“Oh, trust me.” He eases onto the steps, lowering himself with a groan. “These old bones felt every tremor through their joists.” Flopping onto his ass, he adds, “Which makes me question the stability of our so-called shelter.”
“It’s brick and steel versus flesh and bone,” Denise exclaims. “It’ll hold—”
“- until an earthquake brings it down . . . And, my dear Denise, the ground is already shaking.”
Centuries ago, a forbidden plague was sealed beneath Rome—not cured, not conquered, merely silenced.
Time buried the truth. Faith guarded the secret. But hunger never dies.
When the tomb is disturbed, the sickness that wakes is older than empires and far less mortal.
It spreads like a whispered curse, raising the dead in its passing—yet not mindlessly.
Some infected learn.
Others remember.
And one mutation rises with the patience of a wolf wearing human skin.
In the ashes of the outbreak, one thing becomes unmistakable:
Someone wanted the plague freed.
Someone prepared for this.
And someone is still watching.
But the plague is evolving.
And what it becomes next may spell the end of humanity.
