Jimmy sat on the edge of the decrepit park bench, staring at his trembling hands. The bite mark on his forearm was already darkening, veins of sickly green creeping outward like spiderwebs beneath his pale skin. The world around him buzzed with an eerie stillness, broken only by the distant moans of the undead and the occasional crackle of a burning car. He clenched his jaw, fighting the rising panic. This couldn’t be happening—not to him.
Three hours earlier, Jimmy had been scrambling through the shattered streets of his hometown, trying to find a safe place to hide. The outbreak had turned his world into a nightmare in mere days. The shambling hordes had overtaken neighborhoods, supermarkets, and even the local police station. He had narrowly escaped an ambush while scavenging for supplies, but not without a cost. A stray zombie had lunged from the shadows, its teeth sinking into his arm before he managed to bash its skull with a crowbar.
Now, seated in the dying light of the evening, Jimmy felt the fever setting in. Beads of sweat trickled down his temple, and his breathing grew ragged. He pulled his jacket tighter around him, though no amount of fabric could ward off the cold seeping into his bones. He knew the signs; he’d seen it happen to others. First came the fever, then the hunger—a gnawing, insatiable craving that consumed the mind and body.
“Get it together,” he muttered, slapping his cheeks lightly. “You’re not gone yet.”
He stood, his legs unsteady beneath him, and began walking. He had no destination in mind, only the vague hope of finding someone—anyone—who might help. But as he trudged through the empty streets, a grim realization settled over him: anyone who could help was likely already dead or worse.
Jimmy’s thoughts drifted to his sister, Lucy. She had been out of town when the outbreak began. Maybe she was safe. Maybe she’d found refuge in one of the rumored safe zones. The thought of seeing her again gave him a fleeting spark of determination. If he could find her, maybe she’d know what to do. Maybe she could save him.
The sun dipped below the horizon, casting the world in a dusky haze. Jimmy’s steps faltered as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He leaned against a lamppost, clutching his head as a sharp pain lanced through his skull. His vision blurred, and for a moment, he saw the world differently. The empty streets seemed teeming with life, figures moving in the shadows, their heartbeats echoing like drumbeats in his ears. He blinked, and the vision faded, leaving him gasping for breath.
“No,” he whispered, his voice tinged with desperation. “Not yet.”
The hunger hit him next. It started as a dull ache in his stomach but quickly grew into a searing void that demanded to be filled. Jimmy clutched his abdomen, doubling over as a low growl escaped his lips. He stumbled into an alley, collapsing against the brick wall. The scent of something sweet and metallic wafted through the air, and his head snapped up. A rat scurried nearby, its tiny heart thudding like a war drum. For a horrifying moment, he considered chasing it, catching it, tearing it apart with his teeth.
“No,” he said again, louder this time. He slammed his fist into the wall, the pain anchoring him to reality. “I’m still me.”
But for how long?
As the hours dragged on, Jimmy’s grip on his humanity began to slip. Memories of his life before the outbreak flickered in and out of focus. He remembered family barbecues in the backyard, lazy Sunday mornings with coffee and the newspaper, the warmth of his sister’s laughter. But these memories were increasingly drowned out by the growing primal instincts clawing at the edges of his mind.
By the time dawn broke, Jimmy was barely recognizable. His skin had taken on a grayish hue, and his movements had become sluggish and jerky. He stumbled through the streets like a drunkard, his thoughts fragmented and incoherent. Words felt foreign on his tongue, and the world around him seemed both too bright and too distant.
And yet, a part of him clung to his purpose. Find Lucy. Save her if he couldn’t save himself.
Jimmy’s journey brought him to the edge of town, where a small encampment of survivors had set up a makeshift barricade. He watched them from the shadows, his heart—or what was left of it—aching with longing. He wanted to call out to them, to beg for their help, but he knew what they would see: a monster. Even now, he could hear their voices, tense and fearful as they scanned the perimeter for threats.
“Stay sharp,” one of them said, a young man with a rifle slung over his shoulder. “They’re always out there, waiting.”
Jimmy backed away, the faint sound of his shuffling footsteps drawing a glance from one of the guards. He froze, his decaying body trembling with the effort to remain still. The guard squinted into the shadows but ultimately turned away, muttering something about the wind.
Jimmy’s hunger clawed at him, but he forced himself to move on. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—hurt these people. Not while he still had a sliver of control.
Hours turned into days, and Jimmy’s transformation continued. His mind was a battlefield, memories of his past life warring against the relentless pull of the infection. He began to forget simple things: the sound of his own voice, the feel of sunlight on his skin. But one thought remained clear: Lucy. Her name became his mantra, his anchor. As long as he remembered her, he wasn’t completely lost.
Jimmy’s journey ended at the gates of a fortified compound. The walls were high, lined with barbed wire, and guarded by heavily armed sentries. This was the safe zone he’d heard about, the place where survivors had gathered to rebuild. He stumbled toward the gates, his decayed body barely able to support him.
The guards spotted him immediately, their weapons trained on his shambling form. “Stop right there!” one of them shouted. “Don’t come any closer!”
Jimmy raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, but his movements were slow and unnatural. The guards exchanged nervous glances, their fingers tightening on the triggers. Jimmy opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a guttural growl. Panic surged through him. He wanted to tell them he wasn’t a threat, that he just wanted to find his sister, but the words were lost to him.
A woman emerged from the compound, her face pale but resolute. She carried a shotgun, her eyes scanning Jimmy with a mix of fear and pity. “Hold your fire,” she said, stepping closer. “Let me see him.”
Jimmy’s heart—if it could still be called that—leapt. He recognized her instantly. Lucy. She was alive. Relief washed over him, momentarily drowning out the hunger and pain.
“Lucy,” he tried to say, but the sound that emerged was a grotesque croak. Her eyes widened, and for a moment, he thought she recognized him. But then her expression hardened, and she raised the shotgun.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “I can’t let you in.”
Jimmy’s body trembled as he took a step back. He wanted to tell her it was okay, that he understood, but his voice was gone. Instead, he gave her a small, jerky nod before turning away. He stumbled back into the wasteland, his mind a chaotic swirl of grief and acceptance.
As the sun set once more, Jimmy found a quiet spot beneath a tree and sat down. He closed his eyes, letting the last remnants of his humanity fade into the darkness. And for the first time in days, he felt at peace.