With Our Time Left

Chapter 1

MILA'S POV

I woke up to the chaotic sounds of screams, screeches, sirens, and gunshots echoing outside. My mind was foggy with sleep, and for a moment, I lay there, trying to make sense of the noise. But then came a loud, jarring BANG right outside my door, making my heart skip a beat.

"Christine?" I called out, my voice trembling, hoping to hear our maid's familiar reply. Silence answered me, except for the relentless banging against the door. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, every movement slow and cautious. The cold floor sent a shiver up my spine as I tiptoed closer, my fingers reaching for the doorknob. Just as I began to turn it, a low, guttural growl seeped through the thin wood. My breath caught in my throat.

Before I could react, the door burst open with a violent crash.

"AHHHHHH!" I screamed, stumbling back and falling hard onto the floor. Pain shot up my spine, but I barely registered it over the rush of adrenaline. Blinking through the shock, I looked up and saw... Christine.

I exhaled, relief flooding through me. "Christine," I sighed, my voice trembling. But before I could stand, she lunged at me with a feral intensity, her face twisted into something unrecognizable. Her eyes were glazed, her mouth hanging open in a snarl. I barely had time to react before she was on top of me, pinning me down.

"Get off me!" I yelled, trying to push her back, but her strength was inhuman. Her fingers clawed at my arms and shoulders, and I could feel the weight of her pressing me into the floor, crushing the air from my lungs. I struggled, thrashing beneath her, but it was like fighting a wild animal. I finally managed to shove her away with all my strength, enough to scramble to my feet and make a run for it.

I barely made it two steps before Christine grabbed my ankle, sending me crashing into the bedside table. The lamp fell, shattering into pieces, and my head hit the corner of the table with a sharp thud. Dazed, I tried to crawl away, but she kept pulling at my leg, dragging me back toward her.

My eyes darted around desperately until they landed on the pocket knife I kept by the bed, just a few feet away. I stretched out my hand, reaching with all my might as Christine's grip tightened, her nails digging into my skin. Tears blurred my vision as panic set in, my fingers brushing against the knife's cold metal edge. With a final, desperate lunge, I snatched it up and held it in front of me, my hands shaking.

"What am I supposed to do now?" I thought, my heart pounding in my ears. Christine's face was right in front of me, her expression a grotesque mix of rage and hunger.

"ARGH!" I screamed, pushing the knife forward, my arms trembling from fear and exhaustion.

Before I could strike, a deafening gunshot rang out, reverberating through the room. Warm droplets spattered across my face. I blinked in shock as Christine's head jerked back violently, half of her face suddenly missing, her brain exposed. Her body crumpled, lifeless, onto the floor.

"Get up!" A stern voice commanded as strong hands yanked me to my feet. I turned, disoriented, to see my father's face, etched with urgency.

"Dad?" I whispered, a mixture of shock and relief flooding over me.

His grip tightened on my shoulders. "Listen, Mila, we have to get out of here. Now."

"What's happening?" I stammered, my body still trembling, my mind spinning with confusion.

He shook his head, his eyes scanning the room. "It's complicated. I'll explain later, but first, we need to get the hell out of here."

Just then, his phone rang. He quickly fished it out, bringing it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Are you seeing this, Stephen?" A voice crackled on the other end.

"Yes, Lori, but I've got the two of them safe," my dad replied, glancing at me. I realized he was speaking to my mom.

"Mom! Is that you? Listen, Sara is supposed to land at the airport in about an hour! She'll be alone!" I shouted into the phone, panic tightening my chest.

"Calm down, Mila. I'll get Sara. Just don't panic," my mom's voice came back, steady and soothing, despite the chaos.

I sagged to the floor, relief and exhaustion flooding my body. My dad took the phone back, continuing his conversation with her, but I could barely focus on the words.

Samuel burst into the room, carrying two large duffle bags. His face was smeared with blood, and his eyes were wide with fear. He looked at me, his expression softening for a moment before he turned to my dad.

"I got everything we need," he said, holding up the bags.

My dad nodded. "We have to leave now. We're heading straight to the city to meet up with your mother and sister."

We hurried outside, scrambling into the car without a moment to spare. As the garage door creaked open, I saw the street filled with chaos—people attacking each other, tearing flesh with their teeth. Policemen fired their guns, but their bullets seemed useless; the attackers just kept coming, relentless and unfazed.

I covered my ears against the screams and the gunfire, but the sounds still pierced through, pounding in my head. My dad floored the accelerator, swerving around obstacles, heading straight for the city. I glanced into the rearview mirror and saw those things chasing after us, their lifeless eyes fixated on the car.

What the hell were those things?