Chapter 1
He still remembered his death in his old world, as clearly as if it had happened yesterday.
A Dark Lord had risen once again, casting his shadow over the wizarding world. This new Dark Lord had sought to follow in the footsteps of Voldemort, seeking domination over both magical and Muggle realms. The wizarding world had trembled beneath the weight of his ambitions, and fear had become a constant companion for those who dared oppose him. But fear alone was not enough to silence rebellion—not Harry’s, at least.
He had taken up arms against the Dark Lord, unwilling to stand idly by as another wave of terror threatened to consume everything he held dear. He had been called many things during that time—leader, savior, even the Dumbledore of his generation. He had never sought such titles, but the mantle of responsibility had fallen upon him nonetheless. Like the headmaster, he became a symbol of defiance, a beacon of light in an age of darkness. It had been a heavy burden to bear, but he had carried it nonetheless.
The battles had been relentless and unforgiving. He remembered the faces of those who fought by his side—their laughter, their courage. Each loss had cut deeply, but through the pain, they had pressed on, clinging to the belief that their sacrifices would not be in vain.
The final confrontation had been the end of it all—a desperate and chaotic clash between light and darkness. The battlefield had been littered with the dead, the screams of spells and the cries of the wounded. It was there that he had stood face-to-face with the Dark Lord.
He cast the blasting curse, a spell born of desperation and fury. The spell connected with the Dark Lord’s head, caving it in and killing the bastard. For a brief, fleeting moment, victory had seemed within reach. The Dark Lord’s lifeless form crumpled to the ground, and his followers started running.
But triumph had been short-lived. In the final moments of his life, the Dark Lord had cast one last spell. The Killing Curse struck Harry full in the chest. He had felt its impact as he collapsed onto the ground and everything went dark.
The next moment he was engulfed by a warm blinding light that faded into a scene so drastically different that it left his mind reeling.
He gasped as he found himself no longer on the ruined street but in a small, sterile room. The walls were pale, and the faint, antiseptic smell filled his nostrils. A steady beeping sound echoed softly in the background, and the dim glow of sunlight streamed through the blinds. A hospital? Harry’s pulse quickened as his confusion swelled. How had he gotten here? Who had brought him here? And… why?
His thoughts were interrupted when he felt himself being lifted, his body pressed against strong yet gentle arms. Panic shot through him as he realized he had no control over what was happening. He opened his mouth to protest, but the words caught in his throat when he caught sight of the woman before him.
She was lying in a hospital bed, her face pale but filled with joy, her dark hair was damp and clung to her face. Despite the confusion swirling in his mind, there was a calming energy about her. Without hesitation, the man who held Harry placed him into her waiting arms.
“There he is,” she said softly as she cradled him against her chest. “Our beautiful boy.”
Boy? Harry’s mind stuttered at the word. He glanced down at himself—or at least, he tried to. To his horror, he realized that he couldn’t move properly. His limbs felt small and weak, like they didn’t belong to him. This had to be a mistake. He wasn’t a baby; he wasn’t a child. He was Harry Potter, for Merlin’s sake! What in the world was happening?
“Lori,” came a man’s voice, rough but filled with emotion. Harry turned—or rather, he tried to—toward the source. There stood a man dressed in what looked like a Muggle police uniform. His hair was tousled, and his face bore the lines of weariness, yet his eyes were filled with happiness and relief as he gazed down at the woman and the infant she held.
“Rick,” the woman—Lori—responded, her voice trembling with emotion. “He’s perfect.”
Rick. Lori. Harry filed the names away in his mind, though they meant little to him in this bizarre moment. Beside Rick stood another man, similarly dressed in a police uniform. His demeanor was different—edgier, as though he wasn’t quite comfortable in the softness of the scene unfolding before him. Harry caught the slight smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Shane,” Lori said with a playful edge in her tone, “don’t just stand there. Come meet him.”
The man—Shane—shifted on his feet before stepping closer. His smirk softened into something gentler as he peered down at Harry. “Well, look at you, little guy. You’ve got a lot to live up to, don’t you?”
Live up to? What in the name of Merlin was he talking about? Harry’s thoughts were spiraling as he tried to make sense of the situation. Who were these people? Why did they act as though they knew him? And—most importantly—why was he suddenly an infant?
Lori’s arms wrapped tighter around him, her heartbeat steady against his tiny form. “He’s going to be amazing, Rick. I can feel it.”
Rick nodded, reaching down to brush his hand gently over the top of Harry’s head. “Yeah, he is,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “He’s going to be everything we dreamed of.”
Adjusting to his new life had been surreal at first, but Harry had always been good at adapting. The theory of reincarnation wasn’t foreign to him—Hermione, of course, had poured over it once during one of her many lectures in school. She had speculated about magical phenomena surrounding life and death, and though he’d never paid her musings much mind at the time, Harry now had ample reason to give them serious consideration. His new existence had left him little choice but to embrace the bizarre.
Determined to make the most of his second chance at life, Harry threw himself into his studies with a vigor that surprised even himself. He wasn’t going to waste this opportunity by pretending to be average, as he had so often been forced to in his old life. The Dursleys’ disdain and insistence on mediocrity were behind him now, and he would seize the chance to excel without restraint. Muggle school subjects were refreshingly straightforward compared to the complexities of magic. Harry had no intention of letting something as simple as algebra or biology stump him—if he could master Arithmancy and wandless magic, solving equations was practically child’s play.
From a young age, he gained a reputation for being exceptionally bright. Teachers marveled at his aptitude, praising his work ethic and his ability to grasp concepts far beyond his peers. Math, science, literature—Harry thrived in every subject thrown his way, earning straight A’s without breaking a sweat. In many ways, his early years in this new life were everything his old childhood hadn’t been: filled with praise, support, and a sense of belonging.
His mother couldn’t have been prouder. She bragged about her "brilliant boy" to anyone who would listen, showering him with affection and encouragement. His father, was equally proud, though his approval was quieter—shown through a ruffle of Harry’s hair or a proud smile when Harry brought home another perfect report card. Even Shane, their family’s ever-present third member, teased Harry affectionately about being "too smart for his own good."
For the first few years, Harry felt almost content. He still missed his old world—Ron, Hermione, the warmth of Hogwarts—but he couldn’t deny that this new life offered him a kind of stability he’d never known before. He had a family that cared for him, a comfortable home, and a chance to thrive without the constant shadow of danger looming over him.
But, as Harry soon learned, even this seemingly ideal life wasn’t without its cracks.
The first signs of tension between his mother and father were subtle—a strained conversation here, an exasperated sigh there. At first, Harry dismissed it as the natural stress of adult life. But as time went on, the arguments became more frequent and harder to ignore. Raised voices echoed through the house late at night, muffled but impossible to tune out. The topics of their disputes varied, but the anger and frustration were unmistakable.
Shane had a way of stepping in when things got rough at home.. Harry wasn’t sure if it was intentional or just Shane being Shane, but the man had a knack for showing up at the right time. Whenever the arguments between Rick and Lori reached a fever pitch, Shane would swoop in with a grin and a casual, “C’mon, Harry. Let’s get outta here for a bit.”
Harry didn’t mind. In fact, he welcomed it. Shane’s presence was a whirlwind of energy and unpredictability, a stark contrast to the tension that seemed to hang over the house like a dark cloud. Shane had been made Harry’s godfather, a title he wore with pride. In many ways, Shane reminded him of the stories he’d heard about Sirius—reckless, charming, and just a little bit wild.
Their outings became a regular escape for Harry. Shane would pile him into his beat-up truck, the radio blaring classic rock as they drove out to the countryside. “You ever been fishing, Harry?” Shane had asked one day, a mischievous glint in his eye. Harry had shaken his head, and that was all the invitation Shane needed. They spent the afternoon by a quiet lake, Shane teaching Harry how to bait a hook and cast a line. Harry had been skeptical at first, but the peacefulness of the water and the thrill of reeling in his first fish won him over.
Hunting trips followed soon after. Shane was patient, walking Harry through the basics of tracking and handling a rifle. “You gotta respect the weapon,” he’d said, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “It’s not a toy, and it’s not just for show. You treat it right, and it’ll treat you right.” Harry listened intently, absorbing every word. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever need to use these skills, but he appreciated the lessons nonetheless.
Shooting practice became a regular activity. Shane set up targets in a secluded clearing, showing Harry how to aim, fire, and clean the guns afterward. Harry took to it quickly. Shane was impressed, though he tried to play it cool. “You’re a natural, kid,” he’d say with a grin. “Just don’t go showing me up too much, alright?”
Despite Shane’s rough edges, there was a warmth to him that Harry couldn’t help but appreciate. He had a way of making Harry feel like he mattered, like he was more than just a kid caught in the middle of his parents’ struggles. Shane’s stories, though often exaggerated, were endlessly entertaining. He’d regale Harry with tales of his younger days, his escapades with Rick, and his many, many romantic misadventures. “What can I say?” Shane would shrug with a smirk. “The ladies love me.”
Harry couldn’t help but laugh. Shane’s antics were a welcome distraction from the chaos at home, and for a while, it felt like things might be okay. But even as he enjoyed their time together, Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that Shane was trying to shield him from something. The way Shane would glance back at the house before they left, the way he’d ruffle Harry’s hair and say, “Don’t worry about it, kid,” whenever Harry asked too many questions—it all hinted at a deeper concern.
Harry could still remember the day Shane brought him to the hospital to meet his new little brother—it was a day that marked the first flickers of peace after years of tension in their home.
Shane, as always, had been his steadfast anchor, whisking him away when things became too much to handle, giving him moments of normalcy amidst the chaos. But the pregnancy had changed everything. It was as though the very air in the house had shifted, the arguing tapering off as both Rick and Lori turned their focus toward the tiny life growing within her.
The morning Carl was born, Shane had been the one to wake Harry up. He’d burst into the room with his usual energy, tossing Harry’s schoolbag onto the floor as he grinned down at him. “Up and at ‘em, kid. We’ve got somewhere to be.”
Harry had sat up, groggy and confused. “Where are we going?”
Shane pulled open the curtains, letting the early morning sunlight flood the room. “Your mom just had the baby. You ready to meet your little brother?”
The words hit Harry like a lightning bolt, jolting him fully awake. A brother. He wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that. He’d grown used to being an only child in this life, having all of his parents’ attention—well, when they weren’t fighting, anyway. A part of him worried about what it would mean to have someone else in the picture, someone who might take up the space he’d grown to inhabit. But another part of him, a quieter part, felt a strange sense of excitement. This was a new beginning, not just for his parents, but for him as well.
Shane drove them to the hospital, the radio blaring some upbeat country song that Harry didn’t recognize. He glanced over at Harry as they stopped at a red light. “You nervous?” he asked, his tone casual but his eyes sharp.
Harry shrugged, playing it cool. “A little, I guess.”
Shane grinned. “Don’t worry about it, kid. You’re gonna be a great big brother. Just try not to let the little guy boss you around too much.”
When they arrived, the hospital was a whirlwind of bustling nurses and hushed voices. Shane led the way, navigating the maze of hallways with surprising ease. Harry followed close behind, clutching a small stuffed bear Shane had insisted they pick up on the way. “Babies like soft stuff,” Shane had said, shrugging when Harry asked why.
They found his in a private room, looking tired but radiant as she cradled the newborn in her arms. Rick was by her side, his hand resting gently on her shoulder as he gazed down at the baby.
His mother’s face lit up when she saw Harry. “Harry,” she said softly, beckoning him closer. “Come meet your brother.”
Harry approached cautiously, his heart pounding as he peered down at the tiny bundle in her arms. The baby was impossibly small, his face scrunched up as he let out a soft, sleepy sigh. His hair was dark, and his tiny fists were clenched tightly against his chest.
“This is Carl,” his mother said. “Your little brother.”
Harry stared down at the baby, unsure of what to say. He felt a strange mix of emotions—curiosity, protectiveness, and a hint of anxiety. Carl looked so fragile, so new. It was hard to believe that this tiny human would one day grow up, would laugh, cry, and have a life of his own.
Rick stepped forward, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “What do you think, Harry?” he asked, his voice steady but tinged with emotion. “Think you’re ready for this big brother stuff?”
Harry nodded slowly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I think I am.”
Shane leaned against the doorway, his arms crossed and a smirk on his face. “Told you he’d be fine,” he said, winking at Lori. “The kid’s a natural.”
The days that followed were a blur of adjustment and new routines. Harry found himself drawn to Carl in ways he hadn’t expected, spending hours watching him sleep, marveling at the tiny movements of his hands and feet. The house felt different now—calmer, warmer. His parents seemed more at ease, their focus shifted entirely to their new son.
The years flew by, and the day Harry moved into his own place should have been a proud moment, a celebration of his independence and the next chapter of his life. He had worked tirelessly to get to this point, excelling in school and earning his place in the Law Enforcement program. For Harry, it was a step toward building a future he could be proud of, following in the footsteps of father and Shane.
But not everyone saw it that way.
The tension had been simmering for weeks, ever since Harry announced his plans. While his dad and Shane had expressed their approval—Dad with a gruff “I’m proud of you, son” and Shane with an enthusiastic slap on the back—his mother’s reaction had been markedly different. She had plastered on a strained smile at first, but her discontent had quickly become apparent through subtle remarks and pointed questions.
And now, as Harry packed the last of his belongings into a box, he could feel the storm brewing. His mother stood in the kitchen, her arms crossed and her lips pressed into a thin line. His father was seated at the table, his fingers drumming against the wood as he watched the scene unfold. Shane leaned casually against the counter, his expression neutral but his eyes sharp, always ready to step in if things got out of hand.
“So, this is it,” his mother said, her voice calm but tinged with an edge that set Harry on high alert. “You’re really going through with this.”
Harry sighed, setting the box down and turning to face her. “Yes, Mom. I am. We’ve talked about this.”
“No, you talked,” his mom shot back, her voice rising slightly. “You decided, and we were just supposed to go along with it. You’re barely eighteen, Harry. You don’t need to be rushing into this.”
“It’s not rushing,” Harry said, his tone firmer than he intended. “I’ve been planning this for months. This is what I want to do.”
“What you want to do?” his mother echoed incredulously. “You’re throwing away your potential for this—this dangerous path. Do you even understand what you’re getting yourself into?”
Rick cleared his throat “Lori, let’s not do this right now.”
She turned on him, her frustration boiling over. “Oh, of course you’d agree with this. You and Shane both, pushing him into your world instead of letting him find his own.”
“Hold on, now,” Shane interjected, his hands raised defensively. “Ain’t nobody pushing Harry into anything. The kid knows what he wants. You gotta respect that.”
“Respect?” His mother said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “How about respecting the fact that he’s my son? I’ve spent years trying to give him a better life, and now he’s running off to chase some misguided idea of heroism.”
Harry’s patience snapped. “Mom, this isn’t about you! This is my life, my choice. And for once, I’m not going to let someone else decide for me.”
Her eyes widened in shock, but she quickly recovered, her expression hardening. “And what happens when it all goes wrong, Harry? What happens when you end up like—”
“Like who, Mom?” Harry cut in, his voice shaking with emotion. “Like Dad? Like Shane? They’ve done nothing but support me, and all you’ve is try to stop me.”
“That’s not what I’m doing,” Lori insisted, though her voice wavered. “I just—I just don’t want to lose you.”
“You’re not losing me,” Harry said, his tone softer now “But you have to let me go. I’m not a child anymore.
The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. His father shifted in his seat, his expression unreadable, while Shane watched Harry with a mix of pride and concern.
Her shoulders slumped, her anger giving way to something more fragile. “I just don’t want you to get hurt,” she said quietly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
Harry’s heart ached, but he didn’t waver. “I know, Mom. And I’m going to be careful. But this is something I have to do. I need you to trust me.”
For a moment, it seemed like she might relent. But then she shook her head, the walls going back up. “Do what you want, Harry,” she said, turning away. “You always do.”
The words stung more than Harry cared to admit, but he refused to back down. He grabbed his box and walked toward the door, pausing only to glance back at his Dad and Shane. “Thanks for believing in me,” he said quietly before stepping outside.
As the door closed behind him, Harry felt a mixture of relief and guilt. He knew the argument had been inevitable, but that didn’t make it any easier.
Harry didn’t step foot in his parents’ house for three months. He’d settled into his tiny apartment near campus, thrown himself into his classes and training, and tried not to dwell too much on the silence from his mother. His Dad and Shane had kept in touch, of course, offering advice and the occasional meal out. But his mother? Not a word.
So when his Dad called, asking if Harry could take Carl to school because something had come up at the station, Harry hesitated before agreeing. He’d missed his little brother, and the thought of spending some time with him was reason enough to push aside his hesitation. Still, he couldn’t shake the unease curling in his stomach as he approached the familiar driveway early the next morning.
The house looked the same as always—modest and warm, a snapshot of the life Harry had left behind. But as he stepped inside, the tension was almost unbearable. Carl was sitting at the kitchen table, idly kicking his legs against the chair as he munched on cereal. His bright-eyed grin when he saw Harry was a welcome greeting. “Harry!” Carl shouted, hopping off the chair and rushing over to hug his older brother tightly.
“Hey, bud,” Harry said, ruffling Carl’s hair with a fond smile. “Ready for school?”
Carl nodded eagerly, but before he could say anything else, the sound of raised voices echoed from down the hall. Harry tensed, his smile faltering as he recognized his mother’s voice, sharp and cutting.
“I’m doing my best, Lorii,” Rick’s voice shot back, strained and weary. “But you’re acting like nothing I do is ever good enough for you.”
“And what exactly is your best, Rick? Working late nights, leaving us to figure everything out on our own? Some days, I’m not sure if you care about us at all.”
Harry cringed, his eyes darting toward Carl, who had turned toward the hallway, his small face pinched with worry. “Come on, Carl,” Harry said quickly, steering his brother toward the front door. “Let’s get you to school.”
“But—” Carl began, glancing back toward the kitchen.
“They’re just talking,” Harry said gently “We’re running late, and I don’t want you to miss the bell.”
Carl didn’t argue, though he glanced over his shoulder as Harry ushered him out the door. Harry caught snippets of the argument as they left—the rise and fall of voices, words muffled but heavy with tension. He clenched his jaw, his chest tightening with frustration and unease. This wasn’t what Carl—or any of them—needed.
The car ride to school was quieter than Harry would have liked. He tried to keep the mood light, asking Carl about his classes and which friends he was excited to see, but the younger boy’s responses were short and distracted. Harry couldn’t blame him. The weight of the argument they’d left behind hung heavily between them.
When they finally reached the school, Harry parked and turned to Carl, forcing a smile. “Hey,” he said softly. “Don’t worry about Mom and Dad, okay? They love each other, and they love you. Sometimes people argue, but that doesn’t mean they don’t care about each other.”
Carl nodded slowly, though his eyes were still downcast. “Are you gonna come back home?” he asked, his voice small.
Harry’s heart twisted, the question catching him off guard. He reached over, squeezing Carl’s shoulder reassuringly. “I’m not far, bud. Anytime you need me, I’m just a phone call away. Promise.”
Carl seemed to accept that, offering a small smile before grabbing his backpack and climbing out of the car. Harry watched as his little brother disappeared into the building, his chest heavy with a mixture of relief and guilt. He wanted to shield Carl from the cracks in their family, but he knew he couldn’t fix everything—not this time.
It was during Lunch when Harry’s phone buzzed. He pulled it from his pocket, chewing absentmindedly on his sandwich as he glanced at the screen. Shane’s name flashed across it. Harry furrowed his brows. Shane rarely called during the day unless it was important.
He swiped to answer, “Hey, Shane. What’s—”
“Harry,” Shane’s voice was sharp, panicked in a way that made Harry’s stomach drop. “It’s your dad. He’s been shot.”
The words didn’t register at first, a cold numbness spreading through Harry’s chest. “What? What happened? Is he—”
“He’s alive,” Shane interrupted quickly, though his voice wavered. “But he’s in a coma. It…it doesn’t look good. You need to come home.”
Harry barely remembered the rest of the conversation. Shane had said something about a shootout, a bad call gone worse, but the details blurred together as Harry’s mind raced. His dad. The man who had been his steady, unflinching anchor in this new life. The thought of him lying motionless in a hospital bed was inconceivable, yet here it was, staring Harry in the face.
He packed a bag and drove straight to his mother’s house, unsure of what to expect. His mother greeted him at the door, her face pale and drawn. She didn’t say anything, just pulled him into a tight hug, holding him as if he might slip away. Carl appeared a moment later, his eyes red and puffy, clutching Harry’s leg like a lifeline. The house felt suffocating, heavy with fear and uncertainty, but Harry knew he couldn’t leave. Not this time.
Moving back in was an adjustment, but Harry threw himself into helping his mother and Carl, doing everything he could to hold the family together. He took Carl to school, helped with homework, and stayed up late into the night fielding calls from Shane, who alternated between giving updates on Rick’s condition and ranting about the chaos brewing out there in the world.
Because the world, as it turned out, wasn’t doing much better than Rick.
Every night, Harry sat in front of the TV, watching the news reports with growing unease. The disease that had started as a whisper on the other side of the globe was now roaring like a wildfire, spreading faster than anyone could have imagined. At first, it was just talk of a highly infectious illness, but the reports grew stranger with each passing day. Footage of “rioters” filled the screen—people shuffling forward with vacant, glassy eyes, showing aggression unlike anything Harry had ever seen. They didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate, even when police opened fire. Shotgun blasts that should have sent them to the ground instead barely seemed to faze them, unless the shots hit their heads.
Harry’s mind swirled with questions and dread. He wasn’t naive; he recognized the signs of something far worse than a normal outbreak. Whatever this disease was, it was changing people, taking away their humanity and replacing it with something monstrous. He thought of Hermione, who would have already buried herself in research and theories, and wondered what she would make of all this.
Even at college, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. Class discussions turned from law enforcement policies and case studies to analyzing the outbreak. Professors tried to maintain a sense of normalcy, but the students were restless, their conversations laced with fear and speculation.
“This isn’t normal,” one classmate had said during a particularly tense discussion. “People don’t act like that, even when they’re sick. It’s like…like something out of a horror movie.”
Harry stayed quiet, his gaze fixed on the desk in front of him. He didn’t trust himself to speak, afraid his growing unease would bubble over into panic.
It was during one such class, his mind half-distracted by the latest news updates on his phone, that the email came through. The professor paused mid-sentence as several students’ phones buzzed simultaneously. Harry glanced at his inbox, his stomach sinking as he read the subject line: “Effective Immediately: Suspension of All In-Person Classes.”
The email was short and to the point. Due to the escalating outbreak, the college was shutting down indefinitely. Lectures would move online “if possible,” but the message made it clear that even that might not be feasible in the coming weeks.
The classroom buzzed with murmurs of disbelief and fear. Harry packed his things mechanically, his mind racing as he left the building. The streets were quieter than usual, the usual bustle of campus life replaced by a tense stillness.
The hospital was eerily quiet when Harry and Shane arrived one day. Harry had insisted on tagging along, determined to check on his father himself. Shane had given him a grim nod of approval but said little as they pulled up to the parking lot, the truck rumbling ominously in the stillness. It wasn’t the usual quiet of an early morning visit—there was an strange, unnatural air to it, as though the building itself was holding its breath.
Harry exchanged a wary glance with Shane, who adjusted the strap of his shotgun slung over his shoulder. “Stay close,” Shane muttered, his voice low and tense. Harry nodded.
The walk to Rick’s room felt like it took hours, every creak of the floor and distant clatter of metal making Harry’s nerves prickle. When they finally reached the door, Shane pushed it open slowly, the hinges groaning in protest. Rick was still there, lying in the same bed, his face pale but peaceful. The machines beeped steadily, a reassuring reminder that, coma or not, he was still alive.
Harry felt a pang of relief as he moved closer, his hand brushing against his father’s arm. “We’re here, Dad,” he said softly, his voice wavering slightly. Shane stood guard near the door, his eyes scanning the hallway. For a moment, everything felt almost normal, as though the rest of the world wasn’t unraveling beyond the hospital walls.
And then the shouting started.
It was muffled at first, echoing from somewhere down the corridor. But it grew louder, sharper, accompanied by the unmistakable crack of gunfire. Harry froze, his hand tightening on the bed rail as his heart raced. Shane was instantly on high alert, his grip shifting to his shotgun as he peered out into the hallway.
“Stay low,” Shane hissed, shutting the door quickly but quietly. He motioned for Harry to get down. “Something’s going on out there. We’ve got to stay hidden.”
Harry ducked behind a nearby supply cabinet, his breathing shallow. Shane, meanwhile, slid under Rick’s hospital bed, positioning himself so he could see the door. The noise outside grew deafening—boots pounding on the floors, more gunfire, and the chilling sound of someone screaming.
Through the narrow gap beneath the door, Harry saw shadows moving—soldiers, by the look of it. At first, he thought they were evacuating civilians, but that illusion shattered as the gunfire continued, accompanied by the sickening thuds of bodies hitting the ground. The soldiers weren’t just shooting the infected—they were gunning down everyone. Harry’s stomach twisted in horror as he pieced it together. The army wasn’t here to save anyone. They were cleaning house.
The power cut out without warning, plunging the room into darkness save for the dim emergency lights that flickered on moments later. Harry heard Shane mutter a curse under his breath. The beeping of the machines sputtered and died, leaving the room in silence.
“We need to check him,” Harry whispered, crawling out from behind the cabinet. Shane hesitated but nodded, emerging from under the bed. Together, they approached Rick, the dim light casting eerie shadows across his face. Harry pressed his fingers to his dad’s wrist, his heart sinking as he felt no pulse. Shane leaned in, his ear over his chest, but he shook his head grimly.
“He’s gone, kid,” Shane said, his voice rough. “We’ve got to go.”
“No,” Harry said fiercely. “We can’t just leave him here like this. Not for them.”
Shane’s jaw tightened, but he nodded, understanding Harry’s meaning. Together, they pushed a gurney against the door, along with whatever furniture they could move. It wouldn’t hold for long, but it was better than nothing. Harry glanced back at his father one last time, his throat tightening. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“Come on,” Shane urged, grabbing Harry’s arm. “We’ve got to move.”
The corridors were a war zone, littered with bodies and the echoes of distant gunfire. Harry followed Shane closely, the stench of blood and smoke filled the air, mingling with the faint, guttural groans of the infected.
They barely made it out of the hospital, slipping through a side exit just as a group of soldiers stormed in through the main entrance. Outside, the world was no better—cars abandoned, fires burning, and the distant skyline marked with plumes of black smoke. Shane led Harry to the truck, shoving him into the passenger seat before climbing in and slamming the door.
“We’re not sticking around,” Shane said, his voice hard. “We’re getting your mom and Carl and getting the hell out of here.”
Harry nodded, his mind racing as Shane started the engine. He couldn’t shake the image of his father lying lifeless on that hospital bed, or the thought of what might happen to his mother and brother if they stayed in this town any longer. The world was falling apart, and they needed to move—fast.
Shane didn’t waste any time as he drove them back to the house, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. Harry sat rigid in the passenger seat, his mind racing with everything they’d just witnessed at the hospital.
As soon as the truck skidded to a halt in the driveway, Shane was out, slamming the door behind him. Harry followed close on his heels. They didn’t have much time—Harry knew that, and from the determined set of Shane’s jaw, he could tell Shane did too.
Bursting through the front door, Shane called out sharply, “Lori! Carl! Pack your bags! We’re leaving—now.”
His mother appeared from the kitchen, her expression immediately shifting to one of alarm. “Shane, what—”
“No time for questions!” Shane snapped, his voice tense. “Get Carl and pack what you can carry. Essentials only. We’ve gotta go.”
Carl came rushing into the room, clearly confused but already picking up on the tension. “Harry?” he asked, looking up at his older brother with wide eyes. “What’s going on?”
Harry crouched down, placing a steadying hand on Carl’s shoulder. “It’s okay, bud. We just need to go on a little trip, alright? Grab your backpack, and I’ll come help you pack.”
Carl hesitated for a moment but nodded, running back toward his room. Harry started to follow, but his mother’s hand shot out, gripping his arm tightly. He stopped, turning to face her. She was pale, her eyes searching his face with a mixture of confusion and fear. “What’s happening, Harry?” she demanded, her voice low but urgent. “Why is Shane acting like this? Why are you acting like this?”
Harry took a deep breath, knowing there was no easy way to say it. “Mom,” he began, his voice steady but heavy. “Things… things are bad. Worse than you know.”
“What do you mean?” she pressed, her grip tightening on his arm. “What are you not telling me?”
Harry glanced at Shane, who was moving toward the windows, peering out cautiously as though expecting trouble at any moment. Turning back to his mother, Harry lowered his voice and spoke quickly. “The disease, the one on the news—it’s not just some flu or virus. It’s changing people. They’re aggressive, violent, and impossible to stop unless…” He hesitated, then forced himself to continue. “Unless you destroy their brain. We saw it at the hospital, Mom. The army—they’re killing everyone. Infected or not. No questions, no mercy. Dad’s… Dad’s gone, and we can’t stay here. It’s not safe.”
Lori stared at him, her face a mask of disbelief. “No,” she said, shaking her head as though trying to push away the reality of his words. “That’s not true. That can’t be true. This is just… it’s just a bad outbreak. They’ll figure it out. The government, the CDC—they’ll fix this.”
“They’re not fixing anything,” Harry said, his voice rising slightly before he caught himself. He softened his tone, looking her square in the eye. “Mom, I need you to trust me on this. Carl needs you to trust me. If we stay here, we won’t survive. Please.”
Her grip slackened, and for a moment, Harry thought she might break down. But then she straightened, swallowing hard as she nodded. “Alright,” she said quietly, her voice trembling “Alright. I’ll pack.”
“Thank you,” Harry said, squeezing her hand briefly before heading down the hall to Carl’s room. He found his little brother rummaging through drawers, tossing socks and shirts into his backpack. Harry knelt beside him, helping to fold and pack more efficiently.
“Harry?” Carl asked, his voice small. “Are we gonna be okay?”
Harry paused, glancing at his brother. He forced a smile, ruffling Carl’s hair. “We’ll be alright, bud. As long as we stick together.”
Outside, the sky was beginning to darken, casting long shadows over the quiet street. Harry’s stomach churned with a sense of unease, but he pushed it aside. They had a plan, and they were going to make it. They had to.
Harry moved quickly, his hands trembling slightly as he grabbed his duffel bag and began stuffing it with clothes. He didn’t bother folding them—there was no time for neatness. T-shirts, jeans, socks, jackets—he shoved them in without hesitation, his mind racing with every item he added. His schoolbooks and notes remained untouched on the desk; they felt like relics of a life that had already slipped away. Survival was all that mattered now.
He zipped up the bag and glanced around the room, scanning for anything else he might need. His eyes fell on a small, wooden box sitting on the shelf above his bed. His breath hitched as he reached for it, flipping open the lid to reveal the pistol his father had given him on his fifteenth birthday. He had been hesitant about the gift at first, but Shane had convinced him, arguing that Harry needed to learn how to defend himself.
The memory was sharp in Harry’s mind—his father’s steady hands as he showed Harry how to hold the weapon, how to aim, how to respect it. “This isn’t a toy,” his father had said, his voice stern “It’s a tool. A last resort. You only use it when there’s no other choice.”
Harry stared at the pistol now, the weight of his father’s words echoing in his head. This was no longer a world of choices; it was one of necessity. He picked up the gun, feeling its familiar cold metal against his palm, and checked the magazine. Fully loaded. Good. He secured the holster to his hip, adjusting it until it felt snug, and slid the pistol into place.
The atmosphere outside was heavy, the cool night air laced with an eerie stillness that only deepened Harry’s anxiety. The streets, which had once felt familiar and safe, now seemed alien and threatening, shadows playing tricks in the flickering streetlights. Harry tightened his grip on his duffel bag, glancing back at his mother and Carl as they stepped out of the house.
“Stay close,” Shane ordered, his voice sharp as he gestured for Lori and Carl to head toward his truck parked in the driveway. Carl clutched his backpack tightly. His mother’s face was pale, her wide eyes darting around as if expecting danger to lunge at them from the darkness.
“I’ll take the truck,” Shane continued, his hand resting on the shotgun slung over his shoulder. “Lori and Carl are with me. Harry, you follow right behind us in your car. Don’t stop for anything, you hear me? We stick together.”
Harry nodded, his jaw tight as he adjusted the pistol at his hip. “Got it.”
“Let’s move,” Shane said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He opened the truck’s passenger door, helping his mother climb in before gently ushering Carl into the seat beside her. “Stay down and don’t look out the windows unless I tell you to,” Shane instructed. Carl nodded silently, his hands clutching the seatbelt as Shane closed the door.
Harry took one last look at the house, the memories of countless mornings and evenings spent there flashing through his mind. He shook the thought away and made his way to his car, tossing his bag into the passenger seat before climbing in. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as he started the engine, the low rumble breaking the silence.
Shane’s truck pulled out of the driveway first, its headlights cutting through the darkness. Harry followed closely, his own lights illuminating the narrow path ahead. As they rolled down the street, Harry couldn’t help but glance at the other houses they passed—some had their lights on, shadows moving behind the curtains, while others were dark and lifeless. A few people stood on their porches, shouting into the night, their voices tinged with panic and confusion.
It didn’t take long for the streets to grow more chaotic. Groups of people wandered aimlessly, some shouting and waving their arms, others eerily silent as they staggered forward with a strange, unnatural walk. Harry’s stomach churned as he watched one of them lurch toward a parked car, smearing blood across the windshield with a half-gone hand.
“Keep going, keep going,” Harry muttered to himself, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. He stayed close to Shane’s truck, mirroring every turn as they navigated through the growing pandemonium. Shane’s brake lights flashed as he slowed down to avoid a group of people blocking part of the road, their movements sluggish and unnatural. Harry’s heart pounded as he eased off the accelerator, his eyes darting between the truck and the figures outside.
Suddenly, one of them turned toward Shane’s truck, its head jerking unnaturally as it locked onto the movement. Shane didn’t hesitate. The truck roared forward, narrowly avoiding the figure as it lunged toward the vehicle. Harry followed suit, his tires skidding slightly as he accelerated past the group. He caught a glimpse of its hollow, lifeless eyes in his rearview mirror, and a chill ran down his spine.
The further they drove, the more surreal the scene became. Fires burned in the distance, casting an orange glow against the night sky. A chorus of screams and distant gunfire echoed through the air, a grim reminder that this wasn’t just an isolated event—it was everywhere. Harry’s grip on the wheel tightened as his thoughts raced. Where could they go? What was safe anymore?
Shane’s voice crackled through the walkie-talkie sitting on the passenger seat of Harry’s car. “Harry, you still with me?”
Harry grabbed the device, pressing the button. “Yeah, I’m here.”
“Stay close,” Shane said, his voice steady despite the chaos. “We’re almost out of town. Once we hit the highway, we’ll figure out our next move.”
“Understood,” Harry replied, setting the walkie-talkie down as he refocused on the road.
They passed the last few blocks of town in tense silence, the streets growing darker and more desolate with each turn. When they finally reached the outskirts, Harry felt a flicker of relief. The open highway stretched ahead, the moonlight reflecting off the asphalt. For now, they were free of the chaos. But Harry knew better than to believe it was over. This was just the beginning.