𝗮𝗽𝗼𝗰𝗮𝗹𝘆𝗽𝘀𝗲, ᶜᵃʳˡ ᵍʳⁱᵐᵉˢ

𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘶𝘦

Everyone remembers the day that this all began.

Where they were, how it felt, and who they were would be permanently etched in memories, reminiscent of a time of normalcy.

In the case of Lana Rosewood-Smith and her brother, Oliver, the day began as a tranquil journey home from an ice cream parlour. Lana, taking in spoonfuls of her vanilla frozen yogurt, relished the sweet aroma of nearby flowers from a flourist, while Oliver, alert and vigilant, kept a protective eye on their surroundings. Lana's attire—simple leggings and a comfy t-shirt—suited the warm Georgia weather perfectly. Her light brown hair, neatly fashioned into a bun, complemented the sparkling blue of her eyes that glimmered under the sun's gentle rays.

Despite it being a warm Saturday afternoon, the streets appeared eerily empty, a fact that Lana didn't pay much heed to, enthralled as she was by the delightful treat clasped in her hands.

However, Oliver's gradual increase in pace abruptly snapped Lana out of her carefree reverie. She soon noticed a figure trailing behind them, someone who seemed injured.

Oliver, having been well-informed about unsettling news reports regarding an unidentified and dangerous disease spreading in Africa, was on edge. Him and his fellow peers at the medical school he attended had tried to dig into the cause of this sudden outbreak, but came up empty handed. No one knew where it came from, and it became harder and harder to find out as communications across the globe gradually decreased as it spread. Nonetheless, encountering a seemingly injured man, clad in a clean black and white suit yet dripping crimson blood from a conspicuous bite mark on his neck, he didn't feel the urge to help out.

"Come on, Lana, Mum said we need to be home before sunset," Oliver's soft voice, tinged with a touch of anxiousness and his British accent, coaxed his younger sister, all while subtly steering her away from potential danger.

However, Lana's innocent curiosity lingered on the injured man, prompting Oliver to instinctively grasp her hand, a gesture meant to shield her from any possible harm.

"But Olly, that guy looks hurt. Shouldn't we help him? Mum always said to help people in need," Lana's youthful innocence mirrored Oliver's accent.

A thin film of sweat formed on Oliver's forehead. "There's no time, Lana. I can call for an ambulance when we get back, but we must get home."

Turning her gaze forward, Lana matched her strides with Oliver's, inadvertently creating a safe distance between them and the enigmatic, staggering figure following them.

...

Their arrival home brought a sigh of relief from their anxious mother, who had been waiting by the window. She rushed out, enveloping Lana and Oliver in a tight embrace, checking them for any injuries with trembling hands.

"Thank goodness you're alright," she murmured, the relief evident in her voice as she held them close.

"Mom, we're fine," Lana giggled, prying herself away from her mother's protective embrace, her youthful energy propelling her indoors where Oliver and their mom engaged in a hushed conversation.

With the television flickering to life, Lana was about to change the channel when a chilling sight on the news captured her attention. The broadcast displayed footage of individuals akin to the one they had encountered earlier, exhibiting disturbing behaviour as they attacked the person recording them. The screen filled with chaotic scenes of carnage—groans, screams, blood-spattered images—etching vivid scenes in Lana's mind.

She quickly changed the channel, her heart pounding loudly in her ears. Despite the TV's cheerful tune playing a cartoon show, Lana's attention was firmly fixed on the harrowing scenes she had just witnessed, the terrifying images replaying in her mind on an endless loop, drowning out all other sounds.

Her trance was abruptly broken by a pair of hands on her shoulders, causing her to jolt in panic. Her mind raced, haunted by the haunting images she had seen on the TV.

As her vision cleared, Lana was met with the comforting sight of her mother. "Sorry," she murmured softly, her hand resting on her chest as she tried to steady her rapidly beating heart.

"Don't worry. Anyway, Olly and I were talking about leaving tonight, so you better start packing your bag," her mother gently instructed, ushering Lana to prepare for their imminent departure.

"But what about Dad? We have to wait for him," Lana pleaded, her innocent eyes imploring her mother to reconsider.

Lucy Rosewood, her expression heavy with concern, sighed in frustration. Lana's father, who worked at Oliver's high school, had volunteered to go out just over two weeks ago to search for supplies. He never came back. And frankly, she didn't want him to. I mean, there's a reason their kids used her last name instead of his. Rosewood sounds nicer than Smith, anyways.

"Lana, we can't wait. It's too risky here," Lucy said, her voice tinged with sadness as she tried to explain the dire situation to her daughter.

Tears welled up in Lana's eyes, her small frame trembling with uncertainty. Her tearful plea, coupled with pleading eyes, softened Alice's resolve momentarily.

"I'll go look for him. But both of you need to stay here; it's too dangerous for us all to go," Alice conceded, pulling Lana into a tender hug before hastily retreating upstairs to prepare for their departure.

...

Days turned into more than a week since Lucy left in search of their father. Lana's vigil by the front door became a poignant ritual, her tired eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of her mother's return.

Oliver, observing Lana's unwavering watch, approached her with genuine concern. "Lana, please go to sleep. We're leaving tonight, and I don't think you can stay up that long," he urged, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder.

However, Lana remained fixated on the world outside, her gaze following every movement, every rustle, refusing to relent. Lana's thoughts were interrupted by a loud bang coming from their back door, followed by a quiet crack. Lana leaned around the wall to get a better look and almost froze in shock. Three of those... things were banging on the back door, leaving a crack in the glass to appear.

"Lana, put your backpack on, now! We have to leave!" Oliver's urgency finally broke through Lana's reverie, and she hastily donned her backpack, slipping a large kitchen knife between her fingers and securing a smaller hunting knife to her bag.

Looping his arms through his backpack straps, Oliver held Lana's hand firmly. "Come on, we have to be quiet."

Guiding her through the house, Oliver attempted to steer away from the impending danger lurking outside. But Lana's curious eyes were riveted on the disturbing sight outside—the bloody bodies throwing themselves against the glass as even more cracks spread over the window.

"I don't want to leave. What if mum comes back, and we aren't here?" Lana's anxiety surfaced in her desperate plea for reassurance.

With a heavy heart, Oliver relented, "Lana, Mum isn't coming back."

The grim reality of their situation set in as they hastily prepared to depart, leaving behind the only semblance of their previous life.