The world ended. It's every man for himself. To find sanctuary, I put on my best "innocent and helpless" act and knocked on Elias's door. I know he has a basement. And I know he's been waiting for a chance to lock me in it... 1 I stood at the rain-streaked window, watching the broken, twilit street below. A few dozen infected shambled aimlessly. It’s been almost six months since the outbreak. Six months since "preventable and controllable" collapsed into total system failure. I’ve been locked in this shoebox apartment, cut off from power, internet, and water. Even my hoarded food is almost gone. Through the glass, I traced the path of a raindrop. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt the sun, or touched anything outside these four walls. The infected on the street were in rags, their flesh rotting. I felt like I was rotting right along with them. Just then, a flash of red fell past my window. Thump. It hit the pavement, the body and the red dress blooming like a grotesque flower. Every infected on the street froze, their slow, shuffling movements stopping as one. They all turned. Then, like sharks smelling blood, they descended, a frantic mob tearing into the offering. I watched, numb. She was the girl from 14B. We’d nodded in the elevator once or twice. I knew she loved long dresses and sometimes brought home flowers. She was the eighteenth person from this building to jump this month. I couldn’t wait any longer. I was terrified I’d be next. I opened my closet, pulled out my sexiest slip dress, and sat at the dusty vanity. I put on just enough makeup to look human, then walked across the hall and knocked on his door. The door opened. Elias. He was immaculate. Crisp white shirt, slacks, elegant wire-rimmed glasses. His sleeves were rolled up, like he’d just been cooking. The smell of real food and the sound of classical music wafted from inside. It was like the apocalypse hadn’t bothered to give him a courtesy call. "I’m out of food," I said, no preamble. "Is your offer still good?" A small, slow smile curved Elias’s lips. "Of course." 2 Elias moved in across the hall over two years ago. He probably started "knowing" me long before that. A face in a coffee shop, a stranger on the subway, some influencer’s tagged photo at a bar. I was just another transplant trying to make it in the city, living a normal 9-to-5 grind. He was a tenured university professor from old money. We should have never crossed paths. But then the "coincidences" started piling up. The bar. The lobby of my office building. The same subway car, day after day. It happened so often, and he had a face that disarmed you, so we naturally fell into a "nodding acquaintance" routine. Then came the comments on my Instagram. The Venmo friend request, which he used to find my private handle. He was everywhere I was. It started to feel less like coincidence and more like terror. I suspected he was up to something, so I started moving in packs, never walking home from the train alone. Until one evening, I came home, and he was standing right in front of my door. His tall frame was slouched casually against the wall, the hallway light glinting off his glasses, his fingertips drumming a silent rhythm on his thigh. "What do you want?!" I completely lost it, fumbling in my bag for my pepper spray. "This is my apartment! You’re not welcome here!" He chuckled. A low, amused sound. He slowly pulled a set of keys from his pocket and dangled them. "Just a coincidence, I’m afraid. I bought a place here, too." He theatrically inserted a key into the lock of the door opposite mine. "This is my home," he’d said. My protest died in my throat. I was a renter. He’d bought the other three units on my floor and had them combined into one sprawling apartment. 3 Before the fall, that was Elias. I knew he wasn’t normal. No sane person fixates on another human being like that. But every single one of his actions was, technically, legal. He never touched me. He was never violent. He was always polite. Even his social media comments were blandly supportive. If I called the cops, what would I even say? Even my best friend, after months of my spiraling paranoia, thought I was losing it. "Maybe he just has a crush on you, Elara?" But I knew. He was a lunatic. A genuine, patient, terrifying lunatic. He was playing a game. A cat-and-mouse game where he was the cat, and he was enjoying the silent, suffocating tension. He loved knowing I was terrified and had no one to turn to. I tried to move. Elias, in a gesture of "neighborly kindness," even offered to come with me to look at new apartments. As the realtor droned on, Elias pointed to a listing. "I think this one is nice." I wasn't interested. I just wanted to go somewhere, anywhere, he didn't know about. "You know," he’d added idly, "I've been thinking of buying in this neighborhood, too." The realtor beamed. I felt my blood run cold. I understood his message perfectly: No matter where you go, I will be there. He was a patient spider, weaving this massive, invisible web. And he was just waiting, one step away, for me to walk right into it. The zombie apocalypse didn't create this situation. It just smashed the pause button on our stalemate and hit fast-forward. 4 My apartment was a studio. Elias's was a custom-built fortress. "Your supplies lasted this long," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "I’m impressed." After the world went to hell, he’d "neighborly" invited me over for dinner three times. I refused all three. We both knew what that invitation really meant. Now, he was just making casual conversation, as if he wasn't a predator and I wasn't his prey. "How much food do you have?" "Just a bit." He opened a pantry door. It wasn’t a pantry; it was a storage room. Floor-to-ceiling shelves packed with rice, pasta, and cans. Spam, Chef Boyardee, corned beef hash, smoked salmon... I swallowed hard. I’d been eating canned tuna—and for the last three days, my cat’s food. The cat food I’d traded my last box of tampons for in the building’s barter group. "What are you in the mood for?" He leaned against the doorframe, his voice low. The storage room was small, and he was too close. His voice felt like static electricity on the back of my neck. I took a step back. "Whatever." "Whatever?" He paused, then smiled again. "Alright. I’ll make us 'whatever.'" As he passed me, he casually tossed a small box into my hands. I looked down. Tampax Pearl. I... I walked out of his storage room and sat in his living room. It was the first time I’d ever been inside. Spotless. Heavy curtains, thick rugs. And through it all, the classical music, powered by some small generator. The growls of the infected outside were just a faint, ignorable buzz. I watched the strong lines of his back as he expertly prepped frozen steak and vegetables from a mini-fridge. I needed to figure out how to avoid becoming just another item in his pantry. 5 Elias was a good cook. I wasn't surprised. A man like him seemed to be perfect at everything he did. We sat at opposite ends of a long, formal dining table. Low lights, classical music, fresh vegetables and meat, a single lit candle. It was a date I couldn’t have afforded even in the old world. I was wolfing down the food, all pretense of manners gone. It had been so long since I'd eaten anything that wasn't preserved in salt or tin. He swirled a glass of red wine. "Slow down. No one’s going to steal it." I couldn't help myself. In this, we were no better than the infected—driven by a base, desperate hunger. When I was finally full, I put down my fork and wiped my mouth. I looked at him, my voice cold. "It was delicious." "My pleasure." That perfect smile. "What do you want?" I asked. The rain outside lashed against the windows. "What do I have to pay for this meal?" I repeated, staring him down. I’m not an idiot. I know what the world is now. Supplies are the only currency. Dark bargains are the new normal. My DMs in the building's defunct chat app were full of offers: A meal for a few hours. No strings. They didn’t even bother to be polite. A starving girl has no negotiating power. Elias’s invitation was classier, but the subtext was the same. He was offering a feast. The payment would have to match. The stereo switched to a slow, romantic ballad. We stared at each other, a perfect picture of a couple at dinner. But I knew this was a transaction. Elias laughed. He actually threw his head back and laughed, a full, rich sound. He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just dinner, Elara. Why so tense?" He put his glasses back on, his eyes sharp. "The way you were looking at me, I thought you were going to bite me. I'm the one who invited you, but you look like I'm the one who offended you." I narrowed my eyes. "I have nothing to pay you with. Except cat food." "I don't need you to pay me." Elias idly pushed a piece of steak around his plate. He looked up, his eyes catching the light. "…Except for one thing." "What?" "Guess." That infuriating, playful smile was back. I clenched my fists under the table. Then, slowly, I relaxed them. I stood up and started gathering the plates. He might be a psycho, but I’m not. I have basic manners. I silently cleared the table, went into his kitchen, and started washing the dishes. When I finished, Elias was sitting on the sofa, reading a book under a brass floor lamp. His long legs were crossed. He glanced up as I came out. "Very domestic." I... "If there’s nothing else," I said, untying the apron I'd found, "I’ll be going." Elias just grunted, his eyes already back on his book. That's it? I walked to the door, still in disbelief. A stalker who’s been obsessed with me for years, in a world with no rules, finally gets me—desperate and starving—into his apartment... just to feed me? Elias, are you broken? I frowned, glancing back at him, and bent down to put on my shoes. The second my fingers touched the heel, I heard it. A low, guttural groan from the other side of the door. A sound I heard every day, all day. I froze. I put my shoes down silently and looked through the peephole. The hallway was dark. Nothing. I must have imagined it. But just as I started to pull away, a single, blood-red eyeball pressed against the glass from the other side, staring right at me. I screamed and stumbled backward—right into a solid chest. Elias was already behind me. His arm snaked around my waist, steadying me easily. The infected outside slammed against the heavy door. He looked down at me, his eyes tracking to my lips, and that slow smile returned. "Oh dear. Looks like you can't go home after all." I glanced at his Bluetooth speaker. It finally clicked. Why he was playing music loud enough to be heard in the hall. Asshole. He did it on purpose. My apartment was ten feet away, but I couldn't go back. Elias. You magnificent bastard. 6 The sky was dark. The rain kept falling. Elias was reading. I was trapped. This was his plan all along. Invite me over. Use the music as a lure. He knew zombies had good hearing. We’re on a high floor, but they can climb stairs. It just takes them a while. After six months, the lower floors were all empty. The building group chat had been full of warnings: Stay out of the stairwells. Keeping quiet was rule number one. You had to live like the dead to avoid the dead. Elias, who had survived this long in such comfort, knew this. I looked at his thick, plush Persian rugs, the sound-dampening panels on the walls. He knew. He’d used a single meal to lure the infected and cut off my only escape route. Brilliant. I had to talk to him. "Hey," I whispered. Elias just shifted his book, one eye peering over the top. The zombie at the door heard me. It started scratching furiously. "Shh." He put a finger to his lips. "You lured it here. Can you kill it," I mouthed. Elias put his book down and, with perfect politeness, mouthed back: Can't hear you. I… I got up, barefoot on the soft rug, and walked over to him. "Kill it," I mouthed, pointing at the door. He tilted his head, showing off his perfect jawline, and pointed to his ear. His expression was angelic. I… I bit my lip, tucked my hair behind my ear, and leaned in close, whispering in a voice only we could hear, "Kill. It." Elias leaned back slightly, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses. He crooked a finger, beckoning me closer. This time, he leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. "Heh." A puff of hot breath hit my neck, followed by his low, amused rumble. "Why don't you just kill me?" My eyes flew open. His voice was low and magnetic, and it made my quiet whispering feel ridiculous. The zombie at the door went even crazier; I could hear the metal of the doorframe groaning. In that instant, we just stared at each other. I wasn't sure who was more unhinged—him, or the thing at the door. Just as I was about to really let him have it, he yanked me by the wrist, pulling me into his lap and clamping a hand over my mouth, all in one fluid motion. "Shh—" His voice was a vibration that seemed to pass from his chest to mine. "Someone's coming. Let them handle it." His embrace was like steel. For the first time, I felt the terrifying strength hidden under that polite, professorial exterior. As he spoke, he reached over and turned a small, black cube on the side table. Instantly, the entire apartment went dark and silent. The lights died, the fridge hummed into silence. In the quiet, with only the sound of the rain, I could hear two heartbeats. Mine was a frantic rabbit. His was... also fast. Faster than his cool, woody cologne would suggest. His hot breath puffed against my neck. I struggled, and his arms just tightened. "Listen." It might have been the word, or it might have been a kiss brushing my skin. I couldn't tell. But I closed my eyes, and I heard it. Footsteps. Heavy, frantic, and clashing with the sound of the rain. Someone was coming down the stairs. The zombie, drawn by the new sound, groaned and moved away from our door. A second later, the thud of the stairwell door being kicked open echoed down the hall. A fight broke out. Curses, a sickening thwack. The infected shrieked as an axe—it had to be an axe—bit into it, over and over. I knew it was just a monster, but I couldn't stop shaking. Elias's hand moved from my mouth, sliding down to wrap around me in a full embrace. It was too warm, too safe. I was enveloped in his clean, woody scent, and my terrified, clenched spine just... relaxed. But a moment later, a voice from the hall made my blood run cold. "That music definitely came from this apartment. Let's hit it!" I sat bolt upright. Raiders. The building was full of them now. For the first two months, the tenants' group chat was for sharing info. Then the supplies ran out, and people turned into animals. Anyone who even hinted at having extra food got hit. I'd heard them at night, ambushing neighbors. Sometimes for just a single pack of ramen. The only thing scarier than the dead was the living. The voices outside continued. "Who the hell is playing music in the middle of this shit? They gotta be loaded! Anyone know who lives here?" "No idea, man. They're not in the group chat." "Heh. Hiding, huh?" "Boss, maybe we just heard it wrong... Who'd be stupid enough to make noise? If they're not in the chat, the apartment's probably empty." "Shut up, you idiot! That means they don't need the chat. It means they're self-sufficient. They've probably even got a generator!" A metallic screech came from the door. A crowbar. This was bad. I looked at Elias, frantic. He still looked completely unbothered, a faint smile on his lips, as if it wasn't his door they were trying to bust down. I grabbed his shirt. Do something! Elias put on a show of thinking hard, then held out his hand. His lips moved: Phone. I had no idea what he wanted it for, but the door was visibly bowing. I dug it out of my dress pocket and gave it to him. The power had been out for ages, but we all charged our battery packs during the rare hours the grid came back up. Elias took my phone and, to my horror, unlocked it with a casual swipe. He knew my passcode. As I reeled from that, he opened my Bluetooth settings. Connected, at the top of the list: Elara's Speaker. My stomach dropped. That was my S.O.S. I didn't know what I was walking into. Before I came over, I'd set up a plan. If he tried anything, I'd hit a macro on my phone, and my speaker would blast a pre-recorded "Help me," along with his name and apartment number. How did he know? How did he know about my escape plan? I watched, frozen, as he opened my Spotify, selected a Mozart playlist, and his long finger pressed 'Play.' Across the hall, my own apartment burst into music. "Shit! It's the other one!" "Dumbass is practically begging to be robbed!" "I know that unit. It's just some chick. Probably already turned. Even if she hasn't, one axe is all it takes. C'mon!" The prying at Elias's door stopped. The footsteps rushed across the hall. Click. Elias locked my phone and, never letting go of my waist, settled back into the darkness. I sat in his lap, listening to the sound of raiders destroying my home. And he held me, his hands easily wrapped around my last-ditch effort at survival, as if it were nothing at all.
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "385945", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel