Emergency Broadcast

Chapter 1 2025-08-06, 7:07 p.m. — The Shop

The world had come to an end, though no one could pinpoint the exact moment the unraveling truly began.

There had been signs—at first subtle, then so loud they could no longer be ignored.

I remember a video surfacing online, grainy and shaky, showing a man under attack in a way that seemed impossible.

Zach said, “Nah, that’s gotta be AI.”

Zach’s wiry—shorter than me, maybe a buck-seventy on a good day—restless and wrong with confidence. With typically messy hair and dressed like an emo kid from 2006, he carried himself with confidence—even when he was unknowingly wrong. God, I wished he’d been right.

Dom said, “I don’t know. It looked real, though. Not really our problem.”

He was about my size, solidly in the 200-pound range, built from years of real work instead of idle training. A solid guy with a bit of a temper. Dom’s the kind of guy who’s swung more real hammers than gym kettlebells. Trouble reads him as fluent

Jose shrugged. “To be honest with you guys, I didn’t pay attention. Lemme see it again.”

He stood a little taller than Zach, his posture easy, like someone who never worried too much about anything.

As they stepped away, I found myself turning to Dom.

A gnawing unease twisted in my gut. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this. I need to check on the stuff I’ve got stashed at my old place.”

Dom waved it off. “I’m sure you’re worrying over nothing, man.” He sounded confident, but I wasn’t convinced.

The afternoon drifted by with us hanging out, but my thoughts kept slipping elsewhere. I missed my wife. She and our son were hours away on a trip with her mother—far removed from whatever was brewing here. Or at least, that’s what I told myself.

Then Zach broke the quiet. “Hey, guys? None of the news channels are working. I was just trying to check the forecast.” His voice carried more confusion than worry, but it made my stomach tighten all over again.

Every news channel I flipped to was just dead air, the screens stubbornly refusing to give me an answer. With a sigh, I pulled a fresh case from the fridge. First hiss cut the room in half.

“Y’all trying to crash here tonight?” I asked, setting the case down on the table.

Dom nodded. “Yeah, I’m down.”

Zach smirked. “Shit, don’t see why not.”

Jose lifted a hand. “Yeah, I got ya.”

2025-08-07, 9:10 a.m. — The Shop

I woke to the sharp rise of voices, each word cutting through the haze of sleep.

“All I’m saying is that we don’t know if it’s true,” Dom said, his tone steady.

Zach’s voice cracked with concern. “We can’t access the news, and there’s that alert on the TV!”

I turned toward the television. Jose stood in front of it, his face grim. Across the screen, bold letters flashed over and over: Emergency Broadcast.

I read the message aloud:

All citizens are advised to take immediate shelter. Widespread mass violence has broken out across the nation. Possible bioweapon suspected.

Stunned doesn’t even begin to cover it. My mind stalled, refusing to process what I had just read.

How do you even begin to react when the world outside your door has suddenly become a stranger?

“What’s the plan?” I asked, turning back to the others. My mind was racing, desperate for some way to act.

Dom’s voice had lost its usual ease. “We need a way to lay low.”

“We could go to my house,” Zach offered, “or the trailer in Hickory Flat.”

We all nodded slowly, the weight of it sinking in.

“We need to gather supplies,” I said, my voice heavy. I already knew things were slipping past the point of normal.

The plan came together quickly: Jose and I would run for canned goods and nonperishables, while Dom and Zach hit the pharmacy for whatever they could grab.

8-7-25 1:22pm — The Shop

By the time we got back, the world had already slid into chaos.

Jose and I had managed to haul in a good amount of food and water and were sorting through it when Dom burst through the door. His once-white hoodie was soaked in blood, the deep crimson swallowing the fabric, and he was carrying Zach.

Instinct took over. “Set him on the table!” I shouted.

The answer hit me the moment I saw the knife jutting from Zach’s side. “What the hell happened?!”

Dom’s face was carved with worry. “We weren’t the only ones who wanted the meds.”

Jose—always quick-thinking—snatched up a first aid kit while I pressed in, doing everything I could to slow the bleeding.

“Bite down, Zach. Jose, Dom — hold him.” I tossed a clean, twisted shirt across and waited until they were set.

When they were ready I yanked the blade free and pressed down hard. Jose kept pressure; Dom held Zach’s jaw. I ran for my butane torch, heated a clean knife until the metal glowed, and pressed it to the wound. Zach screamed and then went limp—easier to stitch once he stopped thrashing.

“Bite down again. Dom, cover his eyes.” I heated the knife until it glowed and pressed it to the wound to cauterize. Zach screamed, then went limp—thankfully making it easier to stitch him up.

“Did you try calling an ambulance?” I asked, breathless and more tired than I felt. I glanced at Dom.

“9-1-1’s just a busy tone. We managed to grab a good amount of stuff, though.”

“Alright. Get him some antibiotics and pain meds,” I said, leaning back and rubbing my hands. The day kept getting stranger, and I felt more confused by the minute.

2025-08-07, 9:10 p.m. — The Shop

Zach was recovering well. Luckily, the knife hadn’t hit anything vital.

Outside, though, the sounds of gunfire were getting closer, blending with the screech of tires.

“It didn't take long for things to go to shit,” Jose muttered from the front door. He tilted his head, squinting. “Hey… there’s a tweaker walking around out here.”

Dom and I moved to the side, arming ourselves. I grabbed a length of metal pipe. Dom insisted he didn’t need anything but his hands—something we’d both find out was wrong.

When I stepped outside, I finally saw who Jose meant.

“Hey! You need to move on now!” Dom and I flanked him, but something felt… off.

Understand this: Six foot, 270. Not easy to rattle. This did.

At first I thought his face was just weathered with age. Then I saw the truth. One eye was gone, the other wide open but empty, no light behind it. The left side of his face had been eaten away, leaving an exposed jaw that clicked softly as it opened and closed.

Dom and I locked eyes. I jerked my head toward the door, telling him to arm himself. He nodded and started backing up—

That’s when the thing noticed us.

It turned toward us, and a flash of disgust and fear made my skin go ice-cold.

His right shoe was half gone; what was left of his foot dangled loose. My eyes climbed higher, and the sight rooted me where I stood, like the ground had turned to cement. How he was still standing—let alone moving—was a question I didn’t want answered.

His clothes hung in tatters, ripped straight through in places. Chunks were missing from his chest, dark grooves of dried blood crusted over and glinting faintly in the streetlight.

And his face—twisted into a mask of endless fear.

Dom burst back outside, gripping the long bat I kept in the back.

The thing lunged at us with a speed its broken body had no right to possess. I froze, stunned that it could even move like that.

Dom didn’t hesitate. He raised the bat and shouted, “Duck!”

I dropped, feeling the air shift as the swing cut just over me. A split second later the bat connected, smashing into its face.

The sight was bad enough, but the sound—that soft crunch—turned my stomach. The thing flew backward, limbs jerking in a grotesque spasm before hitting the ground with a sickening thud.

“Thanks,” I muttered, grimacing. My eyes snapped back to the tweaker—only to watch in disbelief as it stood again. Half its face was a mangled ruin now, bone and flesh warped like shattered pottery.

“That’s fucked. Hey man, you should’ve ducked,” Dom said with a shrug.

I forced myself a step forward, steel running through my spine though my stomach twisted. I already knew this wouldn’t be clean.

“Last warning.”

It tensed. This time I was ready. As it lunged, I drove forward, swinging hard. The bat slammed into its stomach with a dull thud, and I felt the bones buckle under the blow—but still it pushed toward me, breath hot and foul against my face.

Dom crashed in, his bat snapping into its leg with a crack that made it stumble sideways.

Before it could recover, we both swung high, our bats colliding against its skull at the same time. The impact reverberated up my arms, a sickening vibration, and the sound—meaty and final—snapped through the night.

With adrenaline still buzzing in my veins and the metallic tang of blood heavy in the air, one thought cut through the haze: I needed a beer. Badly