THE HOLLOWS

TALIA

You ever catch a smell that doesn’t belong?

Not strong enough to stop you. Not sharp enough to set off alarms. Just there, sitting in the back of your throat like it’s waiting for you to notice it.

That’s what it was.

At first, I thought it was just part of the shift. Chemicals always blended together in here—sharp, clean, artificial. After a while, you stop noticing most of it.

But this one did not sit right.

It was not strong.

It was wrong.

The ventilation system hummed steadily overhead while machinery deeper inside the building rattled hard enough to vibrate faintly beneath the floor beneath my boots. Cold artificial air pushed constantly through the vents carrying that same sharp chemical smell the entire facility always carried.

Except now something underneath it felt off.

Not stronger.

Not dangerous.

Just wrong in a way I could not explain yet.

I paused for a second, trying to figure out where it was coming from. Like if I could place it, it would suddenly make sense. Like it would go away.

It didn’t.

And the more I ignored it, the more it lingered.

You ever get that feeling like something is trying to get your attention, but you don’t know what it is yet?

Yeah.

That.

Everything around me kept moving like normal.

People moved through the hallways half awake carrying clipboards and coffee cups while radios crackled somewhere farther down the production floor. A forklift rolled loudly past the open loading area nearby while somebody laughed at something I couldn’t hear clearly over the machines.

Nobody else looked bothered.

Nobody else seemed to notice the smell sitting underneath everything else.

Which honestly made me feel crazier for noticing it at all.

Machines running. People talking. Same routine we’d been stuck in for years.

Six years, technically.

Same building. Same faces. Same endless cycle.

At some point every day inside this place started blending together until weeks disappeared before you even realized they were gone. Same shifts. Same conversations. Same exhausted people pretending they weren’t slowly losing their minds working inside a building that never really slept.

After six years, most of us stopped paying attention to things that felt strange.

That was probably the first mistake.

You would think that would feel familiar.

Safe.

But it didn’t.

Not in that moment.

“Talia.”

I looked up just as Melissa rounded the corner holding a clipboard against her chest.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” I answered automatically a little too fast.

Her eyes lingered on me another second before she nodded slowly and continued down the hallway with everybody else moving around us like nothing felt different at all.

I blinked, and suddenly everything snapped into place again. The movement. The machines. Conversations. Like I’d drifted somewhere else for a second without realizing it.

Like nothing was wrong.

Because nothing was wrong.

At least that’s what I told myself.

You’d think I would’ve trusted that feeling. You’d think I would’ve stopped and paid attention.

But I didn’t.

Because nothing had happened yet.

And when nothing’s happened, it’s easy to convince yourself everything’s fine.

Looking back now, that was the moment everything started changing.

Not the outbreak.

Not the screaming.

Just that feeling sitting quietly in the back of my throat trying to warn me before any of us understood what was happening.

My name’s Talia.

And if you are still here, I guess this is the part where I tell you how everything started.

Not with chaos.

Not with screaming.

It didn’t start like that.

It started small.

Quiet.

With something nobody paid attention to.

Something we all ignored.

And by the time we realized what it was—

it was already too late.

ROWAN

Most people notice when something feels wrong.

They just decide it doesn’t matter.

You see it every day in places like this.

Warning lights ignored.

People coughing too hard and waving it off.

Supervisors pretending equipment problems aren’t serious enough to stop production.

Everybody notices something eventually.

Most people just convince themselves it isn’t their problem.

You can see it happen sometimes. A pause. A glance. That tiny shift right before somebody convinces themselves everything is fine again.

She did it too.

She stopped near the hallway entrance while everybody else kept moving around her.

Nobody noticed.

I did.

She wasn’t panicking.

That was the part that stood out.

Her shoulders stayed relaxed, but her eyes kept scanning the hallway like she was trying to find something she could not explain yet. Most people would have ignored the feeling completely and kept moving, but she stopped.

Maybe because I’d seen that same look on her before.

Different hallways.

Different day.

Same expression like some part of her already understood something around her wasn’t right.

She looked out of place.

Not nervous exactly.

Aware.

Like she was listening to something underneath all the noise.

Most people stop paying attention after enough years in a place like this.

That usually gets people killed.

Not immediately.

Just eventually

She didn’t.

That caught my attention longer than it should’ve.

At the time, it didn’t matter.

She worked in another department. We passed each other sometimes. That was all.

At least that’s what I told myself then.

Then I saw her again.

Standing outside the building alone like she was trying to breathe air that suddenly didn’t feel right anymore.

The automatic doors slid shut behind her while cold evening air pushed across the parking lot outside. Rain clouds hung low overhead turning everything gray while distant traffic hummed somewhere beyond the facility gates.

Even from across the lot, I could see the tension in her posture.

Like she was trying to breathe around something the rest of them did not feel yet.