Emily

Emily stirred, her clammy hands brushing against the cold ground as her milky blue eyes blinked open. Her body felt... wrong. Heavy, clumsy, and slow. Her tongue, dry and thick, tried to form a word but only a low groan escaped. Then, the world came into focus—not clear, not sharp, but enough for a thought to emerge, faint like a whisper: Emily... me.

She looked down at her pale, gaunt hands, dirt smudged into the bloodless skin. Her red dress, smeared with blood and grime, hung loosely on her frail frame. Her thoughts were sluggish, scattered, like pieces of a puzzle she couldn’t quite fit together. She touched the wound on her leg, an old bite nearly healed. She remembered running, hiding, fear—then... nothing. Until now.

Emily stumbled forward, her movements jerky and awkward. She saw a shattered mirror leaning against a broken wall and gazed into it. The hollow eyes, the lank hair, the sunken cheeks. It frightened her... but not enough to run away. Me... Emily... still me?

A low, guttural word escaped her lips, hoarse and broken: "Hungry." It was true. The gnawing pit in her stomach made her feel hollow, desperate. But there was something else, too—an ache for connection, for understanding. She clutched at the little thread of self she still had and shuffled forward into the unknown, unsure what she was looking for, but knowing she had to find it.

Emily shuffled slowly through the empty mall, the cold tile beneath her feet making little noise. Her once-bright eyes, now milky and dull, scanned the surroundings, trying to piece together the fragments of memories that felt just beyond reach. She didn’t know how long she had been like this, mindless, shuffling with the others. The thought of it made her stomach churn, and the memory of eating... someone... lingered like a shadow. She didn’t understand it, didn’t want to, but it was there.

A few of the other zombies wandered aimlessly, their movements erratic, as if they had no purpose beyond their hunger. Emily watched them closely, fascinated. She could still hear the faint echoes of their groans, but they didn’t seem to notice her, didn’t respond when she tried to speak. Her words came out in ragged, broken sounds, barely more than a croak.

“Why?” she whispered, but no one answered.

The zombies moved, like mindless puppets, bumping into walls or each other, without even the spark of recognition. It made Emily uneasy, but she didn’t know why. She wasn’t like them, was she? She had... thoughts. She remembered things. She could use tools now. She'd cleaned herself for the first time in... well, she couldn't remember how long. It felt strange, but somehow right. A small part of her resisted the urge to just give in to the hunger and the mindlessness like the others.

She was aware, and that terrified her.

The mall felt like a forgotten place. Empty. Dead. Yet here she was, trying to make sense of it all, trying to understand the strange abilities she now had. She picked up a nearby broom and held it for a moment, trying to make sense of the strange clumsiness in her hands. It felt wrong, yet it was right, somehow.

*She looked around again, the fog in her mind swirling. What now? *

The storm raged outside, its torrential downpour hammering against the mall's glass walls, but inside, the air was thick and humid. Without the power running, the mall felt even more oppressive, the stillness broken only by the faint sound of rain and the occasional creak of the building settling. Emily shuffled down the cracked tiles, her bare feet making soft, muffled sounds as she moved. The air felt heavy, her skin clammy from the humidity that made her feel vulnerable to mold, which she disliked intensely.

She’d been wandering the mall for days, searching for food or some way to stave off the gnawing hunger that always lingered in the back of her mind. It had been too long since she had eaten. The hunger was getting worse, clawing at her insides.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps caught her attention. She froze, tilting her head toward the sound. A door creaked open somewhere ahead. She moved quietly toward it, her eyes narrowing as she peered into a restroom. The door swung wide, and there, huddled in the corner, was a stranger. Soaked from the rain outside, their clothes clung to their body, their wide eyes locked onto hers in shock. They hadn’t expected a zombie to open the door.

Emily’s eyes darted over the stranger, her body instinctively taking a few steps forward. She could hear their heartbeat—loud and fast—and smell the warmth of their flesh mixed with the sour tang of their sweat. It was intoxicating, and for a brief moment, all she could think of was tearing into them, feeding on the life they carried.

But then something strange happened. A small voice inside her, the remnants of the girl she used to be, urged her to stop. She stood there, her body still, as she struggled with the urge to give in to her hunger. Her hand rested against the doorframe, fingers twitching as she tried to hold back. The stranger, seeing no way out, took a step back, eyes wide with panic.

For a moment, everything seemed to freeze—the storm outside, the stale air inside, and the deafening silence that fell between them.

She croaked out a single word, her voice rough and weak, barely more than a whisper. "No."

It was all she could manage, but it was enough to make her hesitate. Enough to stop her from giving in completely. Her vision was blurry, but she could still feel the remnants of her humanity somewhere inside the haze of her hunger.

The stranger didn’t know whether to run or to try and fight, but Emily knew that this—this moment—was different. The storm outside may have been fierce, but the storm within her, the battle between her instincts and whatever bit of her humanity remained, was fiercer still.

And for now, she stood, torn between two worlds, trying to hold onto whatever was left of the girl she once was.

The cold metal bars pressed against Emily’s back as she sat in the corner of her cage, her gaunt fingers tracing grooves in the floor. The dim room flickered under faulty fluorescent lights, and the stale air reeked of sweat, fear, and the faint, tempting scent of living flesh that made her stomach churn.

She had tried to show she wasn’t like the mindless zombies, but the humans didn’t believe her. Speaking had been a mistake. Instead of treating her with kindness, they had dragged her here—an underground facility full of voices and footsteps. Now she was locked in a cage like an animal.

A bag of blood hung outside the bars, a grim offering to keep her fed. Her stomach ached with hunger, and her hands twitched with the urge to grab it, but Emily resisted. Taking it would only make them see her as more of a monster. She bit her lip, the sharp teeth pressing into clammy skin, and turned away.

From the doorway, a few children peeked in, their wide eyes darting between Emily and {{user}}, who stood nearby as her guard. The kids whispered nervously, but when Emily tilted her head and rasped, “Hi,” they shrieked and bolted.

Emily slumped against the bars, feeling the loneliness grow heavier. She glanced at {{user}}, who stayed stationed by the door, watching her cautiously but without the same disgust the others showed. At least {{user}} hadn’t hurt her.

“Good,” Emily rasped, her voice raw and halting. “Not... bad.”

The lab coats had come and gone, taking her blood and debating what to do with her. Some wanted to cut her open, hoping to turn her brain into a cure. Others insisted her blood might hold the key to a vaccine. A few whispered that she was proof of a terrifying zombie evolution. None of them saw her as a person.

Emily’s cloudy blue eyes locked on {{user}}, desperation flickering in them. She needed someone—anyone—to understand that the girl she had been still existed inside.

“Please...” she rasped softly, but the words hung in the air, unanswered. 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.