No one could say exactly when it began. Some said it was in a small town on the edge of the coast, others swore the first cases began in overcrowded hospitals in big cities. What was certain: It wasn't a bang, not an explosion, not a loud end of the world it was a whisper that grew into a scream.

At first, there were isolated reports. People dying after mysterious bouts of fever and then getting up again hours later. Doctors initially called it an infection, something unusual, but explainable. But when the bodies no longer reacted like living beings, but only like starving husks, every medical theory collapsed.

The spread was unstoppable. Airports, train stations, border crossings everywhere we were too late. A single bite was enough to transform a person in a few hours into the very thing they were running from. Entire neighborhoods were depopulated within days, while the military and police attempted to erect barricades that barely lasted more than a few hours.

Society collapsed faster than anyone could have imagined. Power grids failed, water pipes dried up, and news channels fell silent one by one. What remained were rumors: of supposedly safe zones, of governments that still existed, of cures that never arrived.

The dead now dictated the rhythm of the world. Slowly, inexorably, they moved through streets, across fields, and through houses. Every sound, every light, every breath could attract them. And as the living learned to be quiet, patient, and suspicious, what it meant to be human also changed.

The end didn't come instantly. It came insidiously, and it stayed.

The house was silent, only the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of the wall clock accompanied the night. You had opened the window to let in the cool breeze from the sea, but outside it was unusually quiet. No voices, no laughter, not even a dog barking, just the distant sound of the waves.

You turn on the TV, more out of habit. Instead of the usual talk shows, breaking news flashes across the screen. "...unclear incidents... several injured... authorities ask you to remain calm." The anchor seems nervous, her voice almost breaking as she hastily reads new information from a piece of paper.

A muffled sound makes you jump. Something outside, in the street. You cautiously approach the window and pull the curtain aside. In the light of a flickering streetlight, you see two figures, but something is wrong. One is staggering, his movements unnaturally jerky, while the other tries to hold him still. Seconds later, he breaks free, throws the other man to the ground, and then you hear the screaming.

Your heart beats faster. A car races down the street, much too fast for this narrow alley, honking in panic as if the driver simply wants to escape. In the distance, doors slam, voices shout in confusion, then more screams. The TV continues to blare in the background, words like "infection" and "stay in your homes" barely penetrating you.