Zero Day

Chapter 3

January 2019 – Nearly a Month Later

Cliff sat on the cold, cracked tile of the bathroom floor, the dim light overhead casting an eerie glow over the grimy room. The stench of mildew hung thick in the air, a constant reminder of the decay that had seeped into every corner of their world. His hands trembled slightly as he held his phone, the screen illuminating his tired, gaunt face. He hit the record button, his voice barely above a whisper as he began to speak into the darkness.

"I never thought it would get this bad," he murmured, the words heavy with the weight of exhaustion. "I mean, I knew it would... but not this fast. Maybe it wasn't fast. It just feels like it..." He paused, swallowing hard, the memories of the last few weeks swirling in his mind like a storm he couldn't escape. The last time he'd seen Joey, nearly three weeks ago, felt like a lifetime had passed. That was the day he'd gone to Joey's house, the day everything changed. But now, Joey was gone, and Cliff couldn't afford to dwell on it. Survival was all that mattered now.

His voice faltered as he continued, "Randy and I... we moved into this place in Syracuse. It's... I don't know what to call it. A shelter? A refuge for people who have nowhere else to go, I guess." He let out a bitter, hollow laugh, the sound echoing off the bathroom walls. "Helpless people... yeah, that sounds about right."

He fell silent for a moment, his thoughts drifting to the friends and family he'd lost. "I hope Joey got out of Syracuse before things got really bad. I miss him... I miss everyone." His voice dropped to a barely audible whisper as he added, "I miss my parents..."

The distant sound of someone calling his name snapped him back to reality. Panic flared in his chest as he fumbled to end the recording, shoving the phone into his pocket just as the bathroom door creaked open. Randy stood in the doorway, his expression a mix of irritation and concern.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" Randy's voice was sharp, cutting through the thick, oppressive air.

Cliff tried to compose himself, but the exhaustion clung to him like a second skin. "Nothing... just needed a minute."

Randy's eyes narrowed, but he didn't press the issue. Instead, he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "You need to get your second shot. They don't want anyone losing it in the middle of the night."

Cliff nodded, the reminder of their grim reality settling in once again. "Right... I'll head over."

Randy turned to leave, his footsteps echoing down the hallway, leaving Cliff alone once more. He stared at his reflection in the cracked mirror, the person staring back at him barely recognizable. The dark circles under his eyes, the hollow cheeks, the haunted expression—all signs of a man who had seen too much, endured too much. With a heavy sigh, he pushed himself up and walked out of the bathroom, his footsteps heavy and deliberate.

The hallway was dimly lit, the walls lined with peeling wallpaper that had long since lost its color. The air was thick with the scent of mildew and despair. Cliff made his way to what had once been a motel room but now served as a makeshift clinic. The door was slightly ajar, and he knocked softly before pushing it open. Inside, a young nurse, no older than her mid-twenties, was tidying up. She looked up as he entered, a tired smile on her face.

"Hey, Cliff," she greeted him, her voice warm but weary.

"Hey," he replied, his voice flat. "Randy said you needed to give me a second shot?"

"Yeah, you're the last one I've got to take care of today," she said, pulling on a pair of gloves and preparing the syringe. "Then I'm finally done."

Cliff sat down in the chair, rolling up his sleeve without a word. The room was sterile, a stark contrast to the rest of the dilapidated motel. The remnants of its former life were still visible—a cracked mirror here, a faded carpet there—but the space had been hastily converted into something functional, if not exactly welcoming.