Chapter 3
THREE
JULIEN
Five hours trapped in this glorified closet, and the air’s thick with sweat, fear, and unspoken accusations.
I roll my neck, muscles knotted tight from standing guard at the door. The banging stopped hours ago, but I can’t shake the feeling they’re still out there.
Waiting.
My phone battery’s at fifteen percent, the hundredth call to Cole, my best friend, still unanswered. Outside, the world’s turning to shit, and in here, we’re just a powder keg waiting for a spark.
The church office wasn’t built for seven people. The reverend huddles in the corner, lips moving in silent prayer, and the Bible clutched to his chest like a shield.
Cameron and Sienna have claimed the space by the window, his arm around her shoulders, her head on his, whispering to each other. At least someone in this nightmare found what they wanted.
Nicklas paces the three steps the cramped space allows, checking his watch every thirty seconds like time might magically start moving faster.
His suit is rumpled, face flushed with what I suspect is more rage than fear.
The kind of man who gets angrier when things don’t follow his script.
His wife, Carmen, sits rigid on the leather couch, makeup streaked down her face, knuckles white around her purse.
Abuela hasn’t left Amelia’s side, who’s even paler now than she was during the ceremony, but somehow the calmest person in the room. She’s used to facing death while the rest of us are playing catch-up.
And then there’s Dakota.
She sits on the floor, back against the wall, still as a statue.
Her wedding dress hangs in tatters around her knees, where I ripped it.
Blood crusted in her hair, splattered across her face, and chest. Some of it hers, most not.
Her small hands are scraped, her thumb circling rhythmically against her inner wrist.
She hasn’t spoken since we got in here. Just stares at the wall opposite, blue-gray eyes distant and flat, like she flipped off a switch.
Shock, probably.
Not surprising after she caved in that kid’s skull. Not a kid. A thing. Whatever the fuck these things are now.
Did I look like that back then?
“The networks are overloaded.” Carmen stares at her phone. “Nothing’s going through.”
“Welcome to five hours ago,” I mutter, refreshing my own screen for the hundredth time.
The emergency alerts stopped coming two hours ago. Last one just said stay inside, lock your doors. Like, we didn’t figure that out.
My phone vibrates, screen lighting up with Cole’s name. Finally.
“Cole.” I answer before the first ring ends, moving to the corner farthest from the others.
“Julien.” His voice sounds strained, distance and static making it waver. “You alive?”
“For now. Where the fuck are you?”
“Home. Barely made it. Streets are a goddamn slaughterhouse. Was on my way to your shit show of a wedding, no offense, when everything went to hell.”
“What happened out there?”
Cole exhales, the sound rough through the speaker. “Middle of downtown, people just started attacking each other. Not fighting. Fucking feeding. Like animals. Police tried to contain it, but… it spread too fast.”
“Same here. Right in the middle of the ceremony.”
“So you didn’t even get to the ‘I do’ part before the world ended? That’s some timing.”
Despite everything, I snort. “Cameron called it off before that. Then all hell broke loose.”
“Your brother grew some balls? Good for him.” A crash sounds in the background. “Shit, hold on.”
I wait, knuckles white around the phone. Cameron watches me, questioning. I shake my head.
Cole’s back, breathing hard. “Sorry. Just—Doesn’t matter.
” His voice drops lower. “Julien, these things—they’re like zombies.
Moving corpses. Infecteds. Walking dead.
Take your pick. Straight out of the fucking movies.
I had to take down five to get home. Including a cop and stole his fucking gun.
Bullet to the head stops them, but nothing else even slows them down. ”
“Fuck.” I scrub a hand over my face, stubble scratching my palm. “How’s Arianna?”
“Holding up. Better than me, actually. But whatever this is, it’s not just here. It’s everywhere.”
I glance around the room. Everyone’s watching me now, trying to piece together my half of the conversation.
“What about rescue? Military?” I ask. If it hit the cities first, maybe the outskirts and our position still can be saved?
Cole laughs, a harsh sound with no humor. “Military’s too busy containing the cities. National Guard’s mobilizing, but… It’s bad. Really bad. They’re saying stay put, but I’m not sure. As soon as this is calming down, we move. Somewhere isolated. Cottage?”
“Yeah. That’s where I was thinking.”
“Good. That’s your best—” Static cuts through his words, the connection faltering. “Don’t—”
“Cole? Fuck.”
“Breaking up. Get to—away—supplies—” More static. “—if we—”
The call drops. Signal gone.
“Shit.” I try redialing, but it goes straight to voicemail. Fifteen percent battery drops to fourteen.
Cameron peels off the wall, crossing to me. “What did he say?”
I pull him closer, voice low. “It’s worse than we thought. Widespread. Military’s containing, not rescuing. We need to get to the cottage. We can’t stay holed up in this room. Not enough space, not enough supplies.”
“So we need to clear more of the church? Find food?”
I nod. “Enough to last a few days while we figure out our next move.”
“What about them?” His eyes drift toward Dakota and her family.
“They come with us.”
“All of them? Even Nicklas? After everything he did?”
I should leave him. The thought flashes through me, savage and immediate. But for all I know, we’ll need every person to survive this.
“All of them,” I say. “For now.”
“What are you two whispering about?” Nicklas squares his shoulders, his authoritative businessman’s voice barely covering the fear underneath.
“Sit down,” Rosa snaps, her small frame somehow expanding with indignation. “Let my grandsons think.”
“I don’t trust them. They broke their word.” He steps toward us, finger jabbing the air. “This whole situation might be some elaborate plan they cooked up to—”
“To what?” I step into his space, voice dropping low. “Release a zombie apocalypse to get out of a marriage you forced on us? That your brilliant theory?”
Cameron’s hand comes to rest on my shoulder with a gentle pressure.
I shrug it off. “We wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t blackmailed us in the first place.”
Carmen gasps, Amelia’s eyes widen, darting between her father and me, and Dakota doesn’t react, still staring at the wall.
“I was saving your business!” Nicklas snarls. “Your father would have wanted—”
“Don’t you dare talk about my father.” My hands curl into fists. “You betrayed him. Your partner. Your friend.”
“Enough!” Abuela slams her cane against the floor, the crack like a gunshot in the small room. “All this fighting while those things are out there? Stupidity. You want to tear each other apart? Save it for after we survive.”
She’s right. I know she’s right. But the rage burning in my chest doesn’t care about right.
“We need more space and supplies,” I say, focusing on what matters. “No one’s coming to rescue us.”
“There’s a kitchen,” the reverend says. “Always stocked for after-service functions and volunteers.”
“Where?” I ask.
“Down the hall, past the chapel.” He fumbles in his pocket. “I have keys.”
“The caterers.” Dakota’s murmur startles everyone. “They delivered yesterday. Everything except the cake.” Her eyes focus on me. “The food’s in the reception hall and kitchen.”
“Contaminated,” Nicklas scoffs, waving his hand like he’s swatting a fly. “The reception hall is across from where those things were feeding. Food’s probably covered in blood and whatever disease this is.”
I bite back a laugh. The man who blackmailed his way into my family’s business is suddenly a fucking epidemiologist?
“There are warming trays,” Dakota says, voice stronger than before but still quiet. “Everything’s in sealed containers until serving.”
Nicklas whirls on her. “They’re all infected.”
“Sorry.” She shrinks back against the wall, and a knot forms in my chest at how quickly she caves.
Sienna leans forward, elbows on knees. “Actually. Food safety 101. I worked catering jobs through college. Stuff stays in thermal containers until it’s time to serve. Should be fine if the lids are still on.”
Nicklas stares at her like she’s speaking another language. The man’s probably never cooked a meal in his life. He opens his mouth, closes it, then looks away without responding. Conceding without admitting he’s wrong.
Cameron catches my eye, the corner of his mouth quirking up.
“So we have food,” I say, bringing everyone back to the point. “I’ll go.” I catch the keys the reverend tosses. “Cameron and I will clear a path, secure what we need.”
“I’m coming too.” Sienna steps forward, chin raised.
I start to refuse, but Cameron’s hand on my arm stops me.
“She knows what she’s doing,” he says. “Good under pressure.”
I nod once. She’ll stick to Cameron anyway.
“I can help.” Dakota rises unsteadily to her feet. “I’ve already—”
“No.” The word comes out hard. “You stay here with your sister.”
She drops back to the ground.
I grab the letter opener I took from the desk drawer. Small, but sharp enough to pierce an eye socket. “Cameron, Sienna, grab whatever you can use.”
Cameron picks up a fire poker leaning against the fireplace. Sienna decides on a crystal paperweight, tucks it into her jacket pocket, and grabs a letter opener like mine.
“Be careful,” Amelia says softly.
I meet her eyes and nod once. “Lock the door. Don’t open it for anyone but us.”
We check our makeshift weapons one last time. Cameron looks at Sienna, then back at me, his usually soft features hardening.
“Ready?” I ask.
They nod.
Time to face whatever’s waiting out there.
I remove the chair and, with Cameron’s help, ease the bookcase away from the door, before listening for movement outside.
Nothing.