March 16, 2035

To whoever reads this letter,

Ten days ago, I heard knocking—then heavy, deliberate pounding—on the stairwell door.

Some of you later replied to stay put and not answer, but I had to investigate.

Up until that moment, I had felt safe in the president’s office. It was quiet, sealed off, untouched. But the sound of another person out there shattered that sense of security instantly.

“Open up. I know you’re in there!” a man shouted.

I froze. I moved slowly toward the door, careful not to make a sound.

“I’m not leaving until you open this door!” he continued, pounding harder.

Then he said something that made my stomach drop.

“My detector just went off. It’s bright red, so I KNOW you’re there!”

I hadn’t considered that someone else might have one too.

“Fine!” I yelled back, before I could stop myself. “What do you want?”

“Open,” he said.

“I’m not opening anything until you tell me who you are and what you want,” I replied.

There was a pause. Then, calmer this time:

“My name is Edmond. Edmond Lee. I’m the facilities manager for the college.”

The pounding stopped.

“I just want my share of the pantry in the president’s office. You know what I’m talking about.”

I didn’t answer right away. His request sounded… reasonable. That made it harder, not easier.

“Okay,” I said finally. “I’ll get you what you want. But you’re not coming in.”

“Look,” he replied, “you were smart to shelter here. I get it. But I need somewhere safer too. You can keep the president’s office. I’ll take the vice president’s office on the other side of the floor. I’m not here to hurt you.”

He knew the layout. That much was clear.

I turned and scanned the room until I found the organizational chart on the wall. My eyes ran down the list.

Facilities Manager: Edmond Lee. Reports to: Dr. Emilia Ramos.

“Who’s your manager?” I called out.

“Dr. Ramos,” he answered immediately.

That almost convinced me—but almost wasn’t enough.

“Slide your ID under the door.”

A moment later, it scraped across the floor toward me.

The license read Edmond Lee.

“I’m armed,” I told him. “If you try anything, I will shoot you.”

Then I unlocked the chain and the padlock.

He stepped inside without hesitation, grabbed the lock from me, and secured the door behind him like he’d done it a hundred times before. He barely looked at me. Just moved straight across the hall, a massive backpack slung over his shoulders, and disappeared into the vice president’s office.

The door slammed shut.

I locked myself back inside the president’s office and waited.

It was nearly sunset. I told myself I’d stay alert, watch what he did, figure him out.

Instead, I fell asleep.

At around seven in the morning, there was a soft knock at my door.

It was Edmond. He stood there holding a cardboard box.

“I’m here for my share,” he said.

“Give me a second.”

I grabbed my pepper spray and knife before opening the door. I let him into the pantry. He moved quickly, efficiently, selecting what he needed without a word. Then he left.

No small talk. No lingering.

Just gone.

Later that morning, I smelled something I hadn’t experienced in two weeks.

Coffee.

Real coffee.

The smell alone almost hurt.

Then came another knock.

Edmond stood there holding a cup.

“Look,” he said, “if we’re going to be neighbors, we should probably work together.”

He handed it to me.

I hesitated, bringing it closer to smell it.

“It’s not poisoned,” he said, almost annoyed. He took it back, drank from it, then handed it to me again. “See?”

That was the moment things shifted.

We talked.

He told me he’d been sheltering in another building on campus, but it was getting worse—more runners, more noise, less security.

“I didn’t plan on coming here,” he said. “I just needed supplies. But this building… it’s solid. Best chance we’ve got.”

Chiquita surprised me. She walked right up to him and let him pet her.

She doesn’t do that with strangers.

I took it as a sign.

That’s when he told me about his daughter.

“Her name’s Cindy. She’s eleven,” he said, pulling out a hand-drawn map. “She’s in San Leandro with her grandma. I’m going to get her tonight.”

He pointed out his route, explaining every turn.

“I’ve got a bike hidden near the gym,” he added. “Modified it to carry both of us. Supplies too.”

He said it like it was already done. Like failure wasn’t an option.

“She’s smart,” he said, almost smiling. “Already knows how to create holograms.”

I just listened.

I didn’t like the idea of him leaving. It had only been a few hours, but the silence before him had been worse.

“I’ll open the door when you come back,” I told him.

At sunset, he packed lightly and left most of his supplies behind.

We said goodbye like people who understood what that word might mean now.

Then I locked the door behind him.

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

I kept thinking about the risk he was taking.

Traveling at night is the safest option. The runners can’t see in the dark—they rely on sound. If he stayed quiet, he had a chance.

A chance.

I woke sometime after sunrise to Chiquita’s low, steady growl.

I reached for her, but she backed away, still growling, retreating under the desk.

That’s when I knew, something was wrong.

I grabbed my knife and pepper spray and moved slowly toward the stairwell door.

I pulled out my detector.

It was bright red.

Whoever—or whatever—was on the other side was completely silent.

I crouched down and looked under the door.

And froze.

A pair of pale, yellow-white eyes stared back at me.

Unblinking.

Then it lunged.

The impact slammed against the door with a force that shook the frame. Teeth snapping, claws scraping, the sound violent and desperate.

I stumbled backward, my heart racing.

And then came more.

Within minutes, there were at least ten of them, throwing themselves against the door, trying to force it open.

The chain wouldn’t hold.

I knew it.

I ran.

Back to the office. Grabbed Chiquita, put her in the crate, slung my backpack over my shoulder, and headed for the elevator.

I had locked it on my first day there. Kept it as an emergency exit.

This was the emergency.

I turned the key.

Behind me, I heard it.

The chain snapping.

The elevator doors closed just as the runners burst through.

I hit the button for the sixth floor. Not the first. Never the first.

If they were already inside the building, the lobby would be a death trap.

When the doors opened, I moved fast.

I locked the elevator controls, then moved down the hallway to a reinforced office—the kind designed to protect expensive equipment.

Inside, I had supplies. Water. Enough to hold out.

I sat the crate down.

Chiquita was hissing now, pressed into the corner, eyes wide.

I went to the small window and opened it just enough to look outside.

They were gathering.

More and more of them.

By the hour.

By sunset, there were dozens.

Maybe more.

I sat there with her, running my hand along her back, listening to the sounds of them below.

And for the first time since this started…

I wondered if this was it.

— Emily