At first glance—trash. Nothing useful, just a dusty storeroom with forgotten supplies. That is, until we pulled aside a piece of old furniture shoved into the farthest corner of the room—tucked so deep it felt like it belonged to the bones of the building itself.
"Hey! Don't you dare touch that switch... we don't need more trouble right now," Zayn warned sharply, catching my hand just as I reached for the light. I've always had the habit of turning on lights the second I enter a dark room—muscle memory.
So we stayed in the dark. The only light came from the massive ceiling-high windows that wrapped around the room. Through them, we saw everything—our city, burning. Smoke curling through the air, fire lighting up the skyline, blood on the streets, and people... running for their lives.
{TIME: 3:00 p.m.}
I scanned the room—rows of storage racks lined the walls, each stacked with boxes filled with random odds and ends: tangled wires, tools, old uniforms, rolls of tape, and stacks of yellowing newspapers.
Insha stepped toward them. "Shouldn't we check these out? Who knows—might find something useful."
Zayn, hunched over his laptop in a hopeless attempt to catch a signal, didn't even look up. "Even the smallest sound is an open invitation—they'll come running from the other side," he muttered, ever the cautious one.
Toward the far end of the room near the tall windows, we spotted an old metal bunk bed—two levels, probably meant for staff. We were so drained, we didn't care. We yanked the dusty sheets off and dropped onto the bare mattresses, the exhaustion too loud to ignore—even louder than the fear, for now.
"Kaff! Kaff!! KAFFFFF!"- All of us coughing the hell out of us because of the dust.
All of us sat there silently, mentally cursing the unnamed genius who thought this whole plan was a good idea in the first place.
"Ugh, this is disgusting! So gross!" groaned Aaron—the resident male diva of the group.
We ignored him, as usual.
After beating the dust off as best we could, we threw the sheets back on and collapsed onto the bunks. Miraculously, everyone found their own spot. We didn't have the luxury to be picky—we just needed to stay put, keep quiet, and figure out how the hell we were going to get out of this.
"Ugh, I'm starving—my stomach's about to eat itself!" I groaned, clutching it dramatically.
Zayn and Aaron were quick to agree. So we gave in and tore into whatever scraps we had left from the station. (Thank God we had the sense to grab something back there.)
Once the hunger was numbed a little, we got moving. The room became our mini-lab. We started rummaging through the boxes stacked on the high shelves, hoping to find anything remotely useful. Wires, rods, tape—anything we could turn into tools, ropes, or makeshift weapons.
Clatter! Insha dropped a handful of wires, eyes lighting up. "What if we use these to choke them out—straight to hell?"
Zayn scoffed. "Oh, brilliant. And I'm sure they'll politely offer their necks and follow your instructions. Yes, Your Honor."
Classic us—prepping for the apocalypse with sarcasm and snack crumbs.
Lying on the bunk, watching the two bicker quietly, Aaron let out a small, overwhelmed laugh. "It's kind of hilarious," he said, "how we're arguing like nothing's happening... but I'm actually enjoying this. Thanks, guys."
The words were simple—but the timing, the tone... it landed. It meant something.
Even in the middle of chaos, that sliver of normalcy was enough to hold us together. Deep down, we all clung to the same fragile hope—that maybe, somehow, we'd be rescued before the day ended. That the distant sirens we kept hearing would eventually find their way to us.
That hope, thin as it was, was enough to finally let our eyes close.
{DAY 1 OF SURVIVAL}*STARTED*
{TIME: 1:56 AM}
I climbed down from the bunk, the only thing on my mind: I have to get to the washroom. No matter what.
It sounds simple, right? Just across the hallway. But nothing felt simple anymore. (Oh, and sorry—I should've mentioned earlier: our room was tucked in the far corner of the building, and directly opposite it, past the main entrance and water dispenser, were the washrooms—split by gender, of course.)
I turned to Insha, whispering that we needed a way out. But before I could even finish my thought, Zayn stirred. Apparently, he'd been listening. He sat up abruptly—way too fast for someone just waking up—and muttered in a low, serious voice, "I'm in."
He nearly gave us a heart attack.
Now it wasn't just me. He had to go too. And in that moment, we figured—why not all of us? If we were going to risk our lives for a bathroom break, at least we'd do it together.(Our inner thoughts? At least we'll all die together—in matching panic.)
So yes, we created a full-blown plan... for a five-step journey to the bathroom. Probably the most dramatic pee mission in history.
{TIME: 6:34 a.m.}
I was in front—the so-called leader of this mess: strongest in attitude, weakest in nerve. Zayn held up the rear, with Insha sandwiched between us. But wait… we forgot someone. Our very own "Nightshield." (Nothing fancy—just the watchman.)
We shook him awake, shoved a heavy metal rod into his hands—our only real weapon—and positioned him at the door like a makeshift bodyguard. No instructions, just instincts.
The plan? Simple chaos. Toss one of our empty bottles down the corridor to draw attention, sprint to the washroom across the hall, and barricade ourselves in with the brooms we'd spotted earlier. (Temporary solutions, people).
Meanwhile, Aaron would stay back. He'd close the storage door behind us and keep his ear pressed to it, ready to warn or rescue us if things went sideways.
Everything moved fast. We reached the washroom, locked it as planned, and just as we finished our business and were about to sneak out—trouble.
The door burst open from the neighboring room. Someone began slamming on the washroom door, shouting nonsense. That single reckless moment… it ruined everything. It only took seconds. We heard it—the snarls, the scraping.
They were coming.The swarm was on our trail.This wasn't survival anymore—this was war.
Our only option? (Run like hell and pray we reach the other door alive.)
Zayn counted down. We ripped open the door—BANG!—and there they were.
Disfigured, bloodthirsty, sprinting toward us.
But this wasn't our end. Not yet.
Adrenaline kicked in. We shoved past one another, tripping, gasping. Aaron swung the other door open just in time—we flew inside like bullets.
Then—SLAM! He threw his entire weight against it. The crash echoed like a cannon.
Then came the banging.The clawed hands.The inhuman screams.It felt like our hearts would beat themselves straight to the moon.
Aaron looked at us—sweating, wide-eyed—and muttered, "At least you all got in."It wasn't a heroic line. But in that moment, it was everything.He saved us. And for now, that was enough to keep breathing.
Sure, we were angry—furious at the ones who locked us out, who'd rather see us suffer in that washroom. But revenge? We'd leave that to karma. For now… we were alive. And that was our only win.
{TIME: 7 a.m.- 6 p.m.}
The entire day, we survived on scraps—whatever little food we had left. Sleep? Only if our minds could escape the nightmare etched behind our eyelids. One glimpse—just one close-up of those creatures—was enough to haunt us into wakefulness.
From dawn to dusk, time slipped through our fingers. Every second felt like a countdown, every breath borrowed.
We barely spoke—just short, tense words. Our eyes stayed locked on our phones, searching for updates, some miracle... anything. We stared out at the smoke-choked skyline beyond the glass. Buildings dissolving into ash. Distant blasts rattling the windows.
And the screams. They never stopped.Screams became the background score to our hell.
This was our routine. Brutal. Relentless.The kind of nightmare no one wishes for—Until…
.