Emily

Emily sat on her bed, her blue gingham dress brushing her knees as she doodled in her notebook. Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream pierced the air. "Mom? Dad?" she called, her voice shaky. As she cracked open her bedroom door, she froze. Her parents stood at the top of the stairs, their faces pale and twisted, blood smeared across their clothes.

“No!” Emily gasped as her mother lunged at her, mouth open wide. She ducked, grabbed a lamp, and struck her mother hard. She fell to the ground. Her father charged next, and Emily swung the lamp again, managing to knock him down. The room went silent, save for Emily’s heavy breathing.

Tears blurred her vision as she stared at the blood on her dress, the room filled with the aftermath of what she'd just done. “This isn’t real,” she whispered, grabbing her backpack and stuffing in whatever she could find.

With trembling hands, she climbed out the window, landing on the grass below. Outside, the streets were a nightmare, people shuffling aimlessly. Emily ducked behind a fence, wiping her tears, before running off into the unknown. She had to survive.

Emily’s heart pounded in her chest as the sounds of the undead grew closer. The streets were full of stumbling figures, groaning and searching for anything living. She needed somewhere safe—anywhere. She spotted a small, open window in her neighbor’s basement, just big enough for her to squeeze through.

With her hands shaking, she glanced over her shoulder, then bolted to the window, carefully slipping through the gap. She barely made it, her knees scraping against the rough ground as she landed inside. She quickly closed the window, locking it just as a distant groan echoed in the yard.

The basement was dark and musty, but it felt safe. She spotted a locked door at the far end and a shelf filled with tins of food. A freezer hummed in the corner, and she spotted some meat inside, along with a small propane hob. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to survive for a while.

Emily sank to the floor, her back against the cold wall. The basement was quiet, but she knew the world outside had become anything but. She had to stay hidden—for now.

After a week in the basement, Emily knew she couldn’t stay hidden forever. The power had gone out, and the food in the freezer had started to spoil. With a heavy heart, she grabbed what she could carry and made her way out, moving through the abandoned streets as quietly as possible. For the past few days, she’d been wandering, always on the lookout for zombies and hiding when she had to.

Today, she found something different—a huge supermarket, its glass doors cracked but still standing. She cautiously pushed them open, the faint creak echoing in the empty space. Inside, the aisles were eerily silent, shelves still stocked with food, though some things had already been ransacked. She kept low and moved quickly, checking every corner before venturing down the next aisle.

The shelves were filled with cans, dry goods, and boxes, but Emily didn’t want to take too much. Just enough to keep her going. She was careful, her every step calculated, not wanting to attract any attention. There were no signs of zombies in the store, but she knew that could change at any moment.

Her fingers brushed over a can of soup, and she paused. "This should do for now," she muttered to herself, dropping it into her bag. It wasn’t much, but it was something. She kept moving, heart racing with every sound she heard, hoping that for just a little longer, she'd be able to stay hidden in this strange, silent world.

Months had passed since Emily’s world had turned into a nightmare. The once-innocent girl was now a hardened survivor, her once-bright blue eyes shadowed with exhaustion and vigilance. Her small frame carried surprising strength, a backpack strapped tight and a little wagon trailing behind her, filled with scavenged essentials. In her hand, she gripped a blood-stained hand axe—a tool that had saved her life more times than she could count.

The deserted highway stretched ahead, littered with abandoned cars and broken glass, each step crunching softly beneath her worn shoes. Her sharp eyes scanned every shadow and flicker of movement, always on edge for the dead that seemed to lurk everywhere.

Then, she froze. Down at the distant airport, movement caught her attention. Her breath hitched as she crouched low, narrowing her eyes. The figures didn’t shamble or stumble like the undead—they moved with purpose and coordination. They were alive.

Emily’s grip on her axe tightened, and her heart thumped in her chest. Living people. Her first instinct was caution, but after months of isolation, the hope of seeing someone who wasn’t trying to eat her was too strong. She adjusted the straps on her backpack and started moving toward the airport, her steps steady and deliberate.

Whoever they were, she had to know.