Chapter 14 National Fall
Forty minutes later, Iris breached the city limits, driving onto quiet suburban roads.
The farther she got from the metropolis, the thinner the zombie hordes and chaos became the outskirts remained untouched, for now.
Iris pulled up in front of her warehouse, the screech of brakes cutting through the silence.
Summer bounded over, tail wagging frantically as he sensed his owner’s return.
Iris knelt to ruffle his fur, a rare softness in her voice. “Good job, boy.”
Picking him up, she turned to the mountain of supplies she’d stockpiled the day before–hauled from the farmers’ market and supermarket.
With a single wave of her hand, every last item vanished into her spatial storage.
The storage could hold the chickens, ducks, and lambs she’d bought earlier.
Curious, she tried to tuck Summer inside. too.
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< Chapter 14 National Fall
However, it didn’t work.
Summer’s barks confirmed her suspicion: the system only stor low–intelligence, food–grade living creatures.
Dogs were out–humans, definitely so.
Iris didn’t mind. The ability would’ve been a luxury, not a necessity.
True strength, she’d always believed, came from within.
Relying too heavily on a system—a massive cheat like this–was a death sentence.
If it ever vanished or glitched, she’d be defenseless.
Iris needed to use the system to strengthen herself, to make its power her own.
Once the warehouse was emptied, Iris locked the door and left with Summer, heading straight for her bomb shelter–her self–built doomsday refuge, a fortress in the coming chaos.
*****
An hour later, Iris collapsed onto the ultra–soft cloud sofa looted from the mall.
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She popped open a cola, the fizz hissing softly, and heated up the steak and shrimp she’d packed from the Michelin restaurant the day before. Sinking into the cushions with Summer at her side, she turned on the large TV to watch the news–curious to see how far the chaos had spread.
The anchor’s urgent voice filled the room.
“Breaking news! Breaking news! A wave of violent attacks has swept the city this morning. Follow our reporter live from the scene.”
The live feed cut to a reporter standing outside a cordoned–off area–unmistakably near the hotel Iris had fled that morning.
Police tape strung across the bar district fluttered in the wind, a futile barrier against the chaos beyond.
Inside the cordon, officers fired smoke grenades, the thick gray haze doing little to disperse the unruly crowd or suppress the growing riots.
Screams echoed through the streets, mixing with the crunch of metal as cars were flipped and smashed.
Ambulances and other emergency vehicles were trapped in the center, their crews nowhere to be seen.
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A mass evacuation had clearly been attempted–too late. No one had escaped the carnage.
“Stay back! Keep away from the cordon!” an officer shouted, his voice strained as he pushed back onlookers.
“The scene is extremely graphic. We still don’t know the cause of these attacks. Let’s speak to an eyewitness,” the reporter said, his face pale with shock.
He spotted an injured man stumbling out of the smoke and rushed over, camera crew in tow.
A
“Sir, can you tell us what’s happening-
A blood–curdling roar cut him off.
The camera shook violently, spinning wildly as the cameraman was tackled to the ground.
When the lens crashed into the pavement, viewers watched in horror as the reporter was set upon by the injured man–now clearly a zombie.
Blood gushed forth, splattering the camera lens in a crimson haze.
The screen cut to black, the broadcast terminating abruptly. 4/6
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Citizens across the city, watching in their homes, were frozen with terror.
Iris raised an eyebrow as the local channel went dark.
Her escape had been perfectly timed–another minute, and she’d have been trapped in that chaos.
She picked up the remote and switched to the next channel–the
state news.
Pre–recorded segments still aired, the gravity of the situation lagging behind the local reports.
Unlike the local station, which had broadcast live from the carnage, the state network remained oblivious to the full scale of the disaster.
After a segment on economic growth, the anchor smiled warmly, delivering a routine flu warning.
“Flu cases have been on the rise recently. We urge everyone to minimize outdoor activities to avoid cross–infection-”
Just then, a blood–soaked staff member burst onto the set, collapsing face–first onto the anchor’s desk.
He lay motionless, his body twitching slightly.
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Shock and confusion washed over the anchor’s calm face.
He glanced toward the control room, then his eyes widened in abject terror—as if he’d seen something unspeakable.
“Director, cut the feed-” he began, speaking into his earpiece.
Before he could finish, the man who’d collapsed on his desk suddenly lunged at him.
A blood–curdling scream filled the studio.
The screen went black, signal lost entirely.
The same scene unfolded across countless TV stations
nationwide.
Some fell early, their signals replaced by static. Others fell mid–broadcast, the horror unfolding live before viewers‘ eyes.
That day, every institution crumbled.
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
