news on his phone. Officials were announcing the evacuation protocols, the people's right to protect themselves against the infected, details about the Mater Lyssavirus, and the locations of the quarantine zones.
"North Luzon Expressway - E1, that's where the quarantine zone is. It's a long way from here. But is it even safe out there on the streets? Fuck — should I stay inside instead?" Anxiety clawed at him as he absorbed the horrors of the outbreak online. He began to doubt his decision. "No, it's either I'll be stuck here with uncertainties and run out of supplies. It's impossible that everything will be over by tomorrow and someone will rescue me — or I'll take my chances and reach the quarantine zone, guaranteeing my safety."
"I promised Mom. There's no way I'll stay here with no hope, especially with her corpse rotting away."
Rio checked the map on his phone to find the best route to the quarantine zone. From the Sumulong Highway to the North Luzon Expressway, the path was shown on the map, but the traffic level was all red — heavy congestion throughout Metro Manila.
He downloaded an offline version of the map, making use of their home wi-fi, knowing he doesn't have mobile data for when he go outside.
"I gotta travel by foot," he muttered, studying the route in the map. "I have to pass through Marikina City, then Quezon City, and after that Valenzuela where the expressway leads forward — it will take four hours to get there, or more, given the shitty situation."
With his mind made up, he exhaled deeply and grabbed his backpack, slinging it over one shoulder. He placed his phone securely in the backpack and turned off the television. Heading to the kitchen, he retrieved his water bottle from the refrigerator, drank the remaining water, and refilled it with tap water. He slipped the bottle into his backpack's side pocket and grabbed a kitchen knife from the countertop drawer, deciding it would serve as his weapon for protection.
"They gave us a right to protect ourselves," he muttered, gripping the knife tighter.
As he stepped out onto the doorstep and locked the door, the anxious, chilling air hit his face.
"First destination will be easy. Marikina City is nearby, but it won't be a walk in the park with all the infected. I have to be careful on the road," he thought, feeling a knot of anxiety tighten in his chest.
He set off down the street lamp-lit road, his breath visible in the cold air. As he walked toward the gate of their village, he joined neighbors carrying backpacks, also evacuating to the quarantine zone. Some were hurriedly preparing their vehicles for transport. The tense atmosphere was palpable; no one seemed to mind that Rio was holding a knife as he walked. Fear was etched on everyone's faces, each person warily watching for any sign of the infected.
As he trudged down the road, his face a mask of gloom, a neighbor recognized him and approached.
"Hey, aren't you Aria's son?" the woman, around his mother's age, asked. "Where's your mom? Why isn't she with you?" Her voice carried concern, and her eyes reflected a flicker of hope.
The question struck Rio like a physical blow. He felt a lump rise in his throat, his guilt nearly overwhelming him. Without a word, he quickened his pace, leaving the woman standing there, confused and worried.
(She's dead. I fucking killed her.) The thought echoed in his mind, each step feeling heavier than the last.
As they approached the village gate, the sight of unmoving traffic greeted them. Vehicles were gridlocked, unable to turn onto Sumulong Highway due to the congestion.
Suddenly, screams shattered the night. People started fleeing from the gate, their faces twisted in terror. Drivers abandoned their cars, realizing that they were trapped.
"Infected!" someone yelled. "Run!"
A man bumped into Rio, knocking him slightly off balance. He quickly regained his footing and looked at Rio with wild eyes. "Kid, they're chasing us. Run!" The man took off again, pain and fear driving him forward.
Rio's eyes widened in horror as he saw a sprinting person tackle another to the ground. The attacker, an infected, began beating the victim savagely. Others joined in, biting and salivating, the victim's screams filling the air with sheer agony.
The infected moved with a terrifying speed and ferocity, relentlessly pursuing anyone in their path. The street echoed with the sound of rapid footsteps and desperate cries for help.
Rio's heart pounded in his chest as the horrific scene triggered memories of his infected mother. Panic surged through him.
"—Shit, shit!" Rio stumbled backward, the knife feeling insignificant in his trembling hand. (There's no way I can fight my way to the gate. I have to run.)
He turned and fled with the other evacuees, his legs burning with exertion. The infected were relentless, their mouths leaking saliva, eyes bloodshot with a hunger for violence. The road behind him became a trail of chaos and contagion, every second bringing the infected closer.
Rio's breath came in ragged gasps, fear and adrenaline propelling him forward. He couldn't stop. He had to survive. For his mother, for himself, he had to make it to the quarantine zone.