The Apocalypse We Somehow Missed

At 5:17 on a Tuesday afternoon, Mara Reyes was thinking about instant noodles. She had spent nine hours under fluorescent lights, three of them pretending to understand why a spreadsheet that had behaved perfectly yesterday had suddenly decided numbers were suggestions. Her supervisor had called a meeting at four forty-seven, someone had microwaved fish in the office pantry, and her left shoe had started hurting sometime after lunch. By the time Mara reached her condominium building, she had decided dinner would be whatever required the least amount of thought. She had stopped at the convenience store downstairs and bought two cups of spicy seafood noodles. She had been debating whether eating both in one night technically defeated the purpose of having a spare when the lobby doors slid open in front of her. The lobby was busier than usual. She had lived in the building long enough to develop the useful urban habit of observing problems without volunteering to become involved in them. A security guard was arguing with a delivery rider near the entrance. Two residents stood near the reception talking to each other while the receptionist kept glancing toward the glass doors. Someone outside was pounding hard enough against one of those doors that the glass trembled faintly in its frame. Mara shifted her laptop bag higher on her shoulder and checked the elevator display. Twenty-six. She then pressed the call button. Behind her, the security guard raised his voice. “Sir, you can't come inside like that. Please step back.” The delivery rider answered, but Mara couldn't make out the words. He sounded angry or frightened, perhaps both. The elevator descended. Twenty. Fifteen. A woman near the reception said, “Call somebody. He's bleeding.” Mara looked over. The delivery rider had one hand pressed against his neck. His helmet hung from the other. There was blood on the collar of his shirt, but from this distance Mara couldn't tell whether it belonged to him or someone else. The security guard took a cautious step backward. “Sir, don't come closer.” The rider did. Mara frowned. The elevator chimed. She turned immediately, grateful for the excuse to leave whatever was happening behind her. The doors opened, and she stepped inside, pressed twenty-seven, then shifted to one side while digging her phone out of her bag. “Hold it, please.” A man's hand appeared between the closing doors. Mara pressed the open button. He slipped inside carrying two reusable grocery bags. He was tall enough that Mara registered that first, probably a little over six feet, with a lean build and dark hair that had started falling out of whatever neat arrangement it had been in earlier. He wore a button-down shirt with the sleeves folded to his forearms, dark trousers, and the expression of someone who had also survived a long workday. One of his grocery bags contained an unreasonable amount of cabbage. “Thanks,” he said. Mara nodded. The man reached toward the panel, then stopped when he saw twenty-seven already lit. He glanced at her. “Same floor?” “Apparently.” He shifted both grocery bags to one hand. “I've lived here for three years and somehow still don't know half the people on it.” “Yeah, same.” His mouth moved slightly, almost a smile. The doors began closing. A scream cut through the lobby. It was not the kind of scream people gave when they were startled or angry. It was full-bodied, ragged, and so immediate that both Mara and the stranger turned at once. The elevator doors stopped halfway. For several seconds, neither understood what they were looking at. The security guard who had been arguing near the entrance was now on the marble floor. The delivery rider was on top of him. At first, Mara thought the rider had tackled him. Then he lifted his head. Blood covered his mouth and chin. Something red and wet clung between his teeth. The guard screamed again and shoved desperately at the man's shoulders. Mara's stomach turned. “What the hell?” the stranger beside her whispered. A woman near the reception rushed forward, perhaps trying to help, but another person slammed into her from the side. They crashed into a low table, sending a decorative vase across the floor. Someone outside hit the glass doors again. This time, one of them opened, and two people stumbled inside. One was bleeding heavily from the arm. The other was biting him. Mara stopped breathing. The delivery rider bent toward the guard's neck again. The stranger beside her moved first. “Close it.” Mara looked at him. “Close the door.” She hit the button. Nothing happened. The doors remained stubbornly open. The bloody rider looked up. His face turned toward the elevator. Mara felt something cold spread through her stomach. He stood. “Why is he standing?” she asked. “I don't know.” The rider stared directly at them. The stranger hit the close button repeatedly. “Come on.” The rider began running. Mara's body finally understood what her mind had not. She slammed her palm against the button. “Why isn't it closing?” “I don't know!” “Press it again.” “I am pressing it!” The elevator doors finally started moving. Too slowly. The rider was almost there. Mara backed instinctively toward the rear wall. The narrowing gap showed him coming closer, blood down the front of his uniform, mouth open as though he were trying to scream but couldn't produce anything except a hoarse animal sound. His hand shot between the doors. Mara screamed. The stranger reacted without thinking. He plunged one hand into the nearest grocery bag and grabbed the first solid thing available. It was a cabbage. He swung it with both hands. The cabbage hit the man's wrist with a dull, surprisingly heavy sound. The arm disappeared. The elevator doors closed. Silence filled the small metal box. The elevator started climbing. Neither Mara nor the stranger moved. He remained standing with the cabbage raised above his shoulder. Mara stared at him. He stared at the cabbage. Then he looked at her. “Did I just hit someone with a cabbage?” Mara swallowed. “I think you did.” He lowered it slowly. The elevator passed the fourth floor. Neither spoke. At eight, Mara realized her hands were shaking. At eleven, the man put the cabbage back into his bag. At fourteen, he took it out again. Mara looked at him. He looked back. “What?” “You're holding it again.” “It worked once.” Despite everything, a laugh escaped her. It sounded wrong in the elevator. Mara covered her mouth. “Sorry.” “No, it's fine.” He looked pale enough that the words were mostly automatic. “I'd rather you laugh than scream again.” “I'll schedule the screaming for later,” Mara said while smirking. He gave her a brief look, then stared at the closed doors. The elevator continued upward. Mara pressed herself against the wall and tried to make sense of what she had seen. “That wasn't normal.” “No.” “Maybe drugs?” The man exhaled slowly. “That's what I'm trying to tell myself.” “Some kind of violent reaction?” “Maybe.” “To what?” “No idea.” Mara thought about the woman who had been knocked down, the person biting someone's arm at the glass doors, the delivery rider chewing through a man's face. “A movie?” He turned toward her. She knew how stupid it sounded even before he answered. “With no signs?” “Low-budget production.” “Inside an occupied condominium?” “Method acting?” “He bit someone's cheek.” “Very committed to method acting.” They looked at each other. Neither believed it. The elevator passed twenty. Mara pulled out her phone. No signal. She held it higher as though several additional centimeters might help. “Nothing.” The man checked his own. “Same.” “That's normal in elevators.” “Usually I still get one bar.” Mara refreshed the screen anyway. Nothing. Something struck the elevator from outside as they passed twenty-five. The metal doors shuddered. Both of them jumped. Mara looked at the floor indicator. “What was that?” The stranger tightened his grip around the cabbage. “I genuinely don't know.” “You keep saying that.” “Would you prefer I invent something?” “Not particularly.” “Then I'm doing my best.” Twenty-six. The elevator slowed. Mara's heartbeat climbed. The stranger raised the cabbage slightly. She looked at it, then at him. “Please tell me you have something more effective in those bags.” “I have radishes.” Mara stared. He glanced into the second bag. “And soy sauce.” “Wonderful.” “I wasn't grocery shopping for combat.” The elevator chimed. Twenty-seven. Neither moved when the doors opened. The corridor was empty. Warm recessed lights glowed along the beige walls. A framed abstract print hung opposite the elevator, the same painting Mara had passed almost every day for nearly two years, and still couldn't decide whether it was supposed to be a mountain or an expensive accident. Nothing had been knocked over. There was no blood. No screaming. The stranger leaned slightly out of the elevator. He looked right. Then left. “See?” he whispered. “Normal.” Mara didn't find the whisper reassuring. “Why are you whispering?” He thought about it. “I don't know.” They stepped out together. The elevator doors closed behind them. For several seconds, they remained near it listening to the silence. Mara's apartment was another ten doors down the corridor. The stranger stopped at the fourth door from the elevator and shifted his grocery bags onto the floor. He entered his keypad code. Mara paused. “You live here?” He looked at her. “Yes.” “My unit is six doors past yours.” He glanced down the corridor. His keypad beeped. The lock hadn't opened. He had entered the wrong number. He stared at it. “My hands are shaking.” Mara noticed his fingers trembling. That made her own fear feel strangely more manageable. Until then, his height and quick reaction in the elevator had made him seem slightly more capable than she felt. Now he looked like a frightened man carrying groceries and pretending a cabbage qualified as a weapon. He tried the code again. “I'm Adrian, by the way.” “Mara.” “Nice meeting you under...” He glanced toward the elevator. “Whatever that was.” “Same.” The lock beeped again. This time it opened. Mara adjusted the laptop bag on her shoulder. “Well. Good luck with the cabbage.” Adrian looked down at it. “I feel like we've been through too much together to mock it now.” Mara almost smiled. Then she started walking toward her unit. She had gone six steps when the elevator chimed behind them. Both stopped. Mara turned. Adrian's hand remained on his open door. The elevator doors parted. For one hopeful second, Mara expected an ordinary resident to step out and complain about the delay downstairs. A barefoot woman stumbled into the corridor. Her blouse was torn at one shoulder. Blood covered half her face. Part of her lower lip was missing. Mara's body went cold. The woman lifted her head. Behind her, something shifted inside the elevator. Another person stepped forward. Then another. Adrian whispered, “Mara.” She didn't answer. The first woman's body jerked. Her head snapped toward them. Then she ran. “Mara!” Adrian's voice broke whatever had frozen her in place. She sprinted. His door was already open. He grabbed one grocery bag, kicked the other through the entrance, and reached for Mara as she came toward him. The infected woman was faster than Mara expected. Much faster. Mara felt Adrian's hand close around her upper arm. He pulled her through the doorway, stumbled backward with her, and slammed the door. The woman hit it from the other side less than a second later. The entire frame shook. Mara screamed and grabbed the deadbolt. “Lock it!” “I am!” Another impact came. Adrian shoved one of the grocery bags aside and pushed a narrow console table toward the entrance. “Help me.” Mara dropped her laptop bag and pushed. The table legs scraped loudly over the floor. Something struck the door again. “Chair,” Adrian said. “What?” “The dining chair.” Mara dragged one over. They wedged it between the table and the opposite wall at an awkward angle that probably would not have impressed anyone who understood the actual barricades. Adrian stared at their work. Another impact rattled the door. Both stepped backward. The woman outside scratched at the wood. Mara could hear fingernails dragging across it. She pressed one hand over her mouth. Adrian stood beside her breathing heavily. For nearly a minute, neither spoke. Then Mara pointed toward the door. “Tell me that woman was on drugs.” “I can't.” “Tell me anything.” “I don't know what you want me to say.” “Something normal.” Adrian looked toward the barricade. “Your left shoelace is untied.” Mara looked down. It was. She laughed once, sharp and completely inappropriate. Then Adrian did too. They stopped almost immediately because the scratching outside continued. Mara pulled out her phone. “No signal.” “Wi-Fi.” Adrian grabbed his. The apartment network appeared. It connected. For three seconds, nothing happened. Then both phones began vibrating. Mara's screen filled with notifications so quickly they covered one another. Emergency alerts. News apps. Messages from the office group chat. Several missed calls from numbers she recognized only vaguely. Adrian opened the first alert. His expression changed. “What?” He handed her the phone. The message instructed residents to remain indoors, secure all entrances, avoid contact with aggressive or disoriented individuals, and wait for further instructions from authorities. Another alert appeared beneath it. Then another. Mara opened a livestream. The reporter was standing somewhere outside a hospital, speaking too quickly while people moved behind police barriers. A caption along the bottom mentioned an unknown outbreak involving extreme aggression and possible transmission through bodily fluids. The footage changed. An intersection full of abandoned vehicles. A man attacking another person in a convenience store. A hospital entrance overwhelmed by people. A shaking phone video showed several soldiers firing at someone in the road. The man fell. Then moved again. Mara lowered the phone. “No.” Adrian sat down on the edge of the sofa. “What?” “This is fake.” “Mara.” “It has to be.” She reopened the stream. The comments were moving too quickly to read, but one word appeared over and over. Zombie. Zombie. Zombie. Mara stared at the screen. Adrian leaned closer. “That's not a real thing.” “People don't become zombies.” “Dead people don't—” The scratching at the door stopped. Both turned toward it. The sudden silence was worse. Adrian rose slowly. Mara grabbed his wrist. “Don't.” “I wasn't opening it.” “What were you doing?” “Listening.” They stood several meters from the door. Something moved in the hallway. A dragging step. Then another. A low, wet sound came from outside. Mara's grip tightened around Adrian's wrist before she realized she was still holding him. He didn't pull away. The lights flickered. Once. Twice. The refrigerator clicked. The air conditioner stopped, started again, then cut out. Adrian looked toward the kitchen. “Power's unstable.” Another flicker moved through the ceiling lights. “Is that bad?” “For the appliances? Yes.” “That is not currently my main concern.” Adrian crossed the kitchen and opened the electrical panel. Mara followed because standing alone in the living room suddenly seemed impossible. “What are you doing?” “Turning off the main breaker.” “Why?” “If the power keeps surging, it can damage things.” Mara stared at him. “Adrian, there are zombies outside.” “I know. I would still like the refrigerator to survive if we do.” That was practical enough to be irritating. He switched off the main breaker. The apartment went fully dark. Mara's phone flashlight became the only immediate light. The refrigerator fell silent. The router died. The air conditioner stopped for good. Adrian closed the electrical panel. “We'll check later when the grid seems stable.” Mara barely processed the sentence because something outside the front door growled. They both returned to the living room. For several minutes, they sat on the floor with their backs against the sofa and their phones between them. Mara watched her battery percentage drop. The world had become very small: The door, the dark apartment, the man beside her, and the sounds outside. She thought about her own unit six doors away, her clean clothes, her bed, the mug beside her kitchen sink, the bathroom where she had left a towel hanging crooked that morning. Everything she owned was close enough that she could almost point to it through the wall. It might as well have been in another city.