The screen flickered as the news channel cut to a national broadcast.
The President sat behind his desk in the Oval Office. The flag stood still behind him, its colors muted by the dull lighting. His face looked pale—older than it had the last time he’d addressed the country. His tie was crooked, and his eyes, though steady, carried a weight that couldn’t be hidden.
“My fellow Americans,” he began. His voice was calm but brittle, like it might crack at any moment.
“As many of you are aware, the Isisraxtosa virus is spreading rapidly. Too rapidly. Every major city in the United States—including New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, and Washington, D.C. itself—now reports confirmed cases. We believe the virus originated in South America, most likely in Argentina. From there, it has made its way into the global population through international travel.
“This virus is unlike anything we’ve seen before. It does not act like a traditional pathogen. Once symptoms present, it moves quickly—often transforming the infected in under an hour. Those affected become... hostile. Non-verbal. Aggressive. We do not yet understand the mechanisms behind this mutation.”
He paused, took a breath.
“If there is a way to beat this—we haven’t found it yet. We are coordinating with military and civilian scientists. In the meantime, I urge you all to remain calm. Shelter in place. Barricade doors. Avoid public spaces. Do not engage with anyone showing symptoms.”
“To our allies overseas: this is not just an American crisis. This is a global emergency. We must act together, or not at all. God bless you all.”
The screen froze for a second. Mom stared at it in stunned silence.
Then, without saying a word, she picked up the remote and turned off the TV.
The sudden silence felt too loud.
I was glad she shut it off.
I didn’t want to hear the world ending. Not out loud.
Footsteps echoed from downstairs. George appeared in the doorway, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. His hands were stained with grease or chemicals—or both—and his eyes were hollow.
He didn't speak. He just kept pacing the room, muttering to himself. Circling the same spot over and over like he was chasing his own thoughts.
He’d barely looked at any of us since Jack had passed out earlier that morning. Since Jack had started... changing.
After several long minutes, he stopped dead in his tracks.
“How could I have done this?” he muttered, barely loud enough for anyone to hear.
Mom stepped closer and gently placed her arm on his shoulder.
“What did you do?” she asked softly.
George stared at the floor.
“I just keep wondering…” he said after a moment, “Where did it really start? Where did the first carrier come from? What country brought this here?”
His voice cracked on that last word.
I stepped forward, my voice sharper than I expected.
“Argentina,” I said. “Jennifer’s plane. It had it on board. The first infected came off that flight. They were coming out of Mantri International Airport... and the mall too. I saw them.”
George’s face went white.
“Shit!” he barked, and without another word, he turned and bolted back downstairs. We could hear the echo of his voice yelling for Alfred.
“Check the logs! Find that plane manifest! We need to isolate the sequence!”
Mom looked back at me, worry now carved into every line of her face.
“Honey,” she said slowly, “What is it? Is there something you’re not telling me?”
She didn’t wait for an answer.
We both headed for the basement, our feet moving in sync. I grabbed her hand as we descended the steps quietly, not wanting George or Alfred to hear us. The lab below glowed with pale blue light, computers whirring softly, medical tools glinting under surgical lamps.
We reached the bottom and crouched behind the wall by the stairwell, just close enough to hear George’s voice—but not be seen.
Whatever was going on down there, it was bigger than all of us.
And I had a feeling it was about to get worse.
George was buried in paperwork at his desk, flipping through pages like he was searching for the meaning of life—or how he accidentally ended it.
His glasses were low on his nose, and Alfred hovered behind him, silent but tense.
Mom and I stood at the bottom of the stairs, listening carefully.
George finally let out a sigh and dropped a handful of papers on the desk.
“Alfred and I were working on a formula,” he began slowly. “It was supposed to help treat a plague in Argentina. People were falling ill—high fevers, confusion, death within days. We wanted to help. We volunteered.”
He paused, shoulders rising and falling with each breath. “They called the illness Geocera. It was spreading too fast for local doctors to contain. So we began developing a treatment. A serum.”
George looked up and locked eyes with Mom.
“I named it Isisraxtosa.”
The air went dead still.
“You... created the most deadly virus in the world?” I shouted, stepping out from the stairwell.
George didn’t flinch.
“It wasn’t a virus when we made it,” he said, matter-of-fact. “We tested it here in the U.S.—under controlled conditions. Human trials. You might call them lab rats... or human guinea pigs.”
He turned toward me, his eyes narrowing just slightly.
“In fact, you and Jack both drank some of it—when you had that bottle.”
I froze.
“You mean... that drink was the Isisraxtosa virus?”
George shook his head.
“Not exactly. You drank a version of the formula—mixed with my gender transformation serum. A test compound that was never meant for distribution. The one Jack accidentally drank was the same.”
I glanced toward the corner of the lab.
Jack was lying on a cot, now fully transformed, but calmly tapping away at a game on a handheld console—like the world wasn’t literally falling apart around us.
I turned back to George.
“Okay, but if Jack and I drank it... why didn’t we turn into zombies too?”
George stepped away from the desk and picked up a chart from the wall. “Because you weren’t infected with Geocera. That’s the key.”
He pointed to two overlapping circles on the chart.
“The zombie mutation occurs when Isisraxtosa is introduced to someone who’s already infected with Geocera. Separately? They’re manageable. But combined?” He shook his head grimly. “They trigger complete neurological collapse. That’s where the aggression, the mutation, and the reanimation come in.”
“So... you were trying to cure people in Argentina, and instead...”
“Instead,” George said, “we made something worse. I tested the formula here on people who were ill—but not with Geocera. They improved. So I approved it for shipment overseas.”
“But the people there did have Geocera,” I said.
George didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.
“Then why are people turning into zombies here in the States?” I asked.
He looked tired—more than tired. Like he hadn’t forgiven himself for a single decision since this all began.
“Haven’t you seen the movies?” he asked.
I crossed my arms. “Yeah, but those are fake. This virus is real. And worse.”
“Not everything’s fake,” he said. “Some of the rules still apply. If you’re bitten by one of them, you’ll turn too. The infection spreads fast. Just like in World War Z.”
That got my attention.
“So... movies can help with the apocalypse?” I asked, perking up.
“In a way, yes.” George rubbed the back of his neck. “But don’t go chopping off limbs hoping it’ll save someone. By the time the virus hits the bloodstream, it’s already too late.”
I stared at him.
“So basically... we’re all screwed.”
“Natalie!” Mom scolded sharply. “Language!”
I looked down.
“Sorry, Mom.”
But honestly?
She was lucky I didn’t say worse.
Just then, a loud beeping echoed from a nearby computer terminal.
Alfred jumped up from his stool and rushed over.
“Dr. Russell,” he called, voice tense, “we have a problem!”
George hurried to his side.
“What is it, Alfred?”
Alfred pointed at the screen. A map blinked red, dozens—no, hundreds—of tiny dots swarming toward a central point.
“Your satellite scan picked up a massive swarm of zombies heading this way. Fast.”
George’s eyes widened. Without hesitation, he bolted to the far wall and slammed his hand against a large red button.
A deep mechanical whirring echoed throughout the house, followed by several loud clunks and a rising hum that seemed to ripple through the floor.
I jumped.
“What was that?!” I asked, starting to panic.
George turned to me calmly.
“Don’t worry, Natalie. That was the force field activating. I have one surrounding the entire house.”
“How long will it hold?” Mom asked.
George adjusted his glasses and smiled.
“The house is powered entirely by solar panels. We have over a hundred installed on the roof and backyard. As long as there’s sunlight, we’ll have energy. This house could stay sealed for years if necessary.
He paused.
“Worst-case scenario? If the sun disappears and we’re in complete darkness for over a week, then we might lose power. But until then, we’re safe.”
Jennifer crossed her arms. “Okay… but what about food?”
Mom raised her bag and smiled.
“We still have the food I grabbed from McDonald’s.”
George opened a side door, revealing a storage room stacked floor-to-ceiling with labeled boxes.
“Plus, I stocked up on MREs. Military-grade meals. Enough to feed a small army.”
I glanced over at Jack, who was still sitting on the edge of the bed.
“What about him?” I asked. “He loves to eat.”
George chuckled. “Jack will be fine. There's enough food here to keep everyone full.”
I looked back at Jack, now fully transformed. “What about your parents?” I asked gently. “Won’t they worry about you?”
Jack shrugged.
“Nathan—uh, Natalie,” he corrected himself with a smirk, “my parents went on a trip for the week. Some kind of second honeymoon thing. George said it was okay for me to stay here with you.”
I stared at him—her—then burst out laughing.
“How are they going to react when they find out you’re a girl now?”
Jack laughed too.
“I don’t know. But I’m more worried about how they’ll react to the zombies.”