Back to the beginning

Xun Qianqian jolted awake, her lungs burning as though she had just surfaced from drowning. For a moment, she lay still, her mind a blur of fragmented memories—blood, screams, the sickening crunch of bone as teeth sank into flesh.

Her hand shot to her neck, groping for the bite she was certain had sealed her fate. Her fingers brushed over smooth, unbroken skin. Panic prickled through her veins. She shoved up the sleeves of her shirt, inspecting her arms, then her legs. Nothing. No bites. No blood.

"This isn't right," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Her eyes darted around the room. It was familiar—too familiar. The soft pink curtains, the cluttered desk stacked with old textbooks, the stuffed animals on the bed next to hers. She hadn't seen this room in years.

She shot out of bed, stumbling as her legs almost gave way beneath her. "Xiaoyu?" she called, her voice rising in pitch. "Xiaoyu, where are you?"

No answer.

Her chest heaved as she spun around, scanning every corner of the room. Her sister wasn't there. The bloodstains she remembered, the shattered glass, the cold emptiness of a post-apocalyptic ruin—all of it was gone.

"No, no, no," she muttered, pacing in tight, frantic circles. "This isn't real. I died. I felt myself die!"

As the panic clawed at her throat, a cold, smooth voice cut through the chaos in her mind.

"Calm down, Qianqian."

She froze mid-step, her pulse thundering in her ears. Her head whipped around, searching for the source of the voice, but the room was empty.

"Who said that?" she demanded, her voice shaking.

"You need to calm down. Take a breath. Look around."

She backed away from the voice, her eyes wide. "I don't understand—who are you? Where are you?!"

The voice remained maddeningly calm. "It doesn't matter who I am. What matters is that you stop panicking. You're not dead. Breathe."

Her fingers fumbled for her phone on the bedside table. She unlocked the screen with trembling hands, half-expecting to see nothing but static or a shattered screen. Instead, the time and date glared back at her in stark clarity:

7:32 a.m., November 11

Her breath caught. "November 11?" she whispered. Her eyes darted back to the calendar app, the reality sinking in as the words flashed at her—One Year Ago.

Her phone slipped from her hands, clattering to the floor. "No," she murmured, backing into the desk. "This isn't possible. It was the apocalypse. I was bitten. I died!"

She grabbed her hair, pulling at it as if the pain might wake her from the nightmare. Her pacing resumed, sharp and erratic. "This is wrong. Where's Xiaoyu? Where's Jinhai? This isn't—"

"Enough."

The voice's sudden firmness cut through her spiraling thoughts. She froze mid-step, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

"You've already figured it out," the voice continued, softer now but no less steady. "You've been given a second chance. Panicking won't change that."

Her chest heaved as she pressed her back against the wall. "Second chance? You're saying... I came back? That I've been reborn?"

"Exactly."

Tears pricked her eyes as her mind swirled with images of the apocalypse—her sister's screams, her brother's bloodied face, the relentless hunger of the undead. Her legs buckled, and she sank to the floor, burying her face in her hands.

"Why me?" she whispered. "Why do I have to go through this again?"

The voice paused for a moment, as if considering its response. Finally, it said, "Because you survived long enough to earn it."

Her head shot up, her tear-streaked face twisting in disbelief. "Earn it? I died! I didn't survive anything!"

"And yet, here you are," the voice replied simply. "You know what's coming. You know what needs to be done. This time, you can prepare."

Her gaze fell to the phone lying on the floor, its screen dimmed now but still flashing the unmistakable truth—one year until everything fell apart. Slowly, her tears dried, replaced by a cold, hard determination.

She wiped her face roughly, her hands trembling. "Who are you?" she asked after a long silence.

"Call me Echo," the voice said. "I've been with you before, in your past life. And now, I'm here to help you."

She blinked, her thoughts struggling to catch up. "Help me? Why would you help me? And how do I even know you're real?"

A low chuckle resonated through the room, deep and almost mocking. "Trust me, I'm as real as the apocalypse you remember."

Her lips parted to argue, but the weight of his words silenced her. Slowly, she pushed herself to her feet, her knees wobbling but holding firm. She paced again, this time slower, her hand running through her hair.

"Alright," she said finally, her voice steadier. "If this is real—if I've really gone back—then I don't have time to waste. There's so much to do. Food. Water. Supplies. Weapons. Shelter. I'll need all of it."

"And you'll need to stay alive long enough to gather it," Echo interjected.

She paused, glancing around the room as if expecting him to materialize out of thin air. "You're awfully smug for someone who claims to be helping me."

The laugh returned, softer this time. "You'll get used to me. For now, focus. You have one year. Let's not waste it."

She nodded, more to herself than to him. A year. One year to prepare for the chaos she knew was coming. If no one else could understand what lay ahead, then she would carry the weight of that knowledge alone.

Her jaw set, and she reached for her phone again, opening the notes app. The screen blurred slightly as her hands still trembled, but she steadied them with a deep breath.

Step one: Survive.

Step two: Prepare for what's coming.

She glanced out the window, where the morning sun bathed the world in an almost mocking warmth. It was hard to imagine that everything she saw would soon be swallowed by destruction.

"Let's get to work," she muttered.

"Now you're talking," Echo said, his tone laced with approval.

For the first time since she woke up, she allowed herself the barest hint of a smile.