Alpha

The world had ended a long time ago.

Not in a single flash, or with some dramatic explosion that split the sky in two. It had died slowly—piece by piece, city by city, person by person. Roads that once buzzed with traffic had become graveyards of rusting cars. Buildings stood hollow, their windows shattered, vines swallowing concrete as if nature itself was eager to erase every trace of humanity. The air always smelled faintly of damp earth, smoke, and decay.

Somewhere along the way, you’d lost your group.

You still remembered the panic. The screams. The desperate sprint through a sea of rotting hands reaching for anyone unlucky enough to stumble. You’d shouted until your throat burned raw, hoping someone would answer.

Nobody ever did.

Days turned into weeks.

Weeks blurred together until you stopped counting them altogether.

At first, you’d searched relentlessly. Every abandoned gas station, every farmhouse, every rooftop that gave you a better view—you looked for signs that they were alive.

Eventually...

You stopped.

If they were alive, they would’ve found you.

If they were dead...

There wasn’t much left to search for.

Being alone changed you.

You became reckless.

You stopped bothering to stay quiet when walking through abandoned towns. You slept wherever exhaustion caught up to you instead of finding somewhere truly safe. Sometimes you’d purposely walk too close to the dead, almost daring them to notice you.

Maybe part of you hoped they would.

After all...

Who was left to mourn you?

Who would even know you were gone?

That thought stopped hurting after a while.

It simply became another fact of the world.

⸻

The morning had barely begun when everything went wrong.

A heavy fog rolled through the trees, cloaking the forest in pale gray mist. Dew clung to every branch, soaking your clothes as you limped through the undergrowth.

Your ankle screamed with every step.

You weren’t even sure how you’d injured it.

Maybe you’d stepped into a hidden hole while running the night before. Maybe you’d slipped climbing over fallen rocks.

Whatever happened, something was wrong.

It had swollen to nearly twice its normal size, every attempt to put weight on it sending sharp bolts of pain up your leg.

Twisted...

Broken...

You couldn’t tell.

All you knew was that walking had become agony.

You leaned heavily against a tree, breathing through clenched teeth.

Then you heard them.

The unmistakable groans.

Three of the dead emerged from the fog, stumbling toward you.

“Seriously...?”

You sighed more than panicked.

Your knife slid into your hand almost automatically.

The first one lunged.

You ducked, driving the blade through its skull.

The second reached for your shoulder.

You shoved it backward before finishing it with another strike.

The third nearly caught you while you struggled to balance on your injured leg.

It took far more effort than it should have.

By the time the final corpse collapsed into the wet leaves, your breathing had become ragged.

Your ankle throbbed violently.

You barely had enough time to catch your breath before something cold pressed against your throat.

A blade.

“...Don’t.”

A low voice growled behind you.

You froze.

Your heart stopped.

Hands gripped your arms with surprising strength, forcing them behind your back.

What...?

The dead...

They didn’t use knives.

Before you could react, several figures emerged silently from between the trees.

Every one of them wore masks crafted from human skin.

Your blood ran cold.

They weren’t walkers.

They were people.

Real people.

And somehow...

That felt far more terrifying.

At the center of them stood a woman.

She wasn’t particularly tall.

If anything, she was shorter than most of the people surrounding her.

Yet every single person instinctively gave her space.

She wore the same grotesque skin mask as the others, stained from age and weather. Dark clothing blended into the forest around her, and several knives hung from her belt as though they were extensions of her body.

She didn’t need to raise her voice.

She didn’t need to threaten anyone.

Her presence alone demanded attention.

She slowly looked you over from head to toe.

Your weapons.

Your torn clothes.

Your injured ankle.

The dried blood covering your hands.

Then she chuckled.

It was quiet.

Raspy.

Almost amused.

“Looks like we found ourselves a lost little lamb.”

Her voice carried a slow Southern drawl, each word calm enough to make your skin crawl.

The tall man restraining you tightened his grip.

“What do we do with her, Alpha?”

Alpha.

You blinked.

That was her name?

Or maybe...

A title.

Either way, it fit strangely well.

The others remained silent, waiting.

No one questioned her.

No one moved without permission.

Alpha took another step toward you.

Close enough that you could see faded scars around the edges of her mask.

She tilted her head.

Studying you.

Like a hunter deciding whether its prey was worth carrying home.

Finally...

She spoke.

“Take her with us.”

A pause.

“...She may be useful.”

The forest fell silent.

Several masked figures exchanged brief glances.

Even without seeing their faces, you could feel their surprise.

Apparently...

That wasn’t what they expected her to say.

You had the distinct feeling this group wasn’t known for showing mercy.

The man behind you gave a reluctant nod.

“As you say.”

The last thing you remembered was a sharp pain at the back of your head—

Then everything faded into darkness.

⸻

When consciousness finally returned, it did so slowly.

Your entire body felt heavy.

The smell hit you first.

Smoke.

Fresh wood.

Animal hide.

Dried herbs.

Not the overwhelming stench of death you’d grown used to.

You opened your eyes.

Sunlight filtered through gaps in a strange shelter above you.

It wasn’t a tent—not really.

The structure looked handmade from thick tree branches woven together and covered with large animal hides, creating something between a hut and a nest. Furs blanketed the ground beneath you, surprisingly warm despite the chill outside.

For several seconds...

You simply stared.

Confused.

Alive.

Your memory rushed back all at once.

The forest.

The knife.

The masks.

Your eyes widened.

You pushed yourself upright far too quickly, wincing as pain shot through your ankle.

Looking down, you froze.

Your boot had been removed.

Your ankle was wrapped tightly in clean bandages.

Two sturdy wooden splints had been secured along either side, carefully tied into place.

Someone had treated it.

Properly.

You slowly lifted your gaze.

Sitting only a few feet away, her back turned toward you, was the woman.

Alpha.

Without the mask...

She looked different.

Her head was completely shaved, revealing the shape of her scalp and several pale scars disappearing beneath the collar of her shirt. Broad shoulders shifted with practiced ease as she dragged a whetstone along the edge of a hunting knife.

Shhk.

Shhk.

The rhythmic scraping echoed quietly through the shelter.

She hadn’t noticed you yet.