Across every radio, smartphone, and smart-speaker in Oakhaven, the sound erupted: The default iPhone alarm tone.

“The Yawn of the Dead,” Sam muttered, rubbing his own eyes. “They’re not looking for meat, Ben. They’re looking for a comfortable place to nap.”

Sam didn't use the bat for violence. He reached into his backpack and pulled out the secret weapon: a high-decibel air horn and a thermos of quad-shot espresso. BLAST.

The fog over Oakhaven didn’t roll in; it slumped, heavy and grey, like a wet wool blanket. It was a Tuesday—the most mediocre of days—and for the residents of the sleepy suburb, it was about to get much more tiring.

As they reached the town square, they hit a "Huddle"—a mass of fifty people leaning against each other in a giant, snoring pile. The sound was like a low-frequency hum, a siren song of sleep.

Suddenly, the "Alpha" emerged from the library. It was the Head Librarian, Mrs. Gable, holding a copy of The Big Book of Bedtime Stories . She let out a yawn that echoed through the street, a sonic wave of lethargy.