November 14, 2024
The woman awoke with a start, her face pressed against concrete. Everything was dark and silent, except for the faint metallic clank echoing from somewhere far away. A sweet taste lingered in her mouth, though she could not place it.
Her vision blurred, her head swimming in a thick fog. She blinked, trying to focus, but nothing felt right. She could not feel her breathing or her heartbeat, only an eerie stillness in her chest.
Where was she?
She pushed herself upright, her hands against the ground. The concrete did not feel cold or warm. It did not feel like anything at all. Slowly, she stood, her body moving stiffly, like she had forgotten how.
The air around her carried the sharp smell of motor oil. A dim shaft of moonlight slipped through a dirt streaked window, barely lighting the room. It looked like a garage, concrete walls, scattered tools, the vague outline of a workbench.
Something was wrong. Her shoulder felt heavy and strange, not painful, just hollow. She raised her hand to touch it. Her fingers came away slick and wet.
Blood.
Panic should have hit her, but it did not. She stared at her blood smeared fingers, waiting for fear that never came. Her clothes were splattered in red, not just her blood. There was too much.
She stumbled toward the faint light, her legs weak and sluggish. In the window’s reflection, she caught a glimpse of her shoulder. The flesh was torn, jagged bite marks. Someone, or something, had bitten her.
In the corner of the garage, a body.
She froze, every muscle tensing, though she could not feel her heart race. Her eyes flicked toward it. A shape slumped against the far wall, unmoving.
She stepped closer, her body reacting on instinct.
In the dim light, she saw it, a woman’s body, slouched and still, a screwdriver lodged in her eye socket. The handle jutted out grotesquely, catching the moonlight.
She had done this.
The memory returned in fragments, chaotic and disjointed. The woman had lunged at her, teeth gnashing, and she had fought back in panic. Somehow she had grabbed the screwdriver and driven it into the woman’s eye.
But even as the memory formed, she felt nothing. No guilt. No horror. Just a heavy absence of emotion.
The distant crack of gunfire snapped through the air, pulling her from the fog. She crouched low, peering through the dirty window. Outside, beneath a streetlamp, a figure staggered down the road, moving in a strange, jerking motion. She watched as the figure limped forward, then crack, a gunshot echoed, and the figure dropped.
Two men stepped from the shadows, dressed in military gear, rifles still smoking. They did not even glance at the body.
Why had they shot him?
Her eyes drifted back to the dead woman in the garage, blood trickling from her mouth, teeth frozen in a twisted snarl. She looked again at her own torn shoulder, at the bite marks, and the truth settled in.
She could not remember who she was. She could not feel her breath or her heartbeat.
And now she understood.
She was a zombie.
The word clawed at her mind, but her body felt nothing. She could not think about it. Not now. The soldiers were nearby, and if they found her, they would kill her, just like the others.
She moved quickly, slipping through the garage door into the night air. It should have felt cold against her skin, but it did not. She scanned the street, her senses sharp yet distant, like she was watching herself from far away. The soldiers were farther down the block, their attention elsewhere. She darted between shadows, moving faster than she expected.
The night was eerily quiet, broken only by distant gunfire.
Near the end of the block, a soft sound stopped her.
A whimper.
She turned toward it.
Behind a bush, a young girl, maybe ten or eleven, crouched low, her face streaked with dirt and tears. She trembled, wide eyed with fear.
The woman stepped forward, hands raised, trying to comfort her.
“It’s okay,” she whispered, the words unfamiliar on her tongue. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
The girl shrank back, hands raised, eyes filled with terror. The woman paused, confused.
“I won’t hurt you,” she said again, softer this time.
But the girl did not understand. The words were wrong. Not language, just sound.
The girl opened her mouth to scream.
“No,” the woman lunged, clamping a hand over the child’s mouth. “Quiet,” she hissed. If the soldiers heard, they would come.
And then something shifted.
A hunger.
It rose fast and deep, something primal and overwhelming. Her mouth watered. The sweet taste from before returned.
Her grip tightened.
The girl’s muffled screams sent a strange thrill through her. Before she could stop herself, her teeth sank into the girl’s neck, tearing through flesh. Blood filled her mouth, warm and sweet, and the hunger took over.
The girl struggled, her body jerking, but the woman did not stop. She could not. She pulled the girl closer, tearing through muscle and bone, blood spilling over her hands.
In the distance, voices. The soldiers. Getting closer.
She did not care.
The world had narrowed to blood. To hunger.
Crack.
A gunshot rang out.
She felt a small push between her shoulders. She paused, blinking down at herself.
A hole had opened in her chest where her heart should have been. She could see inside, blood pooling, but there was no pain.
Nothing at all.
Her mind flickered. She knew she should feel something. Fear. Panic.
But the hunger drowned everything.
She turned back to the girl, pulling her closer, feeding again.
Crack.
Another gunshot.
No sensation.
No thought.
Just blackness.
The last thing she tasted was blood.
And then, nothing.
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