It looked like a freeze-frame of a panic attack. The couple must have been sitting there, eating their takeout noodles, when something happened. Something that terrified them so much they bolted halfway through dinner. They didn't even stop to put on real shoes—they just kicked over the trash can and ran out in their slippers, leaving the door wide open.


Liam stared at the mess, his brain trying to reconstruct the scene. He could almost see the chaos. But what could scare them that badly?


"Maybe... maybe the flood actually hit last night?" Liam whispered. "Maybe they saw the water rising and made a run for it. That's why the soup is spilled. That's why the door is open."


He clenched his fists so hard his knuckles turned white, palms slick with sweat. "And because I was black-out drunk, sleeping like the dead, I missed the evacuation. Am I the only one left in the building? Did everyone else get out?"


The thought washed over him like ice water.


"No, that doesn't make sense," he muttered, shaking his head. "What kind of flood swallows an entire city in half a day? That's impossible."


Liam remembered last night. Sure, he'd blacked out eventually, but he remembered eating a late-night snack around 1:00 AM. The sky had been clear. Even if the rain started exactly at 1:00 AM, that was only seven hours ago. Modern cities don't just disappear underwater in seven hours.


He stood in the doorway, hesitating. The apartment felt wrong. It was too quiet. A weird, heavy vibe hung in the air, like there was a monster hiding in the shadows of the living room, waiting for him to step inside so it could rip him apart.


Then his eyes locked onto the landline phone sitting on the coffee table.


He flinched, cursing himself. Idiot. He'd been so freaked out by the water outside that he'd just run into the hall screaming. He hadn't even tried to call anyone.


Lana.


Lana Walker was two years younger than him. They worked at the same company. They'd only been officially dating for two months—secretly, because she hadn't told her parents yet. She still went home to her place every night.


Liam whipped out his cell and dialed her number.


Call Failed.


No signal. Zero bars.


The reality of the situation started to sink in. If the water was up to the thirtieth floor, the cell towers were probably underwater. The power plants were probably gone, too.


He didn't want to believe it. He dialed his parents. Then his best friend, Leo Vincent.


Nothing.


"Seriously? absolutely nothing?" Desperate, Liam dialed 911.


Silence. The call didn't even connect.


Cold sweat trickled down his forehead. This was getting bad. Fast. No cell service, no Wi-Fi. WhatsApp and Telegram were totally dead. He flicked the light switch on the wall. Click. Click. Nothing. The power was definitely out.


His eyes darted back to the neighbor's living room. The landline.


If cell towers were down, maybe the old-school copper wires still worked? He didn't have a landline in his place. He had to use theirs.


Liam stepped up to the open door again. He stared at the phone on the coffee table. He knew it was a long shot, but he walked in anyway. He felt like a drowning man clutching at a piece of straw, hoping it would keep him afloat.


As soon as he crossed the threshold, the smell hit him.


Rot.


He looked at the overturned trash can. The smell was wafting up from the garbage—leftover rice and veggies that were fuzzy with green mold. The stench was awful. He looked at the table again. The spilled noodles weren't just dry; they were speckled with mold, too.


Liam reached out and swiped his finger across the dining table.


It came away gray.


Thick dust.


"If they ran away last night..." Liam's voice trembled. "That was only half a day ago. Why is there so much dust? Why is the food rotting? It looks like nobody has been here for weeks."


"This... this doesn't add up."


A new, primal fear started to claw at his chest. The silent apartment felt suffocating, ancient. But he didn't run. He forced himself to walk to the coffee table. Fighting the urge to vomit from the smell and the nerves, he picked up the receiver. It was covered in dust, too.


He held it to his ear.


Dead silence.


Liam's heart dropped into his stomach. Still, he wasn't ready to accept it. He punched 911 into the landline again.


Nothing. No dial tone. No static.


The line was dead.


That was it. His last shred of hope, gone. The room was starting to feel wrong—creepy wrong—and the vibe was getting heavier by the second. Liam couldn't take it anymore. He slammed the receiver against the wall and bolted.


He didn't stop until he hit the hallway, gasping for air like he'd just run a marathon. The sheer terror eased up a little, but that sinking, helpless feeling? That was just getting started.


What am I supposed to do? he thought, panic rising. Did everyone seriously evacuate? Did they just leave me here as a souvenir? Even if the whole city cleared out, why are the lines dead? What is going on? And Lana... is she okay? Did she get out?


His brain felt like scrambled eggs. It took him a solid minute to force himself to stop freaking out and focus. He looked up and spotted the elevator at the end of the hall.


Okay, dumb idea. The flood had swallowed everything below the thirtieth floor. Even if the elevator worked, riding it down would be a suicide mission. But Liam walked over anyway. He mashed the call button. No lights. No ding. The power was definitely out.


He turned to the double doors next to the elevator—the stairwell.


He pushed inside and froze. The stairs leading down to the twenty-ninth floor were gone. In their place was dark, murky water. The surface was lapping dangerously close, maybe two inches below the soles of his shoes.


The water was gross—brown and thick. It was a soup of floating trash: plastic bowls, towels, garbage bags. Oh, and a dead rat bobbing around for good measure. Lovely.


Liam crouched down. He hesitated, then reached out and poked the surface of the water. He pulled his hand back instantly. He watched a single drop slide off his fingertip and hit the floodwater, sending out tiny ripples.


He took a deep, shaky breath.