Chronicles of the Dead: Escaping the Dead Book One

Ava’s lungs burned. Her shoes slipped on blood-slick tile as she stumbled backward, one hand stretched out toward Emily. “Emily!” she screamed. The hallway was chaos. Broken glass glittered under the emergency lights. Somewhere nearby, alarms wailed and somebody kept shouting for everyone to move, to run, to get out. But Emily had nowhere left to run. Three infected were on her. Not the slow, shambling kind from movies. These moved with horrifying speed, jerking and lunging like starving animals. One had Emily by the arm. Another slammed into her from the side. The third, its face smeared dark with blood, snapped at her throat. Emily fought wildly, crying out Ava’s name. Ava ran toward her before hands grabbed her hard from behind. “Let me go!” she screamed, twisting in the soldier’s grip. “That’s my best friend—Emily, no!” The soldier was strong, unyielding, dragging her back as she fought with everything she had. Emily’s eyes found hers for one terrible second. She was terrified. Then one of the infected bit down. Emily’s scream cut off into a choking gasp. Ava stopped struggling. “No,” she whispered, the word torn out of her like a wound. “No, no, no…” Emily’s body began to convulse. Ava knew something was wrong before anyone said it. She had seen enough injuries, enough blood, enough death to recognize that this was different. Not dying. Changing. Emily’s fingers clawed at the floor. Her mouth opened and closed, but the sounds that came out were wet and broken. Blood spilled from the side of her neck, pooling beneath her. Ava made one desperate move toward her again. The soldier held her back. “Please,” Ava sobbed. “Please, help her.” There was no time. No mercy. No miracle. Emily’s body went still. For one heartbeat, Ava thought she had survived. Then Emily turned her head. Slowly. Wrongly. Her eyes were empty. The soldier cursed under his breath and yanked Ava hard enough to make her stagger. Emily rose. Ava’s scream echoed down the hallway as Emily lunged at the nearest living thing. At Ava. The soldier hauled her backward just as Emily slammed against him, teeth snapping, arms clawing, no trace left of the girl who used to laugh too loud and make everyone smile. Ava broke apart. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t accept what she was seeing. “Emily!” she cried one last time. The soldier dragged her into the stairwell, his boots pounding the steps as the building shook with distant explosions and screaming voices. Ava fought him with all the strength left in her body, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. Behind them, the dead kept coming. And somewhere in the ruined city beyond the walls, the world was beginning to end. Seven Days Earlier Ava woke to the sound of Ethan moving around the kitchen. For one sleepy second, she stayed still and let herself live in the quiet. The apartment was dim with early morning light, the air a little cool, the city outside barely awake. Then the smell of coffee reached her, and she smiled into her pillow. That smell meant Ethan had already gotten up before her. Again. She sat up and reached for her phone on the nightstand. 5:14 a.m. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to be a responsible husband before sunrise,” she called. Ethan’s voice drifted from the kitchen. “I’m offended you think this is a try. I was born responsible.” Ava laughed as she swung her legs out of bed. “That is the biggest lie you’ve told all week.” He appeared in the bedroom doorway a moment later, mug in hand, hair still a little messy from sleep. He had that half-amused, half-soft expression he wore when he was happy and trying not to make a big deal out of it. “You’re late,” he said. “For what?” “For being in love with me. I’ve been waiting all morning.” Ava rolled her eyes and stood, crossing the small space between them. “You are ridiculous.” “And yet you married me.” “Poor judgment,” she said, but she was smiling when she said it. Ethan kissed her forehead, then held out the mug. “Coffee.” She took it with both hands. “Dangerous.” “Exactly the right temperature for survival.” She took a sip and made a face. “This tastes like punishment.” “I knew you’d appreciate my art.” Ava snorted and leaned against the doorframe. For a few seconds, everything felt ordinary. Safe. Normal enough to forget the world was busy doing what it always did—moving on without warning. Then her phone buzzed again on the dresser. Emily. Ava’s face brightened instantly. “That can only mean trouble.” Ethan groaned. “If she’s calling before seven, I’m not home.” Ava answered on speaker. “You’re already annoying and it’s barely morning.” Emily’s voice burst through the room, loud, energetic, and impossible to ignore. “Good. I wanted to make sure I reached you before you pretended to be a responsible adult.” Ethan sighed dramatically. “I’m standing right here.” “Excellent,” Emily said. “Tell your husband he makes weak coffee.” Ava laughed. “You’ve never even tasted it.” “I don’t need to. I can sense weakness.” Ethan shook his head, smiling despite himself. Emily had that effect on people—too loud, too quick, impossible not to notice. She made space feel less heavy just by existing in it. “I’m coming by later,” Emily said. “Don’t disappear on me.” Ava frowned. “Why? What’s wrong?” “Nothing,” Emily said too fast. “Nothing’s wrong. Which is exactly why you should be suspicious.” Ethan exchanged a look with Ava. “That’s not reassuring.” “It’s not meant to be,” Emily said. “Just save me a cup of that tragic coffee.” The line clicked off before Ava could argue. She looked at Ethan, then toward the window where the city was starting to glow with the first weak light of morning. “Emily is definitely up to something,” Ava said. Ethan took back the mug. “Emily is always up to something.” And outside, beyond the glass and the ordinary quiet of the morning, the city kept breathing like nothing was about to happen.