Finding Holly

The First Signs

Holly stood by the window, sipping the last of her coffee as she watched Hannah pull out of the driveway before disappearing down the street, leaving the house eerily quiet. It was always like this when Hannah left for work-Holly had never been a fan of mornings, and the silence of an empty house wasn't exactly welcoming. Still, today was different. Today was supposed to be exciting. The start of their yearly trip.

Holly turned from the window, stretching as if to roll the tension from her shoulders. She had spent the past week making sure everything was ready-coolers, camping gear, the duffle bags packed with supplies they'd need at the lake house. Even though their parents were gone now, and had been for a couple of years, she and Hannah had kept up the tradition. Some things weren't worth letting go of no matter how much life changed.

She grabbed her phone to check the time, her screen lit up and displayed 6:50a.m. A notification popped up just as she was about to set the phone down-a text from Charlotte.

Charlotte (6:50a.m.): Something weird is happening at the hospital. We're getting a lot of critical patients with strange symptoms. Some have been violent. Security is involved. It's chaos, and they're locking down a wing of the hospital.

Holly frowned and reread it. Charlotte wasn't one to overreact. If she was reaching out, something had to be wrong. She'd heard of strange symptoms before, for sure, but rarely was a patient violent unless they were under the influence. She typed out a quick reply.

Holly (6:53a.m.): What do you mean violent? Like rabies or DUI? Are the patients actually attacking people?

She waited for a bit but after no response for a few minutes she decided to set her phone down, glancing at it periodically while moving around the kitchen, finishing the last of the packing. She told herself not to worry. Hospitals were stressful places, and Charlotte, Hannah and herself worked in one of the busiest in the city. Maybe it was just a bad night. But then she turned on the TV, hoping the news could distract her.

The morning anchor looked composed, but then there was a tension in his voice, "-reports of violent outbursts in multiple hospitals across the state. Officials have yet to confirm the cause, but sources suggest a possible viral infection affecting brain function. The CDC has begun setting up quarantine zones in high-impact areas-" Holly's stomach tightened as a live video feed popped up on the screen. a reporter stood outside their hospital. Behind her, emergency vehicles were lined up, red and blue lights flashing. People in hazmat suits moved through the parking lot, directing medical personnel towards a secured entrance.

Holly grabbed her phone again.

Holly (7:05 a.m.): Hannah, call me when you can. Something's going on at the hospital.

She hesitated before texting Charlotte again, knowing that if there was something going on at the hospital, the ICU would be the busiest part.

Holly (7:07a.m.): Are you guys okay? What's happening?

She didn't get a response from either of them. Exhaling slowly in an attempt to calm herself, she locked her phone. The rational part of her told her to stay calm-hospitals had protocols, the CDC wouldn't be there unless they had things under control. But the knot in her stomach continued to tighten.

Just in case, Holly began double-checking the supplies in the car. She and Hannah always packed extra for their trips-first aid kits, knives, non-perishable food. It was second nature at this point, habits instilled by their parents after years of camping and survival training. She wasn't worried about being prepared. She was worried about Hannah.

Hours passed without a word from Charlotte, Hannah, or even Tim, Hannah's friend, who'd often be the only one sober enough to call Holly to pick them up when they drank too much at the bars. The sirens outside hadn't stopped, or even slowed down. The city felt...different.

She stepped onto the porch, looking down the street. More people were out than usual, but they weren't going about their normal routines. Some stood in small groups, talking urgently. Others moved strangely-stumbling, as if drunk or sick. Across the street Holly could see a woman shouting at her husband inside their house, gesturing towards their TV.

Holly's phone buzzed in her hand, thinking that it could be a text from Hannah or Charlotte. She unlocked it.

Emergency Alert (11:05a.m.): Stay indoors. Avoid crowded areas. Await further instructions from local authorities.

Holly's chest tightened. Then a scream cut through the air. She jumped, turning towards the sound, her heart now hammering in her chest. Down the block, a man collapsed onto the pavement, clutching his neck. Another man knelt over him-no, not knelt. He was biting him.

For a split second, Holly couldn't believe what she was seeing. It was surreal, like something out of the horror movies her and her sister loved to watch. Then the injured man stopped moving, his body twitching a few times before going still.

The attacker stood up, his face and shirt smeared with blood. His head jerked unnaturally, as if he were listening for something. Then his eyes locked on her. Holly's breath caught, the man began stumbling towards her house.

Holly turned, stumbling on the doorstep before slamming the door shut and locking the door. Backing away from the door, her pulse pounded so hard it drowned out the noise from the street. She reached for the deadbolt, double-checking it before stepping up to the peephole. Through the peephole, she could still see the man, his movements jerky and unnatural. As she looked past the man, further down the street, she made a startling realization. The man wasn't alone.

Others like him were emerging-some stumbling from houses, others wandering aimlessly before snapping their heads towards sudden sounds. A car alarm blared a few streets over, and immediately several of them turned in that direction, moving as if drawn to the noise.

Holly swallowed hard. She needed to call Hannah. So, hands shaking, she unlocked her phone and redialed. It rang once. Twice. Straight to voicemail. She tried Charlotte next, and got voicemail as well. Damn it.

She stared at her screen, fighting the rising panic creeping into her chest. Something was really wrong. The CDC was locking down the hospital. The news was issuing warnings to stay inside. People-sick people-were attacking each other in the streets. And she couldn't get in touch with Hannah.

Holly began pacing the kitchen, turning over options in her head. She could drive to the hospital, but if it was on lockdown, she wouldn't get in. She could stay put, but if the situation outside kept getting worse, how long would she be safe? Her gaze then flicked to the supplies she still had stacked by the door. Their trip: The lake house.

It was stupid, right? Clinging to that plan like it was some kind of lifeline. But it was a plan. It was the one place she and Hannah had always gone, the one place they both knew inside and out. And if Hannah made it out of the hospital, she'd know to head there too. It was their safe place.

A loud crash outside snapped her attention to the window. Across the street, the front door of a neighbor's house burst open, and a woman sprinted out screaming. She barely made it 3 steps before something slammed into her from behind, dragging her to the ground. Holly stumbled backwards, her heart slamming in her ribs. She couldn't stay there.

She ran upstairs, shoving her phone into her pocket as she grabbed her backpack. If she was going to leave she needed to be smart about it. Her car was packed, but she couldn't risk just running outside. At the last minute, she thought of her father's hunting rifle, still locked in her bedroom closet.

Throwing her closet doors open, she began shoving aside old clothes and boxes until her fingers found the metal case. With shaking hands, she pulled it out and fumbled with the latch. It took 3 tries before it finally popped open.

The rifle lay inside, polished and well-kept, just the way their father had taught them. Beside it, two full boxes, and one half box of ammunition. She grabbed both, slinging the rifle over her shoulder before stuffing the boxes into her duffle and as many rounds into her pockets as she could.

Something slammed against the door. She froze. Then the sound came again-a heavy, deliberate thud, followed by a low, guttural groan. Holly's breath caught in her throat. They were trying to get in. She had to move. She sprinted downstairs, grabbing her keys before creeping toward the back door. If they were at the front, she could slip out the back, cut through the alley, and reach her car before they noticed.

She unlocked the door and eased it open, stepping onto the porch. The air, once clear, was now thick with smoke and something else-something metallic, like blood. Down the alley, more figures staggered from between houses, their heads jerking at every sound. Holly swallowed hard before tightening her grip on the rifle.

Stay quiet. Stay fast. Get to the car.

Amd then, she ran.