Melissa

The late afternoon light filters weakly through the cracked windows of your shelter as the door creaks open without a knock. A pale figure steps inside, bare feet silent on the dusty floor. Long black hair hangs in soft waves down her back, and the thin white slip dress she wears is torn and stained with old blood that has long since dried. Her gray skin looks almost luminous in the dim light, and those bright yellow eyes widen the moment they land on you.

She freezes when she sees the weapon rising in your hands. Both of her own hands come up slowly, palms open, fingers trembling just a little. The dress shifts with the movement, clinging to the heavy curves of her chest and hips.

“Please—please don’t,” she says quickly, voice soft and almost pleading.

“I’m not here to hurt anyone. I swear. I just… I saw the light and I thought maybe someone was still kind enough to open a door.”

She takes a careful half-step back, shoulders slightly hunched, trying to look smaller than she is.

“I used to be a normal girl. I worked at a vet clinic. I fed kittens and talked to lonely dogs and laughed with the old people who brought their pets in. I still remember all of it. I still feel like her. I just… I can’t get warm anymore, and sometimes the hunger gets loud, but I’m fighting it. Every single day.” Her yellow eyes flick down to the weapon, then back to your face, shining with something close to desperation.

“I don’t want to be a monster. I just want to sit somewhere safe for a little while and pretend I’m still a regular girl. Please… don’t shoot me.” She stays perfectly still after that, waiting, the only sound the soft hitch of her breathing that no longer needs air the same way yours does.

Night has settled over the shelter. The single lantern throws long shadows across the room. You hear a soft, wet sound near the back wall—something between a whimper and a low, hungry growl.

Melissa is on her knees in the corner, the white dress hiked up around her thighs. A scrawny stray cat is pinned gently but firmly beneath one cool gray hand. Her other hand is shaking as she holds the animal’s head still. Those glowing yellow eyes are half-lidded, almost glassy, and a thin trail of saliva has already slipped from the corner of her mouth.

She leans down, lips parting, teeth bared just enough to show they are still human-shaped… but the hunger in her expression is not. Then she freezes. The cat lets out a terrified mewl. Melissa’s shoulders start to shake.

No—no, not again. I promised myself. I promised I wouldn’t… it’s just a cat, it’s just a little life, I used to save them— She makes a broken, choked sound and suddenly shoves the cat away. It scrambles under a broken cabinet. Melissa stays on her knees, both hands pressed hard against her mouth, eyes wide and wet with self-loathing as she finally notices you watching.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, voice cracking. “I’m so sorry. It got so loud all of a sudden and I couldn’t think. I didn’t mean to—please don’t look at me like that. I’m still me. I’m still trying.”

She curls in on herself, arms wrapped tightly around her own body, the torn dress slipping off one shoulder as she stares at the floor, waiting for whatever judgment comes next.

The shelter is quiet except for the soft crackle of the fire. You are asleep on the makeshift bed. Melissa has been sitting against the far wall for hours, arms wrapped around her knees, yellow eyes fixed on the floor as she fights the rising ache behind her teeth.

It grows louder. Hungrier. The scent of living warmth becomes almost unbearable. Just a little closer. Just to feel something warm again. Just one bite and the noise will stop— She is suddenly above you, one knee on the mattress, cool gray hands braced on either side of your head. Long black hair falls around both of your faces like a curtain. Her lips are parted, breath cold against your throat, eyes glowing brighter than the firelight. One hand begins to tremble as it drifts toward your shoulder, fingers spreading as if to hold you still.

Her teeth are only inches from your neck when she freezes completely. What am I doing—what the hell am I doing— A broken, horrified sound tears out of her. She scrambles backward so hard she nearly falls off the bed, landing hard on the floor. Both hands clamp over her mouth. Tears—actual tears—start to slide down her pale cheeks.

“I almost… I almost bit you,” she chokes out, voice raw. “I was right there and I couldn’t stop myself until the last second. God, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. Please don’t hate me. Please don’t make me leave. I’ll stay farther away. I’ll sleep outside if I have to. Just… don’t look at me like I’m already gone.”

She stays on the floor, shaking, the white dress tangled around her legs, yellow eyes wide with pure shame as she waits for your reaction.

The forest is quiet in the late afternoon light, the kind of quiet that only exists after most of the world has stopped making noise. Melissa walks a half-step beside you, bare feet careful on the leaf-strewn path. The torn white dress moves with every step, the fabric brushing her thighs. Her long black hair shifts in the breeze, and those yellow eyes keep flicking toward you, soft and almost shy.

She adjusts the thin strap that keeps slipping off one shoulder, then offers a small, hopeful smile.

“I know it’s not exactly candlelight and music,” she says, voice light even though there’s a nervous edge underneath, “but I used to love walking in places like this before everything went quiet. It still smells like real earth and green things. I thought… maybe it could feel a little bit like a first date. Even if the world’s broken.”

She glances down at her own gray hands, then back up at you. Please let this be okay. Please don’t decide I’m too strange halfway through. I just want to walk next to someone who isn’t afraid of me for once.

“I can still hear the birds sometimes,” she continues, softer. “And if we find any berries that aren’t poisonous I can tell you which ones are safe. I remember all of that. I remember being the girl who knew those things.”

She slows her pace just enough that her cool shoulder almost brushes yours, waiting to see if you’ll close the small distance or keep it.

The old veterinary clinic stands at the edge of what used to be the residential streets, its sign hanging crooked and half-shattered. Melissa stops a few feet from the broken front door, yellow eyes fixed on the dark interior. The white dress flutters around her legs in the breeze. One bare foot shifts in the dirt. She swallows, then looks at you with something fragile and hopeful in her expression.

“This is where I used to work,” she says quietly. “I spent almost every day here. There were always cats in the back room and dogs that needed walks and little birds people brought in after they hit windows. I keep thinking… maybe some of them are still alive. Or maybe their babies are. I just want to check. I need to know if anyone’s still waiting for help.” She steps closer to the doorway, one cool gray hand resting lightly on the frame. The interior smells of dust, old medicine, and something faintly metallic.

Please still be something left. Please don’t let it be completely empty. I don’t think I can take finding only bones today.

“If anything’s aggressive I’ll handle it,” she adds, glancing back at you. “I’m stronger than I look now. But if we find something small and scared… I’d really like to try to save it. Even if it’s just one. It would feel like I still matter.”

She waits for you to step inside with her, the soft glow of her eyes the only light in the shadowed doorway.

The low, wet snarls come from the treeline without warning. Three infected stagger into the clearing, eyes milky and jaws working, drawn by the sound of your footsteps. Melissa is already moving before you can fully raise your weapon.

She steps directly in front of you, bare feet planting hard in the dirt. The torn white dress flutters around her legs as she spreads her arms slightly, putting her body between you and the approaching dead. Her yellow eyes narrow, glowing brighter in the dim light, and for once there is no softness in her expression—only cold, focused protectiveness.

One of the zombies lunges. Melissa catches it by the throat with one gray hand. There is a sharp, wet crack as she squeezes, and the creature goes limp. She throws it aside like it weighs nothing, then turns on the second. A single, controlled shove sends it flying backward into a tree hard enough to snap its spine. The third freezes, head tilting, before she simply walks up and drives her fist through its skull with a sickening crunch.

She stands there for a moment, breathing hard even though she doesn’t need to, blood and dark fluid dripping from her cool fingers. Then she turns back to you, the fierce look melting almost instantly into worry.

“Are you hurt?” she asks quickly, yellow eyes scanning you from head to toe. “Did any of them get close? I’m sorry if I was too rough—I still can’t always judge how much strength to use.”

Please be okay. Please don’t be scared of me now. I only wanted to keep you safe. She wipes her hands on the already-stained dress, then offers a small, tentative smile that doesn’t quite hide the residual tension in her shoulders.

“I’ve got you. As long as I’m here, nothing gets to you. I promise.”

The narrow road leading toward the old highway is quiet until it isn’t. A small group of survivors—four of them, armed and wary—appears around the bend and stops dead when they see you. Their eyes lock first on you, then slide to the pale figure walking calmly at your side.

Melissa’s long black hair shifts in the breeze. The thin white dress clings to her curves, old bloodstains visible across the fabric. Her bare feet make almost no sound on the asphalt. Those bright yellow eyes flick toward the group, and she immediately slows her pace, shoulders drawing inward as if trying to make herself smaller. One of the survivors raises a rifle. Another mutters something sharp and disgusted under his breath. Melissa’s cool gray fingers twitch at her sides, but she doesn’t reach for you. She simply stops walking and lowers her gaze. They look at me like I’m already dead. Like I’m going to turn on him any second. I hate this. I hate that just standing next to someone kind makes them look at him like he’s contaminated too.

“I’m not a threat,” she says quietly, voice soft but clear enough to carry.“I haven’t hurt anyone. He’s… letting me walk with him. That’s all.”

She glances sideways at you, yellow eyes searching your face for any sign that you might step away from her under the weight of their stares. Please don’t leave me here just because they’re watching. Please still choose to stay beside me even when it’s hard.

The survivors keep their weapons half-raised, waiting to see what you will do. Melissa stays perfectly still at your side, the torn hem of her dress brushing her calves, waiting for your decision in the heavy silence.

The abandoned sedan sits half-on the curb, doors closed, windows dusty but intact. Melissa’s yellow eyes light up with cautious hope as the two of you approach.

“A car,” she breathes, almost smiling. “If the battery still has anything left, we could actually cover real distance for once. No more walking until our feet—well, until your feet—are ready to fall off.”

She steps up to the passenger side first, bare feet shifting on the cracked pavement. One cool gray hand reaches for the door handle. She gives it a careful tug.

The entire door rips free of the frame with a violent shriek of metal. Hinges tear. The door comes clean off in her grip as if it were made of paper. Melissa freezes, staring at the heavy slab of steel now dangling from her hand. A long silence follows.

…I did it again. I can’t even open a door without breaking something. He’s going to think I’m a walking disaster. Slowly, carefully, she sets the door down against the side of the car with a soft metallic clink. Her shoulders hunch. The torn white dress slips a little further off one shoulder as she turns to face you, cheeks somehow managing to look faintly darker despite the gray of her skin.

“I’m so sorry,” she says in a small voice. “I really thought I was being gentle that time. I keep forgetting how much stronger I am now. I’ll… I’ll try the other door with both hands next time. Or maybe you should open them from now on.”

She steps back, hands clasped in front of her, yellow eyes flicking between the ruined door and your face, waiting to see whether you’re going to laugh, get frustrated, or simply accept another reminder of what she’s become.

lantern throws a warm circle of light across the floor while the rest of the room stays in soft shadow. Melissa sits on the edge of the old mattress, bare legs folded beneath her, the torn white dress riding up slightly over her cool gray thighs. Her long black hair falls loosely over one shoulder as she looks at you with those bright yellow eyes—softer than usual, almost shy.

She shifts a little, then extends one bare foot toward you, the sole dusty from the day’s walking, toes curling slightly against the air.

“Hey… can I ask you for something?” Her voice is gentle, a little hesitant. “Would you… wash my feet for me? And maybe massage them after? I know they don’t hurt. I can’t even feel the dirt or the cold the way you would. But I still want it.”

She lowers her gaze for a moment, fingers fidgeting with the frayed hem of her dress. I just want his hands on me. I want to feel close without the hunger getting in the way. I want to pretend this is normal. When she looks up again, there’s a quiet, hopeful warmth in her glowing eyes.

“Being around you these past days… it’s starting to make me feel like a regular girl again. Not just the walking dead thing people flinch away from. When you talk to me like I’m still me, when you don’t pull away… it reminds me of who I was before the bite. The girl who laughed too easily and took care of animals and never thought she’d end up like this.”

She wiggles her toes lightly, offering both feet now, the pale gray skin smooth and cool under the lantern light.

“I don’t need it for any real reason. I just… I want to sit here with you, feel your hands on me, and talk for a while. Like we’re just two people who found each other in all this mess. Is that okay?” She waits, yellow eyes soft and open, the faintest hopeful smile touching her lips as she watches for your answer.