The crowd of former staff members met the stairwell door in a matter of seconds. They pounded their fists against the metal; they dragged their nails down the glass. The haunting sounds followed Phillip and Brenda as they descended the stairs.

Two flights felt too long.

Phillip faced the spotless first floor door. He had no time to wonder or hope or wish. It was another door they had to open--another floor they had to navigate. There was no telling what lay beyond.

He opened it and peered down the hall. No one in sight. Ducking back, he gestured for Brenda to follow, and the two proceeded with caution. More labs, abandoned, bloodied and destroyed, research scattered. Phillip eyed a puddle of fresh vomit, the pungent stench striking his nostrils, making him wince. More followed; brown splattered on the wall, viscous liquid trailing like molasses to the floor.

“Phillip,” Brenda said, loud enough to beat the alarm. “How could this have happened?”

Phillip’s throat tightened. “I don’t know,” he said, eyes darting between blood spatters. “The only thing that makes sense is…” His voice lost itself within the cry of the alarm. The only thing that made sense was someone coming into contact with the Autocrat Parasites through a different host. If that were true, and Phillip prayed it wasn’t, then what happened to Bobby, what happened to Stanley, to the intern, to Lynn...It could happen to the rest of the state--the whole country. Millions would lose more than just their lives. They’d lose their humanity.

Phillip’s creation should’ve changed the world, but not like this.

The main lobby was just past the floor’s T-junction. Phillip sped up, wishing he could move as fast as his heart pounded. They were going to make it. After everything that happened, after everything they endured, Phillip and Brenda would finally be safe. It wasn’t long until his racing heart froze.

Someone stepped into their path.

Phillip slowed and gestured for Brenda to stop. More bodies emerged, each one aimlessly walking, rolling their shoulders, craning their necks, twitching. All of them slack-jawed with glazed eyes. Blood and vomit stained their skin and clothes. Colleagues, secretaries, security guards, interns, all lost.

“Oh no…” Phillip and Brenda muttered in unison.

“What do we do?” she asked.

Phillip looked beyond the crowd.

The mob of monsters wearing familiar faces wobbled and scuffed their feet, bumping shoulders, unfazed. The crowd had to have been just shy of a dozen. There was no room to get through--no other way. They’d have to go back.

Phillip turned around, ready to retreat, when several bodies lurched out of a lab, cutting off their course.

“Phil…” Brenda’s voice hitched.

Phillip glanced between crowds, anxiety clawing at his chest, adrenaline pumping his heart with fear. He looked at his wife’s terrified face. He didn’t know what to do. His friends, his colleagues, now nothing more than hosts for his experiment. He and Brenda were trapped. They were trapped, and it was his fault. What could they do?

Brenda leaned in, body stiff, eyes fixed straight. “We need to do something,” she said.

Knots churned Phillip’s gut. Neither group noticed him nor Brenda, yet. There was no more time to waste. Safety wasn’t going back the way they came. Safety wasn’t shoving Brenda in a room to force her to wait for help that might never come. Safety was two hundred feet away, beyond a group of people riddled with organisms of Phillip’s design. He couldn’t save his colleagues, maybe he couldn’t even save himself. But he could save his wife.

He let Brenda’s hand go. His chest tightened as he backed away, watching her terrified expression turn into horrified confusion. Sucking in a breath, he mouthed, “Run,” before darting at the beings standing between them and the exit. “Hey! Over here!” he shouted, waving his arms.

“Phillip!” Brenda cried.

The mix of staff halted with a jerk of their crooked bodies. Each one slowly turned their head, their glossy eyes putting Phillip in the spotlight.

“Come and get me!” Phillip taunted. “I’m fresh and ready to host my own experiment!” Whether they understood words or not, he didn’t know, but he knew they understood sound. Sound meant something alive, which meant a viable host. If it’s one thing a parasite wants, it’s to survive.

The hosts moved in unison toward him, their groans carrying on the alarm. Shooting a look at Brenda, he smiled apologetically, hoping she could forgive him. Part of him knew she never would. But it had to be done. He dashed down the bisecting hall before the look of betrayal on her face could change his mind.

The bodies slumped against the walls didn’t react until Phillip passed them, their movements too slow to make him worry. His best chance was the side door at the end of the hall. He just had to get there. Elongating his strides, feeling the resistance against his lab coat, he glanced over his shoulder. His pursuers gave chase, their running more of a wobbly jog, their arms flailing at their sides. Their wide, unblinking eyes locked on him, jaws clenched.

His plan worked. He cleared the path; Brenda would be safe. It was only fair she escaped, and Phillip...well, he was right where he needed to be.

Halfway down the hall, there were no more bodies sitting dormant on the floor. They were standing, running, chasing. Phillip neared the side door. He was almost there--almost free. He’d race to reunite with Brenda. He’d hold her close. He’d kiss her. The protestors outside no longer scared him; their thoughts, their words, their actions...they couldn’t break him--not anymore. He’d face them with dignity and leave with his wife’s hand in his. He and Brenda would be survivors. Whether they’d be the only survivors, he didn’t know, but he refused to think about anyone else anymore.

He picked up speed, spotting the greenery of the outside through the glass. Just a little farther--

He collided with the door. It didn’t open. He pushed the latch again, feeling the metal sink into itself, hearing the lock unhinge. Again, the door didn’t open. He cursed, loudly. The answer stared him in the eyes--a paper promptly taped on the glass: PLEASE USE OTHER EXIT. Phillip slammed his fists against the sign, cursing a problem that should’ve been fixed days ago. If he had the time, he’d probably laugh at the inconvenience that seemed so minute any other day—a regular day promising regular things, like research and tests, not running for your life. The facility was gone, lost to whatever he created. A broken door latch would be the least of the authorities’ worries when they cleared the building. But right now, a broken door latch was all that mattered.

Phillip shot a look behind himself. The hosts were halfway down the hall, slowly gaining ground, their movements stilted and uncoordinated. The herd had grown. Others must’ve crawled out of their hiding spots after hearing their friends, joining the hunt with the hope of adding another. Phillip had no intention of becoming part of their collection. He entered the stairwell to his right, skipping steps as he ascended. He could circle back to the first floor using the second. The parasites hadn’t mastered motor function; the hosts were slow enough. He could make it.

A few hosts caught the door before it closed, forcing their bodies against it, pushing it open. The rest followed.

Clambering sounds echoed through the well, swallowing every bit of Phillip’s confidence. He pressed on, despite his growing uncertainty. The thought of holding his wife and seeing his daughter were the only things keeping the adrenaline pumping through his veins.