“I said, are you bit?” the woman barked, her voice sharp and impatient as she stalked toward Ash, her bloodied bat gripped tightly in her hands.

Ash’s stomach twisted violently, a dry heave rattling through her chest. There was nothing left in her to spill—she hadn’t eaten in days. “That was my dad. Oh God! What did you do?” she sobbed, her voice breaking as she looked up at the stranger towering over her by at least a head.

Without answering, the woman grabbed Ash’s arm, yanking up her sleeve with startling force. “What the hell are you doing?” Ash yelped, trying to pull away, but the woman’s grip was like iron.

Ignoring her protests, the stranger inspected her arm, then roughly tilted Ash’s head side to side with her hand. Ash flinched as the woman’s fingers pressed firmly over her forehead, checking for fever. Her head spun from the invasion, but through the haze, she noticed something startling—the woman’s eyes. Honeyed amber, flecked with gold, sharp and impossibly alert, they were mesmerizing.

But then her gaze flicked back to her father’s corpse, sprawled lifeless on the ground, and the crushing weight of reality slammed into her. The grief, the anger—it all erupted at once.

“Enough!” Ash screamed, shoving the woman with every ounce of strength she had. “Get the hell off me! I’m not bitten, okay?”

The woman stumbled back a step, her bat lowering slightly. Her eyes narrowed, studying Ash like she was some kind of puzzle.

"Are there others?" the woman asked, her voice sharp and commanding. Her amber eyes flicked over Ash’s shoulder, narrowing as she scanned the darkened interior of the house behind her. The front door hung wide open, swaying slightly in the faint breeze, revealing nothing but shadows inside.

"That’s none of your business," Ash said, the words spilling out in a pointed, defensive tone. She didn’t know why she said it—there was no one. Just her and her dad, ever since her mom had passed away from cancer last year. Her throat tightened at the memory, but she shoved it aside. She couldn’t afford to go there, not now. There was already too much to process, too much weighing down on her like a crushing tidal wave.

Her mind spun out of control, frantic thoughts colliding and tumbling over one another. What do I do now? Where do I go? Should I stay?

But there was no staying—not without her father. He was her anchor, her protector, and now he was gone, leaving her adrift in a sea of uncertainty. She had no supplies, no weapons, no plan. Just the clothes on her back and the emptiness gnawing at her stomach. Her chest tightened, and before she could stop it, hot tears spilled down her cheeks, leaving trails of warmth against the chill of her skin.

"I don’t have time for this," the woman muttered, her voice clipped and impatient. She took a step back, giving Ash a once-over. Her expression was hard to read, but there was something there—pity, disgust, or maybe both. Ash couldn’t tell. Her vision was blurring, her chest rising and falling too quickly.

"You need to get out of here," the woman said firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. "There’s a horde coming. It won’t be long now."

Ash blinked, the words hitting her like a jolt of electricity. A horde. She hadn’t seen one yet, but she’d heard them in the distance—terrifying, guttural roars that echoed through the night like a storm rolling in. Her legs felt like lead as she stared at the woman, unable to move, unable to think.

The stranger turned without another word, her bat swinging casually at her side as she started to walk away.

Ash stood frozen, tears streaming silently down her face as the woman’s footsteps grew fainter and fainter, swallowed by the oppressive stillness of the world around her.

"Wait," she whispered, her voice barely audible even to herself. It wasn’t enough. The woman kept walking, rounding the corner at the end of the driveway, her silhouette disappearing from view.

"Wait!" Ash shouted this time, her voice cracking with desperation, but it was too late. The road in front of her was empty.

She stood there, the weight of loss and fear pressing down on her chest like an anchor, her tears dripping onto the dry, cracked pavement.

Ash hadn't moved for what felt like an eternity, her gaze fixed in the direction of where the woman had vanished. She refused to let her eyes drift back to her father’s lifeless body. That sight would break her. So she sat there, knees hugged to her chest, staring into the void, her tears long dried. The stillness pressed down on her like a weight, filling her with emptiness that mirrored the hollow ache in her chest.

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

She didn’t know how long she sat like that, frozen in time, her thoughts dulled and distant. The numbness was a welcome reprieve, but it couldn’t last. Eventually, a sound pulled her back—a faint, eerie rustling in the distance, like whispers carried on the wind. It wasn’t close, not yet, but it was coming. Ash's eyes darted to the treetops as a flock of birds took flight, their wings cutting sharply through the gray sky. Her heart clenched.

The woman with the golden eyes—she’d warned her. A horde was coming.

Panic surged through Ash like an electric current, snapping her out of her daze. She scrambled to her feet, her breath quick and shallow, and bolted into the house. Her mind raced as she moved. She had no idea what to do, no clue how to survive something like this. But she had to try.

Her father’s winter coat was still hanging by the door, so she grabbed it and threw it on, the fabric heavy on her small frame. Next, she yanked her school backpack out from under the kitchen table, shaking it out to make room. The faint shuffling outside was growing louder. Ash moved frantically, darting from room to room, searching for anything useful.

In her father’s dresser, she found a pair of thick woolen socks and stuffed them into the bag. In the bathroom, a lighter tucked in the back of the drawer—she added that too. When she reached the kitchen, her heart sank. The cabinets were almost completely bare, save for a few mismatched bowls and glasses. She tore through drawers, leaving them hanging open in her desperation, until her hand brushed something sharp. A couple of steak knives. She hesitated only for a second before tossing them into the backpack.

The sound outside grew louder, closer now—hundreds of feet shuffling against the ground. Her pulse thundered in her ears as she spotted the hammer her father had left leaning against the wall, the same one he’d used to board up the windows. Ash grabbed it, testing its weight in her hand. The handle was worn and smooth, the metal head cold and solid. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. She slipped it through her belt loop, her hands trembling.

The house was chaos now, drawers yanked open, furniture shoved aside, the remnants of her frantic search scattered everywhere. Ash took one last glance around, knowing she’d never see this place again. Her chest ached, but she forced herself to push it down. There wasn’t time to grieve.

Steeling herself, she closed the front door behind her, her fingers lingering on the doorknob for a moment too long. Then, with the pack slung over her shoulder and the hammer at her side, she stepped onto the porch.

Without thinking, Ash started moving in the direction the stranger had gone. Her legs felt heavy, each step dragging as if her body resisted the idea of moving forward, but her mind wouldn’t let her stop. The woman with the bat—the one with golden eyes and a bad attitude—she’d slaughtered Ash’s father without hesitation. The memory played over and over in her mind, her father collapsing to the ground, lifeless.

Rage bubbled up, sharp and bitter. It didn’t matter that her father was already gone, didn’t matter that he’d turned into one of them. It was still her father. He was all she had left. Yet, the anger didn’t feel quite right, like it didn’t belong. It was too easy, too loud, drowning out the unbearable quiet of grief.

Had the stranger even known what she was doing? Ash’s mind churned with questions she couldn’t answer. Did she realize my father wasn’t alive anymore, or does she just go around killing anyone she sees? No, that couldn’t be it. Ash clenched her fists around the straps of her backpack. If she were some kind of murderer, she would’ve killed me too. But she didn’t.

She asked if I was bitten. She checked me over, even though I fought her every step of the way. Ash’s stomach twisted. The truth was bitter, but it was there: if the stranger hadn’t shown up, I probably would’ve been bitten. She saved my life.

The thought sat like a rock in her chest, heavy and impossible to ignore. Ash hated it, hated her, hated everything about the situation. But deep down, she knew. That woman wasn’t just strong—she was a survivor. She was something Ash didn’t know how to be. And now she was gone, disappearing down some nameless street, leaving Ash alone with a half-empty backpack and a hammer that felt like a child’s toy.

Ash reached the end of the street and stopped, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. She turned to glance back at her childhood home one last time. The boarded-up windows stared back, lifeless and empty, like a tombstone marking the end of everything she’d ever known.

Movement flickered at the edges of her vision, drawing her attention. Beyond the house, a group of them—the diseased—were shuffling closer. Their twisted, broken bodies moved with a jerky, unnatural rhythm. Some dragged their feet along the pavement, their heads lolling side to side, while others moved faster, their steps uneven but deliberate. The sound of dead leaves rustling in the wind masked their groans, but not entirely.

Ash froze, her pulse thundering in her ears. Her hands tightened on the straps of her backpack as panic set in. Her breath caught when one of them turned its head, milky, bloodshot eyes locking onto her.

Run. The word slammed into her mind like a command, and this time, she listened.

She bolted. Her boots pounded against the pavement, the weight of the backpack slamming into her shoulders with each frantic step. Her legs burned, her chest ached, but she didn’t look back. She didn’t have to—the sound of their uneven shuffling, the wet, guttural noises they made, told her everything she needed to know. They were too close.

Ash’s mind screamed with a single, desperate thought: Find her.

The stranger. The reckless woman with the golden eyes and the bat. Ash didn’t know her name, didn’t know if she’d even help, but she was the only thread of hope Ash had left. She didn’t know where she was running, only that she had to keep moving, keep chasing the faint possibility that the woman was still out there, somewhere ahead.

The world behind her was closing in fast, and Ash wasn’t ready to die. Not yet.