The outbreak

CHAPTER ONE — THE FIRST SHIFT

The heat hit him first.Even in October, Yuma carried that dry, desert burn that clung to the skin like a warning. Craig stepped out of the bus and into the parking lot of the mall, the sun dropping low but still sharp enough to sting his eyes. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and glanced at the time on his phone: 2:37 p.m. Thirteen minutes until the interview.He wasn’t nervous. Thirty years in back‑of‑house kitchens had burned the nerves out of him. But something felt off today — not about the interview, but about the air itself. It carried a strange heaviness, like the desert was holding its breath.He walked toward the mall entrance, passing a cluster of people gathered around a security guard. Someone was lying on the ground, twitching. The guard kept telling everyone to back up, but nobody listened. Phones were out. People were recording. The usual.Craig slowed, watching the man on the ground. His movements weren’t normal — not a seizure, not heatstroke. His arms jerked like he was fighting something invisible. His eyes were wide open, unfocused, darting around like he was seeing things no one else could.A woman screamed when he suddenly lunged upward, grabbing at the air. The guard jumped back.Craig felt a chill crawl up his spine.He’d seen plenty of medical emergencies in restaurants — fainting, choking, even a heart attack once. But this wasn’t that. This was wrong.He forced himself to keep walking. He had an interview. He needed the job. He needed the paycheck. Whatever was happening behind him wasn’t his business.Inside the mall, the air-conditioning blasted cold enough to make his skin prickle. People moved normally here — shopping bags, kids running around, the smell of pretzels and cheap perfume. The chaos outside felt like a different world.He headed toward Chipotle, tucked between a shoe store and a phone kiosk. The line was short. The grill hissed. The workers moved fast, scooping rice, flipping chicken, calling out orders. It felt familiar. Safe.A manager stepped out from the back, a short woman with sharp eyes and a clipboard. She spotted him immediately.“You must be Craig.”“That’s me.”“Interview room’s in the back. Follow me.”He did. The hallway was narrow, lined with boxes of cups and sleeves of tortillas. The hum of the refrigerators filled the space. She opened a small office door and motioned for him to sit.Before she could begin, a loud crash echoed from the dining area. Then shouting.The manager froze.Craig stood up instinctively.They stepped out into the hallway just as a worker sprinted past them, eyes wide with terror.“He bit her!” the worker yelled. “He bit her face!”Craig’s stomach dropped.The manager pushed into the dining area. Craig followed.A man — the same man from outside — was inside now, blood smeared across his mouth. A woman lay on the floor, screaming, clutching her cheek. Customers backed away, some running, some filming, some frozen in shock.The man’s eyes locked onto Craig.And Craig felt something he hadn’t felt in years.Fear.Raw, primal fear.The man lunged.Craig grabbed a metal tray from the counter and swung it like a shield. The impact rang out, metal against bone. The man stumbled, then snarled — actually snarled — and came again.“Call security!” the manager screamed.Craig braced himself, gripping the tray tighter.The outbreak had begun.And he was standing in the middle of it.