Chapter 2: The Fog

As Val forced herself upright, her mind went blank: How did I get here? She rummaged through the fog of memory, then instinctively patted her pants pocket and pulled out her phone—dead, its screen as black as the powerless clock.

“Think!” she urged herself desperately still grasping the hole on her face. She lurched toward the window, the faint, rancid odor of something unholy pricking at her nostrils. As she peered out through the swirling haze, fragments of the past twenty-four hours flickered behind her eyes—each image like a grotesque slide in a nightmare she prayed she’d only dreamed.

News footage flashed in her mind: crowds stampeding down gray London streets, hands clawing at necks as the fog rolled in like a malevolent wave. Faces twisted in terror—but no one escaped; those it touched collapsed where they stood, gasping their last breaths in silent agony. She remembered the wail of emergency sirens blasting throughout the city as she and Jane pressed tape across the windows, sealing every crack with whatever they could spare. Then came the tide of mist—an unnatural swell that crept through every gap, carrying the first, unmistakable stench of death.

Each memory struck her like a physical blow, and Val staggered back from the window, heart pounding. The line between nightmare and reality had already blurred—and now, with the moonlight dimmed and the fog pressing in, there was no telling which side she was on.

As tears welled up, Val slammed her eyes shut and clenched her fists until her nails bit into her palms. No. If I’m going to die tonight, I won’t go out looking like a monster, she chanted in her mind. Steeling herself, she turned on shaking legs and stumbled toward her bedroom, determined to face whatever came next with what little dignity she had left.

Val dropped to her knees and reached beneath the bed, fingers brushing the worn canvas of her duffle bag. She tugged it into the dim light, unzipping it to reveal a small medical kit—nothing like the ones she’d stocked on base, but stocked enough. She lifted herself and stumbled into the bathroom.

As Val’s ruined reflection finally came into view, a strangled gasp tore from her throat. After allowing herself the brief shock, she didn’t hesitate further. Flipping open the med kit, she retrieved a threaded needle and antiseptic swabs. The thread glinted in the pale bathroom light as she pressed her torn cheek together, finger-tightening each stitch through raw flesh. Every pull of the thread sent a white-hot sting through her face, but she forced herself on—because if she was going to face the world again, she’d at least do it on her own terms. I’ll be turning more heads than ever, she thought grimly as the final stitch bit home.

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After closing the last knot on her shoulder, Val dragged herself toward the shower and twisted the handle. Ice-cold water gushed down, sending a shock through her raw flesh. She stood under the torrent, water sluicing blood and sweat into the drain, every drop a reminder of how far things had fallen.

What now? she wondered, head bowed under the spray. An only child, her parents long gone. No siblings. No close family to reach. Her world had shrunk to a handful of military comrades—and the only other person she’d trusted lay dead in the next room, a wound she herself had delivered.

Water streamed over her stitched face and ragged clothes. The fog pressed against the windows, silent and unstoppable. Val took a slow, shuddering breath, then squared her shoulders. Survival was the only answer she had left.

Val wasted no time. She stripped out of her drenched clothes and pulled a fresh set of MTP trousers and a simple T-shirt from her duffle bag. After toweling off with the ragged towel abandoned on her bed, she laced up her issued brown combat boots and moved into the living room.

She grabbed Jane’s old crimson school backpack and rummaged through the cupboards: two water bottles, a handful of granola bars. Into the pack they went, along with the kitchen knife she’d used earlier and a small flashlight from the drawer. There was no way she’d make it back to base through this fog—but she knew of a military HQ a few kilometers away. She’d travel light and fast: that was her plan.

Val cracked open the front door, peered into the pitch-black hallway, and glanced back once at Jane’s lifeless form. “I’m so sorry”, she whispered.

Then she stepped into the darkness.

End of Chapter Stats:

Name Val Occupation Combat Medical Technician (CMT) Health 20% Hunger 5% Thirst 40% Gear Light Clothing, Flashlight Backpack 2 Water Bottles, 3 Granola Bars Weapons Kitchen Knife Skills Battlefield Medicine