11/07/2026
Quarantine Escape
The sterile hum of the ventilation system was the only thing keeping the silence from becoming deafening.
I sat on the edge of the cot, my knuckles white as I gripped the thin, abrasive sheet.
Outside the reinforced glass of my isolation unit, the hallway of Sector 4 was a ghost town.
Ten days. Ten days since the "Stellar-V" virus had turned this high-tech research facility into a tomb.
A shadow flickered past the observation window. My heart hammered against my ribs–a frantic, irregular rhythm that tasted like copper.
It was Dr. Aris.
I felt a surge of cold relief that quickly curdled into thick, suffocating dread.
Aris was the lead researcher, the man who had promised us a cure.
But looking at the way he moved—sluggish, erratic, his movements lacking the precise grace of the man I’d trusted, the pit of my stomach dropped.
He stopped at the keypad.
The electronic beep echoed like a gunshot.
"Dr. Aris?" I whispered, my voice raw from disuse.
"Please. Open the door. The symptoms... they’ve stopped. I think I’m immune."
He didn't look at me. His hands were shaking violently as he typed in a secondary override code.
That’s when I saw it. The dark, veinous bruising spreading up his neck, black as oil against his pale skin.
He wasn't here to save me. He was here to purge the evidence.
Betrayal didn't come as a sharp pain; it came as a wave of icy, paralyzing numbness. He wasn't just sick; he was one of them.
The rage flared hot and sudden, a desperate fire in my chest. If he was here to finish the protocol—to incinerate the sector.
I was dead in sixty seconds.
The pneumatic seal hissed, and the heavy door groaned open just an inch.
I didn't think. I lunged.
I slammed my shoulder into the door, catching Aris off balance.
He collapsed backward, hitting the floor with a wet, sickening thud. He tried to scramble up, his eyes wide and vacant, a low, guttural rattle escaping his throat.
He reached for my ankle, his grip unnaturally strong, his fingers cold as a morgue slab.
"You—you promised!" I screamed, kicking him away.
I scrambled into the hallway. The air here was heavy, smelling of ozone and rotting antiseptic.
Emergency red lights pulsed rhythmically, casting long, twisted shadows that seemed to dance with malicious intent.
I could hear them now. A chorus of shuffling feet, the wet rasp of labored breathing coming from the darkness of the labs down the hall.
I sprinted toward the service elevator. My lungs burned, and every nerve ending in my body felt like it was being pricked by a thousand needles.
I reached the control panel, my fingers trembling as I punched in the override.
Access Denied.
A low, collective groan resonated from the darkness behind me.
They were getting closer. I could smell the decay now—that sweet, sickly odor that signaled the end of everything.
I looked down the corridor. A dozen silhouettes emerged from the shadows, their movements twitchy, their eyes reflecting the strobe of the emergency lights with a dull, predatory hunger.
I turned back to the elevator, hammering the manual release lever with everything I had.
The heavy steel doors shivered, complaining loudly, moving an agonizing inch at a time.
Behind me, the sound of the shuffling stopped.
Silence descended.
The kind of silence that precedes a storm.
I felt a cold breath on the back of my neck. I didn't want to turn around.
I didn't want to see what had become of the team I’d called family.
The elevator doors caught, jamming halfway open. I lunged into the small, dark gap, my heart leaping into my throat.
As I squeezed through, I felt a hand—clammy, powerful, and desperate wrap firmly around my boot, dragging me back toward the darkness.
I looked up, grabbing the frame of the door, my fingers raw and bleeding. The light flickered one last time, illuminating a face just inches from mine.
It was my own face. Or, it used to be.
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