Lena ran.
Her heartbeat pounded like a war drum in her ears, matching the frantic rhythm of her footsteps. The world around her was a blur—shattered glass, overturned cars, bodies twitching in the streets. The infected were everywhere, dragging their decaying limbs through the ruins of what had once been her hometown.
She didn’t know how much longer she could keep running.
Her lungs burned. Her legs screamed in protest. But she couldn’t stop—not now, not when survival depended on it.
A howl split the air behind her.
Lena turned just in time to see the creature closing in, its gray, rotting skin peeling off in chunks, exposing the muscle and bone beneath. Its eyes—once human, now empty pits of hunger—locked onto her with inhuman focus.
She stumbled over debris, gasping. Then, just as the thing lunged—
Pain.
Blinding, searing pain as the creature’s teeth sank into her arm.
Lena screamed and shoved it away with all her strength, feeling the warm trickle of blood seep from the wound. Her mind barely registered the sharp crack of the creature’s skull against the pavement as it fell.
She was bitten.
She knew what that meant.
The infection would spread. It always did.
But she didn’t want to die.
Gritting her teeth, Lena ripped off a piece of her jacket and tied it tightly around the bite, hoping—praying—that it might slow the inevitable. Then she forced herself to her feet and kept running.
By the time she reached the abandoned gas station, night had fallen.
Lena collapsed against the counter, her body shaking. The bite throbbed, radiating heat. A dull ache spread up her arm, deeper than any normal wound should.
She needed to check it.
With trembling fingers, she peeled away the makeshift bandage.
Her stomach lurched.
The skin around the wound had turned an unnatural shade of gray, veins darkening into something sickly and black. She clenched her jaw to keep from screaming.
How much time did she have? A few hours? A day?
She glanced at her reflection in the cracked mirror behind the counter. Her face was still hers—pale, streaked with dirt, but normal. Her eyes still held the fire of life.
But for how much longer?
Lena knew what happened to those who turned. She had seen it with her own eyes—the slow decay, the loss of speech, the hunger. She had watched her neighbor transform, watched her own mother…
No. She wouldn’t let it happen.
She reached for the knife in her belt.
She could end it now, before she became something else. Before she became a monster.
The cold metal felt heavy in her grasp. She pressed the tip against her wrist, her breath shuddering.
But she hesitated.
There was still a chance.
A chance that she could find a cure.
The rumors had spread like wildfire—a group of survivors hidden in the mountains, scientists among them. People who had supposedly found a way to fight the infection.
It was a long shot. Probably nothing more than desperate hope.
But hope was all she had left.
Lena forced herself up, gripping the knife tight. If she was going to die, it wouldn’t be here.
The changes started slowly.
By morning, her skin had grown colder. Her pulse weaker.
She barely felt hunger anymore. Not for food, anyway.
Her vision sharpened. Sounds that once seemed distant—wind rustling through the trees, the faint scurrying of rats in the shadows—now echoed like whispers in her ears.
And the smell…
The scent of the living burned like fire in her nostrils.
She clenched her teeth, fighting the pull, forcing herself to focus. She was still Lena. She was still human.
But for how much longer?
The trek to the mountains took everything she had left.
With each passing hour, her body grew weaker, her thoughts foggier. Sometimes she caught herself staring too long at passing animals, feeling something… primal stir inside her.
She shook the thoughts away.
She wouldn’t give in.
She wouldn’t become one of them.
Not yet.
When she finally saw the compound, relief flooded her veins.
It was real.
A high fence surrounded a group of buildings, figures moving inside—living people. Survivors.
She staggered toward the entrance, barely able to stand.
But before she could cry out, she saw them.
Guards. Armed, watching her closely.
They had seen the way she walked, the sickly pallor of her skin. They knew.
Lena raised her hands, tried to speak—but the words came out wrong, garbled. Like her throat no longer remembered how to form them.
Panic filled her chest.
She was losing herself.
She fell to her knees, vision blurring. She could hear them shouting, but it was distant, fading.
Her last thought before darkness took her was a single, desperate plea.
Please… I don’t want to turn.
Lena awoke in a cold, sterile room.
Her body felt… different. Lighter, somehow.
She looked down at her hands. The gray had faded. The veins, no longer black.
She touched her face, her arms—her skin was warm again.
A door opened.
A woman in a white coat stepped inside, studying her with cautious eyes.
“You were lucky,” the woman said. “You were turning. But we stopped it.”
Lena’s breath hitched. “How?”
The woman hesitated.
“It doesn’t always work,” she admitted. “We’ve lost many. But you—your body resisted. The infection didn’t fully take hold.”
Lena swallowed hard.
She had survived.
But as she met the woman’s gaze, she saw something else in her eyes. Something hesitant.
“You should rest,” the woman said. “We’ll keep an eye on you.”
She left, locking the door behind her.
Lena’s fingers curled against the sheets.
She was saved.
Wasn’t she?
But then, in the quiet of the room, she heard something.
A faint, distant whisper.
Not words.
Not quite.
Just hunger.
And for the first time, Lena wondered if she had truly been cured at all.
Or if she was just waiting for the rest of her to turn.