Chapter Two: Half an Hour Later
Phyro stuffed his charger into his school bag without thinking. Not that he expected the power to stay on, but it felt weird leaving without it. Leaving without… everything.
He looked around the room like it might disappear when he walked out.
Lisa paced the living room, chewing her thumbnail. The knife was still in her hand. "We're heading to aunt Kaori's house. She's out in Saitama — suburbs. Open space. Fewer people."
"Fewer infected," Phyro mumbled, zipping up his bag.
She glanced at him. "Yeah. Exactly."
They left through the back staircase. Lisa didn't want to risk the main hallway. Too many doors. Too many chances someone panicking would do something stupid.
⸻
Outside, the rain had stopped, but the streets hadn't. There were more infected now — way more — more people too some were running, talking loud. Some were on phones. Some were crying. One guy stood shirtless in the middle of the intersection yelling about the end times. Nobody stopped him.
The city was on edge, it felt like the end of the world as we know it.
Lisa's car was tucked into a spot behind the building. A silver Prius she'd bought used. She popped the lock and climbed in.
Phyro sat in the passenger seat and pulled the bat into his lap.
They didn't speak for the first ten minutes.
The radio was just static and emergency broadcast tones. Occasionally, a frantic voice would cut in, give vague instructions about avoiding "violent individuals," then disappear again.
⸻
By the time they reached the edge of Shibuya, traffic had turned to sludge.
"Too many cars," Lisa muttered, eyes scanning the jam. "Everyone's panicking at once."
She turned off the main road and swerved into a narrow alley, hoping it would lead around the gridlock. It didn't.
Halfway down the alley, they hit a dead end — a rusted chain-link gate and a garbage bin blocked the way.
"Shit."
Lisa tried to reverse, but as she did, she smacked into a dented trash bin with a clang. The narrow walls made turning around impossible.
They were trapped.
Lisa's hands were tight on the wheel. "We'll ditch the car. Run the other way."
Phyro looked over his shoulder.
The alley mouth was filling with movement.
A woman in a red dress limped toward them, face smeared in blood, her leg clearly broken — but she didn't stop. Behind her, others came. Fast. Slow. Dozens. All surging forward like water through a broken dam.
Lisa stared through the windshield, whispering: "That's the one. From the station."
Phyro reached for the door handle. "We have to move. Now."