Eli woke with a start, his back drenched in sweat, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.
The concrete rooftop beneath him was still warm from the night's black rain, and his hospital jacket was tangled around him like a cocoon. He sat up too quickly, breath catching in his throat as the images from last night clawed at the edges of his memory.
The screams.Blood splattered everywhere.Eyes rolled back.
That intern—Louie? Lance? The name slipped through his fingers like water. But the scream—that, he remembered. Shrill. Wet. Final. It echoed in his skull like it was still happening, looping over and over until it threatened to unravel him.
He doubled over, resting his elbows on his knees, hands buried in his face. He stayed there for a long moment, trembling, trying to steady the storm building behind his eyes.
He gripped his head, pressing his palms to his temples as if he could squeeze the noise out. His breath hitched in his throat, chest tightening under the weight of adrenaline and fear. He wanted to scream, to cry, to collapse—but there was no room left for that. Not anymore.
What the hell happened?What the hell is happening?!
The sky looked sick. The air reeked of something unnatural. And whatever that black rain was—it hadn't just changed the world. It had corrupted it.
Eli rubbed his face with shaking hands, trying to ground himself. His fingers brushed against the cold metal of the baton he'd taken from the fallen guard, still looped through the tie of his scrub pants. It anchored him. Reminded him he'd survived—barely.
The second weapon, still strapped to his side with gauze tape, was just a broken mop handle he'd sharpened at one end using a chunk of tile and determination.
The city around him groaned in mourning.
Southern Mindanao Medical Center, once full of chatter, wailing patients, nurses with coffee breath, and exhausted interns with clipboards, had all gone eerily still. A silhouette of skeletal concrete bathed in gray morning light. Smoke curled up from the north. The air reeked of burnt plastic and something worse—something human. Somewhere in the distance, a siren whimpered before dying out.
Eli stood up slowly, every muscle in his body stiff with tension and exhaustion. His hands still shook. His mind still screamed. But instinct—training—began to push through the static.
You're alive. Think. Move.
What now?
He couldn't stay here. The rooftop had bought him a night, maybe two, but it wasn't secure. No food. No water. No shelter. If those creatures—whatever they were—came back, he'd be cornered.
His mind—still reeling—fought to focus. He needed structure. He needed a system.
And more than that, he had a method. One that had been beaten into his brain during his nursing pre-med days and polished across four grueling years of med school.
A-D-P-I-E.
He muttered it under his breath like a prayer.
"Assess. Diagnose. Plan. Implement. Evaluate."
Not for a patient this time.For him.For survival.
Assess: Body? Bruised, scraped, borderline dehydrated. No food. No clean water. Emotional state—fragile, but functional. Tools? Baton. Mop handle. Hospital jacket.
Surroundings? Exposed rooftop. No cover. No supplies. The hospital interior likely crawling with infected.
Diagnose: Situation is critical. Extended exposure would lead to exhaustion, infection, and collapse. This rooftop? Temporary. Unsustainable.
Plan: Secure supplies—first aid, water, food. Find shelter. Identify nearby buildings with potential access points. Chart rooftop paths. Avoid going back inside the hospital. Prioritize stealth.
Implement: Start with rooftop traversal. Move light. Scout balconies and connecting structures. Enter only if clear. Scavenge what you can.
Evaluate: Continuously. Adjust based on findings. Stay flexible. Stay alive.
It wasn't perfect. It didn't need to be.
It was structured.
And structure? That was how people stayed alive in the chaos.
He whispered to himself, voice raw:"Time to move, Navarro. Cry later."
The wind whipped against his face as he moved toward the northern edge of the rooftop, scouting his first possible route down. Three floors below, a hospital balcony jutted out like a waiting hand. Scorched by something oily and black, but intact. Curtains stirred faintly behind broken glass doors.
No movement inside. No noise.
He scanned the area again. Between the rooftop and the balcony, a bent scaffold pipe bridged the gap—likely used by maintenance before all hell broke loose. It stretched across the space like a skeletal limb, rusted and trembling slightly in the wind.
Assess.Distance: About 10 feet.Drop: Lethal if he misses.Option: Shimmy across on his belly, distribute weight evenly. Risky… but not impossible.
He slung the mop shaft across his back with a torn bandage and crouched low, testing the pipe with his weight. It groaned beneath him, but didn't buckle.
His heart thudded.
One slip, and he'd end up a smear of blood and regret on the balcony floor.
He took a breath and began to inch forward.Don't look down.Just move. Just breathe.
Each inch felt like a mile.
Midway across, the pipe jolted suddenly, shifting just enough to send a bolt of panic through his spine. He froze, holding his breath, arms locked, every nerve on fire.
Behind him, back on the rooftop—
SNAP.
The unmistakable sound of a boot stepping on broken glass.
Eli's eyes widened.Something just joined him on the rooftop.
And it wasn't human.