"We're almost there, Nathan," my mother said as we drove to her boyfriend’s house on the hill outside the city.

I never liked him. He was one of those weird scientists, like the kind you see in horror movies. I half-expected Dracula or Frankenstein’s monster to come stumbling out of the building at any moment.

"Mom, did we have to move here?" I asked. You could tell I wasn’t happy about it. Honestly, I had said that about a hundred times before we even left the old house.

We pulled up to the creepy building. It looked like something straight out of Transylvania. Now, where were Scooby and the Gang when you needed them?

I looked around as I got out of the car, grabbing my only bag. We had sold most of our things before the move so we wouldn’t have to haul all our crap over here.

Her boyfriend George came out of the building and walked toward us.

"Hi, little squirt," he said in a friendly voice. He could tell I wasn’t thrilled, and he rushed over to Mom, giving her a big kiss on the lips. I felt like I was about to barf.

I went inside the building, not wanting to watch the lovebirds anymore. It was a hot day, so I headed to the kitchen for something to drink. Opening the fridge, I noticed there was nothing but water. Oh—wait—a bottle of soda?

"What brand is this?" I wondered aloud. I opened the bottle and, without thinking, chugged the whole thing.

"Yuck!" It tasted awful… but it was so refreshing, despite the weird flavor.

I wandered upstairs to find my room. The house was huge; I hoped I wouldn’t get lost. I could hear Mom and George entering the house downstairs. Mom was giggling, and I could tell they were heading to the kitchen.

I think I found my room. There were several rooms, but this one had a twin bed, while another had a king-size bed, so I figured this was mine. I walked inside and started unpacking into the dresser.

Downstairs, Mom was sitting at the table. George noticed she looked thirsty, so he went to the fridge.

"I hope you don’t mind water," he said. "I don’t have any other drinks at the moment. Otherwise, I’d offer you more choices."

"That’s fine, honey," Mom said with a sigh.

George grabbed a bottle of water and shut the fridge—then paused and opened it again.

"That’s strange..."

"What’s strange, dear?" Mom asked.

"I thought I put a bottle in here—a secret formula I was working on."

"What kind of formula?"

"Well... it’s just an experiment. I believe I’ve found a way to change male gender to female—without surgery. It could really help the transgender community." He paused. "The only problem is, I haven’t made a formula that works the other way. And even if I did, once someone changes, they can’t just take another dose and go back."

"I hope Nathan didn’t drink it."

"Well, we won’t know right away. It takes a few days to kick in. First, he’ll feel faint... then dizzy. He’ll black out. That’s when the changes begin. At first, he might not even notice, except for a few things—like if he has facial hair, it’ll stop growing. His hair will grow faster. He’ll start shrinking. Eventually, breasts will form. He might think it’s just man boobs. His... well... his penis will shrink, and—"

Just then, I walked into the kitchen. I hadn’t heard a word of what they were saying. I was just back for another drink. All they had was water—again.

I grabbed a bottle and turned to leave.

"Nathan, you didn’t happen to drink anything other than water earlier, did you?" George asked.

I thought I might get in trouble, so I lied.

"Of course not. I just grabbed a water and went to my room. Why? Was there something else in there I wasn’t supposed to touch?"

"No... maybe I put it in the downstairs fridge," George said, looking puzzled. "Run along now. Oh, did you find your room okay?"

"Yes," I said with a snarl.

"That’s good. By the way, there’s a big screen TV in the family room. I got a PlayStation 87 and a bunch of games. Hope you like them."

"Thanks," I said. Hmm. Maybe this guy isn’t so bad after all.

I went to the family room and nearly passed out from excitement. A massive 16-foot 3D Ultra High Definition flat screen with surround sound. I was in heaven. My friends would flip out if they saw this.

I turned the TV on. First thing that popped up? Night of the Living Dead. I jumped. You would too if a zombie your size suddenly filled the screen.

I grabbed the phone and called my friend Jack. He wasn’t busy and said he’d come over right away.

While I waited, I went into the kitchen for a snack. Mom and George were still there.

"Nathan, we need to talk," Mom said.

"What for? Did I do something wrong?"

"We found this bottle in the recycling bin," George said, locking eyes with me.

"I didn’t drink that!" I snapped.

"Don’t lie to us. Did you drink it?" George shouted.

"Why the fuck would you think I drank it?"

"Watch your language! Did you or didn’t you?"

"Sweetie..." Mom said in a soft voice. "Please tell the truth. It’s very important."

Sweetie? She never calls me sweetie.

"I’m sorry, Mom..." I started to cry. "I did drink it. I just didn’t want to get in trouble. And now I’m going to anyway."

Mom started crying too. She came over and gave me a big hug.

"I’m sorry too, sweetie," she whispered.

"Why exactly are you sorry? I’m the one who drank it and lied."

Suddenly, the doorbell rang.

"Uh, Mom, my friend’s here. Can I go, please? I won’t lie again." She nodded, and I went to answer the door.

Jack had brought another friend—Mike. We all headed to the family room.

The moment they saw the TV, they both froze.

"Whoa!" Jack gasped. "That’s one big mother of a TV!"

Mike was checking out the games. "Dude! You’ve got Legend of Zelda: Guardian of Time? That hasn’t even been released yet!"

"Don’t ask how George got it."

We didn’t want to start the Zelda game yet, so we popped in Brutalmania, a fighting game.

After a while, we got hungry. The kitchen was empty, but we found a bucket of Popeyes chicken and went to town on it. I hoped we wouldn’t get in trouble again, like with the soda.

"Wanna explore the house?" I asked. They were totally in.

We ran to the stairs.

"Race you to the top!" I shouted.

Usually, I was the fastest. But this time, I was dead last. My stomach turned, and I felt queasy. Probably just the heat.

"My room’s over here," I said, pointing.

We walked down the hall. I was getting dizzy.

"Nathan, are you okay?" Jack asked, steadying me.

"I guess so," I mumbled. "I just feel... weird. Help me to my bed."

We barely made it to the doorway before everything went dark.

Beep... Beep... Beep...

I kept hearing this annoying beeping sound. I didn’t know where it was coming from—or why. Slowly, I opened my eyes. Everything was bright, like I was staring directly at the sun. My vision began to focus.

Beep... Beep... Beep...

Well, now I knew where the beeping was coming from. I was staring at a machine next to the bed. The room looked kind of like a hospital room… but it wasn’t. The bed was just a regular bed—no nurse call button, no medical posters on the wall, no sterile smell. Just... weird.

"Hello?" I called out.

Footsteps echoed down the hall. I expected a nurse or doctor to walk in. Someone professional. But no, it was a man in a white lab coat.

"Who the hell are you?" I asked.

"My name is Alfred," he said. "I’m George’s assistant. I work in his lab."

That explained who he was, but not why he was here—or more importantly, why I was here.

"Okay, great. Why are you here and why am I here?"

"Because I work here," he said flatly.

Okay... this was getting weirder by the second. I wasn’t in a hospital. I wasn’t in a clinic. That left only one possibility:

I was in George’s fucking laboratory.

"Why am I down here?" I asked, now uneasy.

Alfred didn’t answer. He just started typing something on a nearby computer. The keyboard clicks echoed in the silence.

"What are you doing?"

Still no answer.

Now I was really worried. I tried to sit up, only to realize I was strapped to the bed. My wrists, my ankles—tied down.

Alfred walked over, pulled out an IV needle, and stuck it into my arm without saying a word.

"What the fuck are you doing?!" I shouted, wincing as he drew blood.

Still no response.

He collected the vial, turned, and left the room.

A few seconds later, Mom walked in.

"Mom, why am I here?" I cried, my voice cracking.

She came straight to me and started unstrapping the restraints.

"I’m sorry we had to put you in here," she said gently. "It was just so George could run some tests on you."

"What kind of tests?!" I demanded as I sat up.

"I can’t explain it fully right now... but you’ll find out in a few days."

"What do you mean ‘a few days’?"

She didn’t answer. She just laughed awkwardly and stepped out of the room.

I followed her into the hall but couldn’t find her anywhere. That was fast. I glanced around the lower level and spotted Alfred and George in another room behind a locked door. I tried the handle—no luck.

Through the window, I could see them studying something on a screen. DNA samples, probably mine. It didn’t make sense. Why me?

I turned and headed back upstairs, trying to find Mom again. She was nowhere in sight. The whole house felt... empty.

And all my friends were gone.

I would’ve hoped they’d stay longer, at least until I woke up.

I flopped onto the couch and grabbed the phone.

Ring.

Ring.

"Nathan?!" Jack picked up. "Dude, what happened?!"

"I don’t know. No one’s telling me anything."

"You passed out right before you got to your room. George told us to leave. They said you'd be okay."

"I can’t just sit here doing nothing. Can I come over for a while?"

"Yeah, of course. Come over."

I hung up and looked around for the car keys.

Gone.

"Damn. Mom must’ve taken them."

I sighed and headed to the garage. I grabbed my ten-speed bike and started to pedal...

Psssshhhhhh.

Flat tire.

"This is not my day." I muttered, throwing the bike to the side.

Back inside, I grabbed the phone again.

"Hey Jack, can you pick me up? My bike’s useless and Mom took the car."

"Ah, man, sorry. My dad took our car to the shop."

"It’s fine. I’ll walk."

I opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water and a snack for the trip, and started walking down the long hill outside the house.

On my way to the garage, I put the broken bike back and noticed something in the corner—an old plastic sled. Not exactly winter, but...

"Well, it is downhill..."

I shrugged, grabbed the sled, and launched myself down the grassy hill.

It was faster—but not exactly safe. Every bump made me fly into the air and slam back down. I nearly broke my spine on the way.

I made it to the bottom, but the sled didn’t survive.

"So much for a shortcut."

I continued walking.

Everything was fine until this sudden pain hit me.

It was sharp. It was everywhere. My muscles cramped. My head throbbed. My stomach turned. I couldn’t take it.

I dropped to my knees.

Then everything went black again.

Back at the lab, George was studying the samples closely.

"Wow!" he exclaimed. "Nathan’s blood samples are extraordinary. It's already shifting from XY chromosomes to XX chromosomes. This isn’t anything like what I saw when I tested it on that rabbit a few days ago."

"Well, he did drink the whole bottle," Alfred pointed out. "You only gave a small portion to the rabbit."

"We’ve got to find him. Fast." George bolted from the room. "He has no idea what’s happening to him!"

Down the hill, I was just getting up from the ground when I spotted Jack pedaling toward me on his bike. He rolled up beside me.

"I was just coming to find you. I figured you’d be heading down the hill." He paused and squinted at me. "Dude, you need a haircut."

"What do you mean?" I said, running a hand through my hair. "I literally got a haircut a few days ago—what the fuck!"

My hair had grown several inches since this morning. It was longer, thicker, and I was still lying there, wincing from the pain all over my body.

Jack reached down and helped me to my feet.

"We should get you to the hospital," he said.

And I agreed. No way was I going back to the house. They’d probably strap me down again and run more weird tests. The hospital felt like the safer option—not to mention, I didn’t want to climb back up that giant hill.

We made it to the hospital in about three minutes. It wasn’t far, thankfully.

The moment we walked into the emergency room, I collapsed from the pain. Nurses and doctors rushed over.

One nurse brought a wheelchair over and helped me into it.

I didn’t even have to sign in—they rushed me straight to a room.

A doctor came in immediately and began examining me. A nurse entered soon after to take my info.

"Name? Address? Insurance? Phone number?"

Since I’d been there before, I only had to give my name and address.

They ran a few quick checks. One nurse came in to get my height and weight.

"Let’s stand up straight, Nathan," she said gently. "Okay, you’re 5 foot 6 and... 130 pounds."

"Wait—what?!" I blinked. "I’m not 5 foot 6! I was 5 foot 11 last week. That can’t be right!"

The nurse frowned and checked again. "Hold on... you’re now at exactly 5 feet—and 102 pounds." Her eyes widened. "Doctor Wheeler! We need assistance immediately!"

Doctor Wheeler came over quickly.

"What’s the issue?"

"I just checked Nathan’s height twice in a row," the nurse explained. "He said he was 5’11”, but the first read was 5’6”. A few seconds later, he measured 5 feet. Now it’s dropping again."

"Let me recheck you, son," Dr. Wheeler said calmly.

I stood again, heart pounding.

He adjusted the scale, measured, then stepped back slowly.

"Hmm... strange. You’re now 4 foot 3."

I lost it.

"What’s wrong with me?!" I cried, panic rising in my chest.

"I’m not sure," the doctor said. "But let’s draw some blood and run a full panel immediately."

Back at the house, Mom had just pulled into the driveway when George came rushing out the front door.

"Have you seen Nathan?" he asked, out of breath.

"No, I haven’t," Mom replied, calmly closing the car door. "I thought he was still with you when I left to pick up a few groceries."

George ran a hand through his hair, clearly panicking.

"Something terrible could be happening to your son right now! The transformation is progressing faster than expected. Instead of taking a few days... he’ll be a girl in a matter of minutes."

Mom paused, glanced at the grocery bags in her hands, and said with a shrug,
"Oh."
Then, without a hint of panic:
"Well, he’ll just have to learn his lesson about stealing."

Back at the hospital, a few doctors were examining me while I laid on the bed. Honestly, I was getting bored.

I started twirling my hair around my finger without thinking.

"What the fuck!" I shouted, sitting up. "My hair is really long now?!"

That’s when I noticed something else.

"Wait... my voice—why is it higher?" I looked at the nearest doctor, panicked. "What’s wrong with me?" I cried.

One of the doctors shook his head.
"We have no idea what’s going on. This is a first for all of us."

Just then, a nurse stepped into the room.

"Nathan," she said gently, "we tried calling your house, but the number has been disconnected. Do you have another number where we can reach your mother?"

I thought for a second.
"Well... we just moved into George Russell’s house up the hill today. I don’t know his number, but he should be in the phone directory."

Before the nurse could respond, a man walked into the room holding a folder.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Dr. Wheeler," he said. "I’ve got the test results from the lab."

Dr. Wheeler took the folder and started reading. His expression slowly changed—brows raising, eyes widening. He stared at me in stunned silence.

Then he took a deep breath.

"Well... I’ve got some good news and some bad news."

"Okay?" I said, already dreading it.

"The good news is: you’re perfectly healthy." He paused. "You’re a healthy little girl."

"I’m a what?!" My whole world spun. I could barely get the words out. I started to cry.

Dr. Wheeler grimaced.
"Unfortunately... that’s also the bad news."

He glanced back down at the folder.
"Your chromosomes have completely changed—from XY to XX. And... based on your current physical measurements and bloodwork, you’re now a preteen. Around age ten."

“What do you mean? I’m not a girl!” I cried softly. He’s crazy. I’ve got to get out of here, I thought to myself.

Doctor Wheeler sat at a small table across the room.
“We have the lab results,” he said calmly. “They show you’re now a girl.”

He held up a sheet of paper. I didn’t even want to look at it. My heart was racing. I nervously twisted my new long hair around my finger without realizing it.

“If you don’t mind, we’d like to run a few more tests,” he added, getting up from his seat.

“Well, they’re wrong,” I said quickly. “I feel smaller, yeah, but I’m still a boy.”

I glanced toward a mirror in the room and stared at my reflection. My baggy clothes were practically falling off me. I had to hold them up with both hands just to keep from flashing the room.

“I’ll go set up the tests…” Dr. Wheeler started.

“But, Doctor... I’m scared.” My voice shook. I felt like I was about to cry again. My hand reached for my hair and started twirling it again—almost like a reflex.

He gave me a soft look.
“I love your long blonde hair, Nathan... or should I say, Natalie?”

“Um, I need other clothes,” I muttered, glancing down. “These are falling off me. I can’t even see my feet.”

“The only things we have in your size are these cute Hello Kitty pajamas,” he said, holding them up.

I stared at them in disbelief.
“Aren’t those for a girl?”

He raised an eyebrow.
“Natalie... you are a girl,” he said with a small chuckle.

“But—but no, I’m not,” I whimpered.

He didn’t argue. He simply held out the clothes—and a small bundle underneath.

“You’ll need these too,” he said, handing me a pair of pink panties. “You don’t want to be walking around without underwear, do you?”

I hesitated, trembling.
“I still don’t believe I’m a girl...”

“You will,” he said, almost too calmly. “When you put those on.”

I reached out with shaking hands to take the clothes—and that’s when my pants and underwear slid to the floor.

Dr. Wheeler respectfully turned away while I quickly changed. I didn’t want to look, but... when I slipped the panties on, I had to look. And what I saw made my stomach twist.

I didn’t just feel different.

I was different.

“There you go, young lady,” he said gently.

“Doctor... I feel so small now,” I whispered. “How old are girls who wear clothes like these?”

He smiled slightly.

“The pajamas you’re wearing? They’re made for five to seven-year-olds.”

“What? Really?!” I gasped, pouting as I sat down on the bed. “I feel like I need to lie down... I feel dizzy.”

Dr. Wheeler helped me onto the bed, tucking the blanket around me.

I lay there quietly as my mind ran in a thousand directions at once.
What’s my girlfriend going to think? What’s going to happen to me?
Tears filled my eyes again. I didn’t even fight them.

Eventually, I closed my eyes.

I don’t know how long I was out. But when I opened my eyes again, the room was quiet.

“I can’t stay here,” I whispered. “I need to get out of here.”

I climbed off the bed and noticed how tiny my feet were now. Even the tiles on the floor seemed... bigger.

“This is insane.”

I opened the door slowly and peeked into the hallway. It was clear. I slipped out, moving as casually as I could.

“Dang... I can’t walk home in a girl’s nightgown. I’d stand out like crazy. I need other clothes.”

I heard footsteps coming from around the corner. Panicked, I ducked into the nearest hospital room. A nurse passed by, pushing a wheelchair down the hall, not noticing me.

Inside the room, I spotted a small bag near the bed—left behind, maybe? Just as I reached for it, another nurse stepped in.

My heart jumped. I’m caught!

But she didn’t say anything. She just kept walking, heading toward the nurses’ station.

I opened the bag quickly and pulled out the clothes. I didn’t even realize until after I’d put them on...

I was wearing a skirt.

“Ugh,” I groaned. But I wasn’t about to risk changing again.

I stepped back out into the hallway, trying to walk like nothing was wrong.

I spotted Dr. Wheeler in the hallway ahead—but luckily, he didn’t notice me. He looked too focused on whatever was on his clipboard.

I was almost to the hospital exit when I saw her.

Mom.

She was walking down the hall toward me.

I instinctively crossed my legs and turned quickly, heading into the nearest door—the women’s restroom.

I peeked back as I went in. Mom hadn’t reacted. She didn’t recognize me.

“What a cutie,” she said softly as she walked by.

Inside the bathroom, I caught my reflection in the mirror—and froze.

I looked... like her.

Like my mom when she was a kid.

I’d seen the old pictures. The resemblance was terrifying. And for some reason, I started to giggle.

Then the door opened.

A nurse walked in.

Panicked, I slipped into the nearest stall and lifted my feet so she wouldn’t see them under the door.

She checked each stall quickly, then left.

I let out a long sigh of relief... only for the door to open again.

“Oh crap.”

It was Mom.

She stared down at me.

“Nathan?” she asked.

I froze.

“Who?” I said, my voice squeaking slightly.

The same nurse returned a moment later.

“There you are, Natalie,” she said, clearly annoyed. “We’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Natalie?” Mom repeated, eyes widening. “Is that what you go by now?”

I couldn’t even look at her.

“Yes,” I whispered, tears forming again.

The nurse gently took my hand.

“Come on, Natalie. Doctor Wheeler needs to run a few more tests.”

The nurse led me back to the room I’d escaped from earlier. Mom followed, carrying the Hello Kitty bag and looking more amused than concerned.

Dr. Wheeler was waiting for us, flipping through his clipboard with a furrowed brow.

“Ah, there you are, Natalie,” he said. “Before you go anywhere, we need to run a few more tests. Your condition is... unprecedented. The rapid regression, the chromosome shift—it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

“So I’m a medical freak now?” I muttered under my breath.

“You're not a freak,” he replied gently. “You’re part of something we don’t fully understand yet. That’s why I’d like to keep you here, at least overnight. For observation. Maybe even longer.”

Mom crossed her arms.

“No, she’s coming home.”

Dr. Wheeler blinked. “I don’t think you understand, ma’am. Your child is undergoing a complete biological transformation. Physically, hormonally, genetically—even developmentally. We’re watching a teenage boy become a six-year-old girl in real time. This isn’t just rare—it’s medically historic.”

“And yet,” Mom said calmly, “she’s not a science project. She’s my daughter. I’m taking her home.”

“Mrs. Russell, with all due respect, you could be putting her at risk. If the transformation isn’t stable, we don’t know what could happen next. Organs could fail. Brain function might—”

“She’s fine,” Mom cut him off. **“She’s walking, talking, and fussy about booster seats. Sounds pretty stable to me.” She reached for my hand and squeezed it. “Let’s go, sweetie.”

I hesitated, looking between them.

“Natalie,” Dr. Wheeler said softly, “please—just let us monitor you. This isn't something that can be reversed, but it can get dangerous if we don't understand what’s happening inside your body.”

Mom opened the door.

“You’ve done your tests. We’re done here.”

As we walked out of the hospital, Mom held my hand. My fingers looked ridiculously tiny in hers now.

“So the doctor told me you’re as young as a six-year-old,” she said like she was talking about the weather.

“A six-year-old?” I whined.

“Yep,” she laughed. “And because of that, he gave me a booster seat for you to sit in while we’re in the car.”

When we got to the car, she opened the back door and clicked the booster seat into place like it was no big deal. I just stood there sulking.

“Why can’t I just sit in a regular seat?”

“It’s the law in this state,” she said matter-of-factly. “Booster seat until you're taller. Now come on—we’ve got to get to the airport to pick up Jennifer.”

“Oh great, Jennifer,” I thought miserably.
Just what I need. My sister seeing me like this.

“But Mom!” I cried as we headed into the mall at the airport.

“No butts!” Mom snapped. “It’s dresses and skirts—no pants.”

Tears welled up in my eyes as we stepped through the automatic doors. My heart was pounding.

“Your sister won’t be here for a few more minutes,” Mom said. “So this gives us plenty of time to find a dress for you to wear when we see her.”

We walked into a store called Just Girls. I felt a rush of anger in my chest. As we crossed the threshold, I glanced down and saw a picture of a cartoon clubhouse painted on the floor, with a sign that read:

Girls Only – No Boys Allowed!
“Just Girls?” I thought bitterly.
Good luck finding pants now.

The store was packed with cute clothes—racks of pinks and purples, glittery things, frilly things, puffy things. There was even a sign above one display that said:

Why wear pants?
“Fantastic,” I muttered under my breath. “This sucks.”

A saleslady noticed us almost immediately and came bouncing over with a smile that was way too excited.

“What a cute little girl! How old are you, sweetheart?”

“She’s six,” Mom said quickly, smiling down at me.

I looked away. I hadn’t even realized I was still holding her hand like some toddler—and worse, I was staring at a dress.

“Do you like that dress?” the saleslady asked gently. “I noticed you kept staring at it.”

“Um, no. I wasn’t staring at it,” I lied. “Just looking around the store.”

Mom leaned over and whispered something to the saleslady. I couldn’t hear what she said, but they both looked at the dress I had just denied liking.

The saleslady nodded.

“Come on, Natalie,” Mom said brightly. “Let’s look for more clothes. You pick what you want to try on… and I’ll decide what you actually wear.”

We made it to the gate just in time to see Jennifer.

I was wearing the new dress—the one I had been staring at earlier. I hadn’t expected Mom to actually buy it. But here I was… in it.

As we walked toward the arrivals area, I saw Jennifer in the crowd. I lowered my head and gripped Mom’s hand tightly, like a little kid hiding behind her.

Jennifer spotted us and came running.

“Hi, Mom!” she said, wrapping her arms around her.

Then she looked down at me.

“Who’s the little girl?” she asked with a confused smile.

Mom smiled and placed a gentle hand on my shoulder.

“This is Natalie,” she said. “Your sister.”

I looked up at Jennifer, trying to smile despite the knot in my stomach.

“Welcome back, sis,” I said quietly.

Jennifer blinked in shock.
“Nathan?”

I shook my head and sighed.
“No... I’m Natalie now.”

She let out a surprised giggle.
“How’d you become a little girl?”

“Long story,” I muttered. “I’ll explain in the car.”

We turned and started walking toward the airport exit.

Jennifer kept glancing at me, still trying to wrap her head around everything. Mom stayed silent, and I appreciated that. I didn’t need more attention.

Then we rounded the corner.

That’s when Jennifer froze.

“Look—over there!” she cried, pointing.

Mom and I both turned.

A woman was struggling near the edge of the sidewalk. Three... people—or something close to people—were grabbing at her. Their skin was pale and sickly, their eyes sunken and wild.

Before any of us could react, one of them lunged—and took a huge bite out of her arm.

“Oh my God,” Jennifer whispered.

Mom dropped her purse, her face frozen in horror. Her hand flew to her mouth as she nearly screamed.

I stood frozen, the air suddenly feeling thick and wrong.

The woman screamed... but it didn’t last long.“What do you mean? I’m not a girl!” I cried softly. He’s crazy. I’ve got to get out of here, I thought to myself.

Doctor Wheeler sat at a small table across the room.
“We have the lab results,” he said calmly. “They show you’re now a girl.”

He held up a sheet of paper. I didn’t even want to look at it. My heart was racing. I nervously twisted my new long hair around my finger without realizing it.

“If you don’t mind, we’d like to run a few more tests,” he added, getting up from his seat.

“Well, they’re wrong,” I said quickly. “I feel smaller, yeah, but I’m still a boy.”

I glanced toward a mirror in the room and stared at my reflection. My baggy clothes were practically falling off me. I had to hold them up with both hands just to keep from flashing the room.

“I’ll go set up the tests…” Dr. Wheeler started.

“But, Doctor... I’m scared.” My voice shook. I felt like I was about to cry again. My hand reached for my hair and started twirling it again—almost like a reflex.

He gave me a soft look.
“I love your long blonde hair, Nathan... or should I say, Natalie?”

“Um, I need other clothes,” I muttered, glancing down. “These are falling off me. I can’t even see my feet.”

“The only things we have in your size are these cute Hello Kitty pajamas,” he said, holding them up.

I stared at them in disbelief.
“Aren’t those for a girl?”

He raised an eyebrow.
“Natalie... you are a girl,” he said with a small chuckle.

“But—but no, I’m not,” I whimpered.

He didn’t argue. He simply held out the clothes—and a small bundle underneath.

“You’ll need these too,” he said, handing me a pair of pink panties. “You don’t want to be walking around without underwear, do you?”

I hesitated, trembling.
“I still don’t believe I’m a girl...”

“You will,” he said, almost too calmly. “When you put those on.”

I reached out with shaking hands to take the clothes—and that’s when my pants and underwear slid to the floor.

Dr. Wheeler respectfully turned away while I quickly changed. I didn’t want to look, but... when I slipped the panties on, I had to look. And what I saw made my stomach twist.

I didn’t just feel different.

I was different.

“There you go, young lady,” he said gently.

“Doctor... I feel so small now,” I whispered. “How old are girls who wear clothes like these?”

He smiled slightly.

“The pajamas you’re wearing? They’re made for five to seven-year-olds.”

“What? Really?!” I gasped, pouting as I sat down on the bed. “I feel like I need to lie down... I feel dizzy.”

Dr. Wheeler helped me onto the bed, tucking the blanket around me.

I lay there quietly as my mind ran in a thousand directions at once.
What’s my girlfriend going to think? What’s going to happen to me?
Tears filled my eyes again. I didn’t even fight them.

Eventually, I closed my eyes.

I don’t know how long I was out. But when I opened my eyes again, the room was quiet.

“I can’t stay here,” I whispered. “I need to get out of here.”

I climbed off the bed and noticed how tiny my feet were now. Even the tiles on the floor seemed... bigger.

“This is insane.”

I opened the door slowly and peeked into the hallway. It was clear. I slipped out, moving as casually as I could.

“Dang... I can’t walk home in a girl’s nightgown. I’d stand out like crazy. I need other clothes.”

I heard footsteps coming from around the corner. Panicked, I ducked into the nearest hospital room. A nurse passed by, pushing a wheelchair down the hall, not noticing me.

Inside the room, I spotted a small bag near the bed—left behind, maybe? Just as I reached for it, another nurse stepped in.

My heart jumped. I’m caught!

But she didn’t say anything. She just kept walking, heading toward the nurses’ station.

I opened the bag quickly and pulled out the clothes. I didn’t even realize until after I’d put them on...

I was wearing a skirt.

“Ugh,” I groaned. But I wasn’t about to risk changing again.

I stepped back out into the hallway, trying to walk like nothing was wrong.

I spotted Dr. Wheeler in the hallway ahead—but luckily, he didn’t notice me. He looked too focused on whatever was on his clipboard.

I was almost to the hospital exit when I saw her.

Mom.

She was walking down the hall toward me.

I instinctively crossed my legs and turned quickly, heading into the nearest door—the women’s restroom.

I peeked back as I went in. Mom hadn’t reacted. She didn’t recognize me.

“What a cutie,” she said softly as she walked by.

Inside the bathroom, I caught my reflection in the mirror—and froze.

I looked... like her.

Like my mom when she was a kid.

I’d seen the old pictures. The resemblance was terrifying. And for some reason, I started to giggle.

Then the door opened.

A nurse walked in.

Panicked, I slipped into the nearest stall and lifted my feet so she wouldn’t see them under the door.

She checked each stall quickly, then left.

I let out a long sigh of relief... only for the door to open again.

“Oh crap.”

It was Mom.

She stared down at me.

“Nathan?” she asked.

I froze.

“Who?” I said, my voice squeaking slightly.

The same nurse returned a moment later.

“There you are, Natalie,” she said, clearly annoyed. “We’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Natalie?” Mom repeated, eyes widening. “Is that what you go by now?”

I couldn’t even look at her.

“Yes,” I whispered, tears forming again.

The nurse gently took my hand.

“Come on, Natalie. Doctor Wheeler needs to run a few more tests.”

The nurse led me back to the room I’d escaped from earlier. Mom followed, carrying the Hello Kitty bag and looking more amused than concerned.

Dr. Wheeler was waiting for us, flipping through his clipboard with a furrowed brow.

“Ah, there you are, Natalie,” he said. “Before you go anywhere, we need to run a few more tests. Your condition is... unprecedented. The rapid regression, the chromosome shift—it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.”

“So I’m a medical freak now?” I muttered under my breath.

“You're not a freak,” he replied gently. “You’re part of something we don’t fully understand yet. That’s why I’d like to keep you here, at least overnight. For observation. Maybe even longer.”

Mom crossed her arms.

“No, she’s coming home.”

Dr. Wheeler blinked. “I don’t think you understand, ma’am. Your child is undergoing a complete biological transformation. Physically, hormonally, genetically—even developmentally. We’re watching a teenage boy become a six-year-old girl in real time. This isn’t just rare—it’s medically historic.”

“And yet,” Mom said calmly, “she’s not a science project. She’s my daughter. I’m taking her home.”

“Mrs. Russell, with all due respect, you could be putting her at risk. If the transformation isn’t stable, we don’t know what could happen next. Organs could fail. Brain function might—”

“She’s fine,” Mom cut him off. **“She’s walking, talking, and fussy about booster seats. Sounds pretty stable to me.” She reached for my hand and squeezed it. “Let’s go, sweetie.”

I hesitated, looking between them.

“Natalie,” Dr. Wheeler said softly, “please—just let us monitor you. This isn't something that can be reversed, but it can get dangerous if we don't understand what’s happening inside your body.”

Mom opened the door.

“You’ve done your tests. We’re done here.”

As we walked out of the hospital, Mom held my hand. My fingers looked ridiculously tiny in hers now.

“So the doctor told me you’re as young as a six-year-old,” she said like she was talking about the weather.

“A six-year-old?” I whined.

“Yep,” she laughed. “And because of that, he gave me a booster seat for you to sit in while we’re in the car.”

When we got to the car, she opened the back door and clicked the booster seat into place like it was no big deal. I just stood there sulking.

“Why can’t I just sit in a regular seat?”

“It’s the law in this state,” she said matter-of-factly. “Booster seat until you're taller. Now come on—we’ve got to get to the airport to pick up Jennifer.”

“Oh great, Jennifer,” I thought miserably.
Just what I need. My sister seeing me like this.

“But Mom!” I cried as we headed into the mall at the airport.

“No butts!” Mom snapped. “It’s dresses and skirts—no pants.”

Tears welled up in my eyes as we stepped through the automatic doors. My heart was pounding.

“Your sister won’t be here for a few more minutes,” Mom said. “So this gives us plenty of time to find a dress for you to wear when we see her.”

We walked into a store called Just Girls. I felt a rush of anger in my chest. As we crossed the threshold, I glanced down and saw a picture of a cartoon clubhouse painted on the floor, with a sign that read:

Girls Only – No Boys Allowed!
“Just Girls?” I thought bitterly.
Good luck finding pants now.

The store was packed with cute clothes—racks of pinks and purples, glittery things, frilly things, puffy things. There was even a sign above one display that said:

Why wear pants?
“Fantastic,” I muttered under my breath. “This sucks.”

A saleslady noticed us almost immediately and came bouncing over with a smile that was way too excited.

“What a cute little girl! How old are you, sweetheart?”

“She’s six,” Mom said quickly, smiling down at me.

I looked away. I hadn’t even realized I was still holding her hand like some toddler—and worse, I was staring at a dress.

“Do you like that dress?” the saleslady asked gently. “I noticed you kept staring at it.”

“Um, no. I wasn’t staring at it,” I lied. “Just looking around the store.”

Mom leaned over and whispered something to the saleslady. I couldn’t hear what she said, but they both looked at the dress I had just denied liking.

The saleslady nodded.

“Come on, Natalie,” Mom said brightly. “Let’s look for more clothes. You pick what you want to try on… and I’ll decide what you actually wear.”

We made it to the gate just in time to see Jennifer.

I was wearing the new dress—the one I had been staring at earlier. I hadn’t expected Mom to actually buy it. But here I was… in it.

As we walked toward the arrivals area, I saw Jennifer in the crowd. I lowered my head and gripped Mom’s hand tightly, like a little kid hiding behind her.

Jennifer spotted us and came running.

“Hi, Mom!” she said, wrapping her arms around her.

Then she looked down at me.

“Who’s the little girl?” she asked with a confused smile.

Mom smiled and placed a gentle hand on my shoulder.

“This is Natalie,” she said. “Your sister.”

I looked up at Jennifer, trying to smile despite the knot in my stomach.

“Welcome back, sis,” I said quietly.

Jennifer blinked in shock.
“Nathan?”

I shook my head and sighed.
“No... I’m Natalie now.”

She let out a surprised giggle.
“How’d you become a little girl?”

“Long story,” I muttered. “I’ll explain in the car.”

We turned and started walking toward the airport exit.

Jennifer kept glancing at me, still trying to wrap her head around everything. Mom stayed silent, and I appreciated that. I didn’t need more attention.

Then we rounded the corner.

That’s when Jennifer froze.

“Look—over there!” she cried, pointing.

Mom and I both turned.

A woman was struggling near the edge of the sidewalk. Three... people—or something close to people—were grabbing at her. Their skin was pale and sickly, their eyes sunken and wild.

Before any of us could react, one of them lunged—and took a huge bite out of her arm.

“Oh my God,” Jennifer whispered.

Mom dropped her purse, her face frozen in horror. Her hand flew to her mouth as she nearly screamed.

I stood frozen, the air suddenly feeling thick and wrong.

The woman screamed... but it didn’t last long.

“Holy shit, did you see that?!” I yelled—but no one said anything. We were all frozen, watching one of those weird people sink their teeth into a woman’s throat as blood sprayed everywhere.

“Look at the others—they’re biting her too,” I said, eyes wide. The woman’s screams died in her throat as she collapsed, and the group just piled on her. There was blood everywhere.

We stood there in stunned silence, staring.
“This is crazy,” I muttered. “I feel like we’re in The Walking Dead.”

I turned to look at Mom and Jen. Their hands were clamped over their mouths in horror, their eyes glued to the chaos unfolding just yards away.

Then I spotted another attack—just ten feet from us. One of them—a woman this time—grabbed an older lady and bit into her neck. Blood burst out again, veins tearing open like something out of a nightmare.

We all started backing away slowly, heading toward the store next to the restrooms.

That’s when we saw the security guard.

He was lying in a pool of blood, head beaten in like someone had smashed it with a brick. His face was twisted in death—but next to him, glinting under the flickering mall lights, was a pistol in his holster.

“Mom, this is insane. But on The Walking Dead, they shoot the zombies in the head and they go down. That guard looks nasty, but he has a gun—and a backup one around his ankle, just like on TV.”

Mom stared in shock. “I have no idea how to shoot a gun…”

I looked at her. Jen looked at her. They looked more terrified than I felt—and I wasn’t going to tell them that I almost peed myself when I saw the first woman get eaten.

Suddenly, Jen screamed.

“Mom—those two! They’re looking at us! They’re coming this way!”

We turned and saw two of the things lumbering toward us, blood on their faces.

“What do we do?” Jen asked, frozen.

I looked at Mom—but she still wasn’t saying anything. Her hands were back over her mouth, as if shock had taken full control.

“Jen! You're closest—grab the guard’s gun! Aim at the zombie and pull the trigger!”

Jen didn’t hesitate. She dropped to her knees, pulled the pistol from the holster, and aimed it at the closest zombie.

BANG!

The shot hit its chest—but it kept coming.

Jen turned to look at me, panic in her eyes.

“The head!” I shouted. “Shoot the head! That’s what kills them!”

Still silent, Jen adjusted her grip, braced with both hands, and aimed again.

BANG!

The shot hit. The zombie crumpled to the floor.

“Excellent shot, Jen! Now shoot the other one—I’ll get the backup pistol from the ankle!”

I ran to the guard. It was harder than I thought to get the ankle holster undone—everything was soaked in blood—but I finally got the gun loose and sprinted back.

Mom stared at me, eyes wide.

“Natalie… you're only six years old. You shouldn’t be holding a gun.”

I looked at her like she was the crazy one.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Mom. Before I got turned into a six-year-old girl, I used to shoot paintball wars with my buddies. I was good, okay? But these things,” I said, holding up the gun, “are way heavier now than when I was a sixteen-year-old boy.”

Mom looked at me helplessly.

“I’ve never shot a gun in my life. Never even held one,” she admitted, still staring at the small pistol in my hands.

BANG! BANG!

Jen fired two shots and dropped another zombie.

“Good shot, Jen,” I said, catching my breath. “But remember—try to go for one shot, one kill. This isn’t a video game. We can run out of ammo.”

Jen looked at me—and her eyes suddenly widened.

I turned, just in time to hear Mom scream.

A zombie had grabbed her by the shoulder, dragging her backward as it leaned in—its blood-covered mouth aiming for her neck.

“Mom!”

I didn’t hesitate. I raised the pistol, stepped in close, and shoved the barrel under the zombie’s chin.

BANG!

Blood exploded out the top of its head. My arm and side were instantly soaked—thick red splatter, chunks of brain, and something that looked way too much like spaghetti all over me.

“Ugh... freaking disgusting,” I muttered.

“Great shot, Natalie!” Jen gasped. “You saved Mom!”

I turned to her, and for a second, I thought Mom was screaming again—except… no sound was coming out. Her mouth was open, her face twisted in shock, and blood was dripping down her cheeks.

She was completely silent. Covered in gore. Shaking.

A hand landed on my shoulder—I spun, ready to swing, but it was Jen.

“Man, you scared the crap out of me!” I exhaled.

She grinned.
“Oh, don’t be such a drama queen.”

I narrowed my eyes at her smug smile.
“I am not a drama queen!”

Jen just laughed.

“Mom, are you okay?” I asked. “Remember, I saved your life the next time you wanna ground me… or spank me.”

Mom finally let out a laugh—loud, hysterical, and maybe just a little unhinged. Then she pulled both of us into a tight hug.

“Thank you,” she whispered, holding us close. “Thank you, sweetie. You saved my life. But—there are way too many of them. We need to get out of here.”

Right then, a loud crash shattered the moment.

We turned around—and saw them.

Over a hundred zombies—maybe more—pushing their way through the airport's glass wall. Shattered doors, broken panels, and slow, groaning figures spilling in like a flood.

“We need to go—and we need to go now! RUN!” Mom screamed.

We bolted in the opposite direction, feet slapping the floor, heart pounding in my chest like a war drum.

“Mom, where are we running to?” Jen called breathlessly. “There are zombies everywhere! The only good thing is they’re so sluggish.”

Mom kept looking around frantically, not answering at first.

“I don’t know where to go,” she finally shouted. “All I know is I don’t want to be anywhere near those things!”

“We know we can kill them,” I said, gasping for air, “but we’ll run out of bullets eventually. I think we should head to a sporting goods store. We could grab more ammo—maybe other weapons too.”

Jen gave me a skeptical look.
“Why the hell would an airport have a sporting goods store—or bullets?”

“Well,” I said, pointing ahead, “I know for a fact they have a sporting goods section in Pawxie. They’ve got everything—camping gear, survival tools, ammo. We’re heading the right way.”

Mom and Jen both looked at me, surprised.

I shrugged.
“Hey, being a sixteen-year-old boy had its perks. I pay attention to that kind of stuff.”

I could see my 14-year-old sister staring at me.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea. I’ll stay in front like I am now, you turn and watch our backs, and since Mom seems kind of out of it, she’ll go in the middle. Okay?”

“Sounds good,” I replied.

Just as Jennifer turned to make eye contact with me, her foot caught on something—one of the dead zombies or maybe just a slick puddle of blood. She slipped hard, falling to the floor with a yelp.

“Jen! Are you okay?” I rushed toward her.

She grabbed onto Mom for support. I tried to help too, but I was way too small now to hold her up on my own.

Jen leaned up against Mom, wincing in pain. Her ankle was swelling fast—twisted or sprained, for sure.

“Jen, keep your shooting arm ready in case we’re surprised. I’ll take the lead now, and you cover the rear. Okay?”

She nodded, biting her lip. “Okay. I’m fine… just don’t leave me behind to get eaten by these crazy-looking zombies.” Her voice cracked. She was crying, trying to hide it, but I could tell.

“Just another hundred feet,” I said. “We’re almost there. Stay close to the wall, so we only have to watch the front. Jen, do you think you can make it to Pawxie? Look—you can see the entrance now.”

She looked up through teary eyes and nodded quickly.

“Yes—yes, I can. But don’t leave me.”

Mom and Jen leaned into each other for support. I knew it: if one of us got hurt any worse, we were screwed.

We turned a corner and spotted a security guard slumped against the wall. He was clearly dead—covered in blood, his body twisted under a control cabinet.

No weapons.

But... there was a key hanging from the cabinet above him.

“Hey! Do you see that security guard over there?” I pointed. “It looks like he was trying to activate the gate controls—like the ones that drop the metal barriers when the store closes. If we can get those gates down, we’ll be sealed inside Pawxie. We’d be safe.”

“But there are zombies already inside Pawxie,” Jen pointed out.

Mom looked from me to Jen, then back again.

She nodded once, determined. “Natalie’s right. If we can lock the gates, at least no more zombies can get in. Then we just have to deal with the ones inside. I’ll carry your sister—you’re the only one small and fast enough to get to that key and figure it out.”

“Okay. I’ve got it. Like I have a choice.”

We pushed inside Pawxie.

I ran ahead while Mom helped Jen limp through the shattered glass doors.

The control panel was right where the guard had died, the key dangling. I grabbed it and stared at the stainless steel panel.

Dozens of switches. Letters. Dials. My heart was pounding—I didn’t know what I was doing, and the zombies were getting closer.

Then I saw it:
CODE ADAM

I turned the dial.

Red lights started flashing. A loud clang echoed as steel gates began to descend from the ceiling, sealing the windows and doors one by one.

A voice crackled over the loudspeakers:

“This is a Code Adam. There is a missing child in the store. All entrances are being secured. Police have been notified. Please remain calm.”
I turned back to see Mom and Jen catching their breath as the last of the gates slammed shut behind us. The zombies outside reached the metal barrier and began clawing and slamming against it, growling and groaning. But they couldn’t get in.

We were safe—for now.

“How did you do that, Natalie?” Mom and Jen asked in unison.

Mom helped Jen gently to the floor as they both looked at me in awe.

I wiped sweat (and probably zombie guts) from my forehead and tried to stay calm.

“Back in high school, the police came to talk to us about a kid who got kidnapped in a department store. They told us about Code Adam—how it locks the place down immediately. When I saw the label on the switch, I just turned it and got lucky.”

BANG! BANG!

Mom and I turned around—Jen had her smoking gun aimed at a zombie that had been right behind me. I watched as it collapsed to the floor.

“Thanks, Jen,” I said, heart pounding. “Guess we can never let our guard down. The second we stop to take a breath, we almost get killed.”

“Let’s head to the sporting goods department—grab more bullets while we still can.”

We started moving slowly toward the "Camping" sign overhead. Blood and guts coated the floor, and a still-alive zombie—well, partially alive—was dragging itself along with its one remaining arm, growling as we passed.

“Ugh, that’s seriously gross,” Jen muttered. “It’s bad enough these things kill you, but they mess up your hair and make you look hideous while they do it.”

I glanced at her… then at Mom.

We both burst out laughing.

“Are you okay, Jen?” I asked, chuckling. “These zombies are literally eating people alive, and you’re worried about your hair?”

Mom giggled too, shaking her head.

“Well at least I’m not naked,” Jen added. “I mean—wouldn’t that be the worst? Turning into a zombie naked? Like, is there anything worse than that?”

I looked at her, raising an eyebrow.
“You’re right. I should totally get my hair done and my nails done before I’m bitten. That way, I’ll be a pretty zombie—with my head bitten off and flawless nails.”

Mom rolled her eyes, laughing as she shook her head.

“Yeah, well, Natalie,” she said, “we’re going through the girls’ department now.”

“What? Didn’t we just go shopping for me earlier?” I groaned, eyeing racks of dresses as we passed.

I turned around and saw Mom holding a little dress up behind me.

“This would look so cute on you, sweetheart,” she said.

I groaned.
“Seriously, Mom? One minute you’re speechless in shock, and the next you’re playing fashion show?”

BANG!

Mom and I spun around.

Jen had just shot another zombie. And Mom? She went right back to flipping through the dresses.

“Mom!” I said. “Are you serious? We could get swarmed at any second—” I paused, catching a glimpse of a sparkly blue dress.
“Ooh, that’s actually pretty...” I muttered, before shaking my head to get my mind back on track. “Wait, no! We’re surrounded by zombies and you’re shopping!?”

BANG!

Another shot. Another zombie down.

Jen gave us a look. “Okay girls, let’s get out of here.”

We started moving—but just then, Mom screamed.

Several zombies had grabbed her from behind.

Jen and I turned simultaneously and fired. The zombies collapsed on top of Mom.

“Go—save yourselves!” she shouted. “I’m done for!”

The dead ones toppled over her, and even more began climbing over the pile. I couldn’t even see her anymore.

Jen grabbed my arm. “We better run, Natalie!”

I nodded, tears burning my eyes.

“I’m coming. You watch the front—I’ll cover the back.”

BANG! BANG!

I dropped a zombie who looked like she was having the worst hair day of all time, covered in blood—hers or someone else’s.

We pushed forward, running full blast toward the sporting goods department. When we got there, we ducked behind the counter.

The wall was packed with rifles, shotguns, and every kind of weapon imaginable. Boxes of bullets were stacked behind the counter.

“Look, Natalie—you were right! They’ve got tons of ammo,” Jen said, kneeling down beside me.

She started opening boxes, her hands moving quickly.

“Why would an airport have this much ammo anyway?” she muttered. “There are all these different sizes—how do we know which ones we need?”

I stared at the labels, overwhelmed. “I’m... not even sure.”

“Don’t worry—I figured it out.” She started loading her gun. “Here—take these,” she said, sliding a box toward me.

I opened it up and checked my pistol. There was only one bullet left inside. I started reloading.

“Wow, sis—I was down to my last shot.”

Jen peeked over the counter. “I don’t see any more zombies. Maybe we got them all…”

I joined her, loading up as I talked. “Maybe. I still can’t believe Mom’s... gone.”

I heard Jen sniffle softly beside me.

“No, sis,” I said quickly. “Don’t cry. Not here. Not now. On TV, sound attracts zombies. We cry later—when we’re safe.”

She nodded, wiping her eyes.

Then I noticed her looking over at the semi-automatic rifles on the wall.

“Hey, little sis... you ever shoot one of these before?” she asked.

“Nope. Never shot a real gun before today. Only paintball guns. But hey—how hard can it be?”

She winced, rubbing her ankle.

I slowly stood up and spotted a few more zombies staggering toward us.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Jen had grabbed a semi-auto and fired.

“Wow, that was awesome! Did you see that?” she laughed.

I looked at the zombie still crawling toward us, slower now.

“You shot him in the balls, Jen.” I blinked. “What the heck was that? You need to hit the head!”

Jen grinned.
“Please. He’s not a ‘he’ anymore—he’s an ‘it’. No balls, no dick—no baby-making ever again.”

I cracked up. “You’re so messed up.”

Jen raised the rifle again and fired one clean shot between the eyes.

“Headshot.” The zombie dropped. We both laughed.

Until we heard growling.

Lots of it.

We turned.

They were right on top of us.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

I ducked and covered my ears as Jennifer blew away another wave of zombies with that semi-auto rifle. Bodies dropped like sacks of meat, one after another.

I peeked out from behind the counter.

Dang. My little pistol wouldn’t have even made a dent in that mess.

I let out a pouty sigh.

“Hey,” Jen said between breaths, “I’ve got an idea. Why don’t we try calling 911? Tell them we’re trapped in Pawxie and can’t get out because of all the zombies?”

Hearing her say that made something twist in my chest.

Is the whole world like this… or just Mantri, Kansas?

“That’s a splendid idea, Jen,” I said, suddenly hopeful. “Do you still have your phone?”

She reached into her purse and pulled it out, waving it like a trophy.

“Got it right here.”

“Okay, I’ll stand guard while you call.”

I crouched next to the counter, eyes scanning left and right—my tiny hands gripping the pistol tighter than ever.

I could hear the faint ringing from her phone, echoing in the silence. It was eerily quiet now, except for that hollow sound.

“No one’s answering,” Jen muttered, her smile fading. “That’s… not a good sign.”

I swallowed hard.

“Maybe… maybe if we can get to the roof, we’ll get better reception. Maybe even reach someone on the outside.”

Jen perked up. “Yeah! That’s actually a great idea, Natalie.”

I nodded. “I remember when we passed through the kids’ area earlier, there was this maintenance closet open. It had a metal ladder inside—I bet it leads to the roof.”

She started loading more ammo into her purse.

I stared at it.
“You’ve gotta be kidding, sis. That thing is tiny. You’re trying to survive the apocalypse with a purse the size of a sandwich?”

Jen rolled her eyes, then looked around.

She picked up a bright pink backpack from behind the counter, holding it up with a grin. It had Hello Kitty’s face plastered across the front.

“Here—this’ll hold more. Plus, it matches your dress. You’ll be the most stylish little zombie hunter in Kansas.”

“Oh great,” I said, taking the backpack reluctantly. “I always dreamed of taking down the undead in a pastel glitter nightmare.”

Still, I stuffed a handful of bullets inside. No point in arguing with logic—ugly logic.

Jen found one for herself too—this one had glittery princess crowns on it. She shrugged and slung it over her shoulder like it was nothing.

“You ready, Natalie?” she asked.

I nodded, strapping the backpack on tight.

“I’m ready. I’ll watch our backs so none of those things sneak up on us.”

We started walking slowly through the store—silent, careful, like a pair of mini Special Forces. Except instead of camo and night vision goggles, we wore floral dresses, one of us limping, and both of us rocking cartoon backpacks loaded with ammunition.

No one ever told me survival would be this… adorable.

We moved like shadows across the tile, avoiding broken glass and blood puddles as best we could. Every squeak of a shoe, every creak of a display rack made my stomach twist. Our eyes scanned every dark aisle, every doorway, every shelf.

Up ahead, I spotted the open closet.

The ladder was still there, bolted to the back wall, stretching up into a dark shaft that probably led to the roof access hatch.

And just as I reached for the ladder—

a faint groan came from behind the mannequins.

A few minutes later, we made our way quietly through the kids' area. The mannequins loomed like frozen people in the dark, and the toy displays were eerie in the flickering emergency lights.

Jen stopped in front of a supply closet tucked between the changing rooms and the stuffed animal aisle.

“Okay,” she whispered. “I think this is it, Natalie. Looks like the coast is clear. You go up first.”

I nodded. “Got it. But come right behind me. I’ll shut the door behind us—zombies can’t open it, and if we need to come back down, we’ll know the area’s still clean.”

The closet was dimly lit, but I could see the metal ladder bolted straight to the wall, stretching up to a ceiling hatch.

I started climbing.

Clink. Clink. Clink. Each step echoed louder than I expected. I looked down—and saw Jen smirking up at me.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

“I can see up your dress,” she giggled.

I groaned. “Seriously?”

“Now I really understand why boys always tried to look up girls’ skirts,” she said, laughing. “How’s it feel having someone sneak a peek now that you’re the girl?”

I ignored her. My face was hot.

At the top of the ladder, I reached the hatch and gave it a hard push. It creaked open, revealing the night sky.

It was dark, but the glow of the airport lights still spilled across the roof, giving us enough visibility to move around. A light breeze brushed against my face as I climbed up and pulled myself onto the rooftop.

I scanned the area—empty. Silent.

“Okay, Jen,” I called softly. “It seems safe up here.”

She climbed up behind me, and we stood together under the hazy night sky.

“I’m gonna try 911 again,” Jen said, pulling out her phone with a serious look.

I grinned. “Need the number for that?”

We both burst out laughing—because yeah, what else can you do at this point?

Her phone started ringing. And ringing. And ringing.

No answer.

Just like before.

She sighed. “It’s hopeless. No one’s picking up. Not even dispatch.”

I looked around the vast rooftop, my stomach rumbling.

“Well,” Jen said, slinging her backpack over her shoulder, “we’re only a few stores down from McDonald’s. Think we can find the roof access and climb down? I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

I smoothed out my dress and giggled. “You bet I am. I could eat a horse—well, y’know, not a zombie horse.”

We both laughed again. It felt good, even if it was a little forced.

We crept across the rooftops, peering into rooftop hatches as we went. A few were locked, others too rusted to open. But then—we struck gold.

Jen yanked open a hatch, and inside we saw a metal ladder leading down… and crates labeled McDonald’s all over the storage room below.

“Jackpot,” Jen whispered. “Let’s hope and pray they’ve got something edible left.”

She climbed down first, her rifle swinging behind her. I followed, closing the hatch gently behind me.

As I descended, I couldn’t help myself—I started giggling.

“Why are you giggling?” Jen asked from below.

I smirked. “Well… we’re on another ladder. You’re under me. I’m just saying—you can probably see my panties again.”

Jen looked up, rolled her eyes, and groaned.
“You are so weird.”

I grinned.
“You started it.”

Jen slowly turned the doorknob, and I raised my rifle, aiming into the darkness ahead of us. The air was cold, still. We stepped into the back of McDonald’s, and Jen’s hand reached toward the wall.

Click.

A harsh fluorescent light flickered on overhead.

“Oh crap,” I whispered. “There’s a dead zombie on the floor. Hole in the head. Yuck.”

“That’s not funny, Natalie,” Jen muttered.

We both scanned the room—storage boxes, frozen fry cartons, an overturned mop bucket—but no signs of life. Or… undeath.

“I wonder how this one got taken out?” I asked, stepping around the motionless corpse. “I don’t see anyone else around.”

We kept moving cautiously through the kitchen and into the dining area. Booths, wrappers, chairs—all empty. It was like time just… stopped.

After confirming the place was clear, I dropped into a booth seat and sighed, setting my rifle on the table. My little legs swung slightly off the bench as I propped them up and leaned back.

For a moment, it felt almost normal.

But then—

“Natalie, wake up!”

My eyes shot open. Jen was aiming her gun toward a shadow moving across the far wall. I grabbed mine, heart thudding, but the shape stepped into view.

“Girls, don’t shoot me!” the voice called out. “I’m your mother, after all.”

The second we heard her voice, both Jen and I knew she wasn’t a zombie.

Her hair still looked nice.

No zombie had good hair.

We rushed her in unison, throwing our arms around her like we never thought we’d get the chance again.

“Mom!” I cried. “What happened? We thought you were gone—zombies were all over you!”

She hugged us back tightly. “It’s okay. They must’ve knocked me out when they fell on me. But you two… you shot them. None of them bit me. I woke up and started looking for you. I saw the closet door closed and figured you’d gone up. I had to shoot my way to it, but I didn’t want to bring any of those things with me.”

Jen and I kept hugging her as she told her story, almost not believing our luck.

“Another Hollywood moment,” I muttered. “Unbelievable.”

Mom chuckled softly, brushing hair from my face.

“I’m starving,” she said. “And I figure since you two came here in the first place, you must be too. Let me cook up a little something. You girls rest for a bit.”

Jen and I exchanged tired smiles.

“Thanks, Mom,” we said in unison.

I returned to the same booth and sat back down, placing my rifle on the table again. Jen sat across from me, her weapon beside her too.

I stuck my tongue out at her.

She smiled back, sticking hers out too.

“This may take a while,” Mom called from the kitchen. “So just take a nap. I’ll wake you when dinner’s ready, girls.”

I nodded and leaned back.

And soon, I was out cold.

“Mom, can you hear little Natalie?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “She must be exhausted. Listen to those cute little snores.”

Jen grinned, resting her chin on her arms as she watched me sleep.

“Doesn’t she look like the cutesiest thing lying there?”

Mom smiled and nodded. For a moment, the horror outside the walls didn’t matter.

But peace doesn’t last forever.

I twitched in my sleep—murmuring, then crying. A quiet sob escaped me, followed by a soft whimper.

Mom was instantly by my side, cradling me as I sat up.

“Please don’t cry,” she said gently, brushing hair from my tear-soaked cheek.

“I’m scared,” I whimpered. “I’m scared the zombies are gonna find us.”

“You don’t have to worry, sweetheart,” she whispered. “I checked the doors. They’re locked tight. We’re safe in here.”

I clung to her.

“I don’t think I can sleep anymore. Could you... could you sing to me?”

She hesitated.

“Natalie, try to rest, okay?”

“Please, Mom. Just once.”

She pulled me in tighter and began to hum.

And then, her voice filled the empty restaurant. Soft. Warm. Safe.

When I was just a little girl,
I asked my mother, What will I be?
Will I be pretty? Will I be rich?
Here's what she said to me...
Que sera, sera
Whatever will be, will be
The future's not ours to see
Que sera, sera
What will be, will be...
I closed my eyes, her voice wrapping around me like a blanket.

And for a little while, there were no zombies. No guns. No blood.

Just Mom.

Just as Mom’s song faded into the soft hum of the overhead lights, I heard a distant thud.

I sat up quickly, eyes darting toward the doors. Jen’s head lifted too, and I could see that instant tension in her body—the kind you don’t shake off after what we’ve seen.

“What was that?” I whispered.

“Probably just the building settling,” Mom said quietly, but her eyes were scanning the same shadows mine were. Her hand instinctively moved toward her pistol on the counter.

Jen stood up slowly, careful not to make a sound. She peeked out from the booth’s edge.

Thump.

Louder this time.

Coming from the back.

From the freezer.

I reached for my rifle and slid off the bench.

“Maybe a rat knocked something over?” I offered, half-hoping it was true.

Jen shook her head. “That didn’t sound like a rat. That sounded like a person.”

Mom moved closer to us and whispered, “Stay behind me.”

We crept toward the kitchen area, the soft glow of the fryer lights casting long, stretched shadows along the tiled floor.

Thunk.

Another hit.

This time it was clear—it was coming from inside the walk-in freezer.

I felt a chill crawl up my back. And it wasn’t from the cold air.

The three of us stood outside the heavy metal door. Jen raised her rifle. Mom gripped the handle with one hand, her other hovering over her pistol.

She glanced at us.

“Ready?”

Jen and I both nodded.

Mom opened the door fast, stepping to the side. Jen pointed her rifle inside.

Nothing.

Just stacked boxes of burger patties and bags of frozen fries.

Then—

A small knock. Once.

Not from inside the freezer.

But from behind us.

We all turned at once, guns raised.

There was no one there.

The swinging kitchen doors were still. The restaurant was silent.

Jen turned pale. “I… I swear I just heard knocking.”

Mom exhaled slowly, lowering her weapon.

“Maybe it was just the freezer expanding or something.”

But I wasn’t so sure.

Because on the floor, right where we’d been sitting, was my rifle.

Exactly where I’d just put it down.

Only now it was facing the other direction.

I froze.

The rifle on the floor was facing the wrong direction—pointed toward the window instead of the table.

I hadn’t left it that way.

Jen slowly approached it, eyes wide, like she thought it might grow teeth and lunge at her.

“Did… did either of you move my gun?” I asked, barely above a whisper.

“No,” Mom said immediately. “I haven’t left the kitchen.”

“I’ve been watching you sleep,” Jen added, her voice shaking just a little. “I didn’t move it either.”

A heavy silence dropped over us like a blanket.

Thunk.

Another sound. Softer this time. A metallic scrape. It came from somewhere above—like something brushing the vents overhead.

Mom turned and scanned the ceiling. “Maybe a bird got stuck in the ductwork?”

Jen slowly knelt beside the rifle, picked it up, and placed it carefully on the table.

“Yeah,” she said. “Maybe. Or maybe this place is just… messing with us.”

I sat back down, hugging my Hello Kitty backpack against my chest. I didn’t say anything. But I noticed something else.

The ketchup packets on the table we hadn’t touched?

They were in a different spot now.

Stacked neatly.

I hadn’t seen them like that before.

Mom brought over three small paper trays filled with warm fries and what looked like microwave-warmed nuggets. It smelled amazing.

“Here,” she said. “Eat something. Might help us calm down.”

We didn’t argue.

We sat and munched quietly, eyes glancing every few seconds at the windows, the kitchen door, the ceiling. Everything.

Halfway through my fries, I stopped and looked at the security cameras hanging in the corner of the ceiling.

One of them was turning.

Very slowly.

And then it stopped.

“Uh… was that camera moving?” I pointed.

Mom and Jen both looked.

“Maybe it’s motion-activated,” Mom offered.

“Yeah, but…” I trailed off. “What power’s still running that? The whole system should’ve gone out by now, right?”

Jen nodded slowly. “This place is running on backup power. It shouldn’t be enough for surveillance rotation.”

And then, as if on cue—

The monitor in the kitchen lit up.

No one had touched it.

The flickering black-and-white feed showed a view from the camera by the entrance.

A still frame.

A figure standing at the front glass doors.

Not a zombie.

A person.

Or… something shaped like one.

No movement. Just standing. Staring.

“Is… is that someone?” Jen whispered, rising halfway out of her seat.

Mom squinted at the screen. “I don’t know. I think it’s just a shadow or—”

And then the figure on the screen slowly turned its head toward the camera.

We all stared.

The monitor flickered again.

The grainy black-and-white image cleared up, and the figure at the front of the store became sharper—more distinct.

“Wait…” Mom leaned closer. “Is that—?”

“It’s a zombie, in a security guard uniform,” Jen said, her voice shifting from fear to confusion. “That’s… just a regular infected.”

I squinted at the screen. The thing was standing awkwardly outside the glass doors, head tilted at an unnatural angle, mouth hanging slack. One arm hung limp, while the other twitched now and then, like it was trying to reach for something it couldn't remember.

It didn’t growl. Didn’t move toward the doors. Just stood there.

The security badge on its chest read “M. Lawrence.”

“He must’ve worked here,” Mom said softly. “Poor guy…”

We all watched the screen in silence.

And then the zombie took a single, slow step forward—and bumped into the glass.

Bonk.

It bounced back slightly, then just stood there again.

Jen raised an eyebrow. “...Yeah. He doesn’t even know how doors work anymore.”

I exhaled, finally relaxing a little in my seat. “So basically, we’re watching a dead guy bump into glass like a Roomba.”

“Pretty much,” Jen agreed, cracking a tired smile.

Mom reached out and gently flipped the monitor off. “He can’t get in. The doors are locked. The gates are down. We’re safe.”

The room went quiet again—but this time, it wasn’t oppressive.

It was calm.

Jen sat back down, slowly pulling her tray of fries closer. “That was a serious heart attack moment. I thought we were about to deal with some stalker psycho.”

“Me too,” I said. “At least it’s just a zombie who forgot how doors work. I’ll take that over something smarter.”

Mom ruffled my hair gently. “Eat your nuggets, little zombie hunter.”

I grinned and popped another one in my mouth.

Even though I still felt tense, my chest didn’t feel as tight. We were okay—for now.

But I still couldn’t help glancing back at the now-dark monitor, imagining that guard just standing there.

Waiting.

I woke up to the smell of sausage and eggs.

The scent wrapped around me like a blanket, warm and familiar, almost like home. I sat up slowly and blinked.

Wait… where am I?

I looked around. I was lying on a padded bench in a booth. The walls were red and yellow, and the giant menu board still glowed faintly above the counter. The place was clean—well, clean enough. Grease still clung to the edges of the fryer, and empty wrappers littered a few tables, but otherwise, it looked like your average fast food joint.

McDonald’s, I realized.

I rubbed my eyes and stood up, wobbling slightly in my oversized shoes. My legs felt stiff. I glanced toward the front entrance.

The steel gate was down, the same kind that had sealed Pawxie shut. Behind it… were hundreds of people.

Except they weren’t people.

They were zombies.

Grotesque faces. Torn clothing. Bloody hands slapping against the gate in slow, jerky movements. Some just stood there, rocking back and forth, their heads twitching like broken bobbleheads.

“How did I get here?” I whispered to myself, my mind foggy. It was like waking up inside a dream—or a nightmare.

I spotted Jennifer sitting at a nearby table, her gun resting on the bench beside her. She was calm, just watching them. Like it was… routine.

I walked over and sat beside her, my eyes still locked on the crowd outside.

“I hope they don’t come in,” I muttered.

“I doubt they will,” Jennifer said, unfazed. “They’ve been trying for a while now. The gate’s like the one at Pawxie—heavy-duty. They don’t have the brains to figure it out.”

Just then, Mom appeared with a tray. On it: three pancakes, two eggs, and a sausage patty, still steaming. She set it in front of me with a smile.

“Eat up, sweetie,” she said. “We’ll need our energy.”

I picked up the plastic fork and slowly took a bite.

The warm food, the soft chatter of Jen across the table, the distant banging of undead hands on the gate—it all blurred together. My mind drifted back to before all of this.

Back to the good old days.

Back when I’d wake up, log in to Okra—the video game streaming platform that beat out Twitch and YouTube—and play all day. I had a decent following. Nothing huge, but enough. I was partnered, made money from subscriptions and power points. My friends would hop on stream and mess around with me for hours.

I wasn’t big like Jacksepticeye, Markiplier, or Mr.Beast, but I had my little crew. It felt like my world.

And now… my world was pancakes and pistols in a child’s body, surrounded by the undead.

“Natalie, let’s go!” Mom’s voice snapped me out of it.

She had a bag slung over her shoulder—paper, stamped with grease. I could tell from the smell it was packed with food.

I blinked and looked back toward the gate.

The zombies were gone.

What?

Jennifer walked over, adjusting the strap of her backpack.

“They cleared out a few minutes ago,” she said casually. “I figured out how to get them to leave. It’s a trick I came up with. Not totally sure why it works—but it does.”

“Wait, what trick?” I asked, following them toward the back door.

Jen just smirked.

“Trade secret,” she said.

The rooftop was empty.

Thank God.

No zombies. No surprises. Just open sky, stale wind, and a little hope.

I stayed close to Mom as we stepped carefully to the edge. Below us, the parking lot stretched out in all directions, littered with trash, wrecked shopping carts, and the walking dead.

Zombies were everywhere—but scattered, wandering in crooked lines like wind-up toys with dying batteries.

I peered over the edge.

“This reminds me of Dawn of the Dead,” I said. “You know, the one where they’re on the roof of a mall? Just like us. Only… in that movie, the zombies actually chased them. These ones are pretty slow. I bet we could outrun them.”

Mom squinted into the distance.

“We just have to make it to the car,” she murmured. “If we can get that far, we’re out.”

I groaned.

“How are we supposed to do that? What—act like zombies like in Shaun of the Dead? This isn’t a movie. This is real life.”

Mom gave me a sidelong glance, that familiar I have an idea you’re gonna hate look.

“We could smear ourselves with zombie guts. You know… like in The Walking Dead. Mask our scent.”

“Eew. Gross, Mom.” Jennifer gagged a little. “I am not doing that.”

I glanced over at her—and noticed something.

“Hey, your phone’s in your pocket. What if you try calling someone?”

Jen pulled it out and checked the screen.
“There probably isn’t any—wait. Huh. There’s a bar.” She blinked in surprise. “Signal must be bouncing off a tower nearby. Battery’s low though…”

Mom reached over and took the phone gently from her hands.

“I know exactly who to call.”

She walked a few steps away and pressed in a number by memory. Jennifer and I exchanged confused looks.

We watched her whisper into the phone, her voice too low to catch.

A minute later, she hung up and sat down on the rooftop with a satisfied smile.

“Who did you call?” I asked.

“George,” she said simply. “He’s on his way.”

Jen and I sat down beside her.

“What about all that food we packed?” Jen asked, holding up her grease-stained McDonald’s bag.

“We’ll still use it—”

“I’m starving!” I interrupted, clutching my stomach.

Mom narrowed her eyes.
“Natalie, it’s not polite to interrupt.”

“Sorry, Mom…” I mumbled.

Just then, we heard a loud beep-beep-beep echoing from below.

We looked over the edge.

It was George.

“That was fast,” Jen said, glancing at the time on her phone.

Down below, George was barreling through the parking lot—literally. His truck mowed over zombie after zombie, splattering limbs and torsos as it plowed a path to the building.

When he pulled up beneath us, we saw it clearly:

The truck bed was filled with manure.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jen muttered.

“That’s our ride?” I gasped. “The poop wagon?”

Mom stood up and dusted off her jeans.
“Hey—it beats smelling like a dead zombie carcass.”

Jen wrinkled her nose. “Fine. But I get first dibs on the shower when we get home.”

One by one, we jumped. The fall wasn’t far, but landing in manure wasn’t exactly fun. Still, it was soft enough to cushion the drop.

The truck sped off, leaving crushed bodies and moaning zombies behind us.

I peeked over the edge of the truck bed, my hair dripping with stink. Zombies dotted the horizon, some stumbling in our direction, others just wandering aimlessly.

Were we the last people left alive? I wondered.

That thought didn’t get much time to settle.

Because the truck jerked to a stop.

“What’s going on?” Mom shouted toward the cab.

George leaned out the window, looking grim.

“We’re out of fuel!” he called back. “I didn’t think I’d use it up so fast—there were a lot of bodies to run over.”

We all looked at each other.

“So… what now?”

George grabbed his rifle.
“We run.”

I turned and looked behind us.

Hundreds of zombies were heading our way now. Slow. Steady. Relentless.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

George and Jennifer fired into the horde, bullets slamming into skulls and dropping monsters like dominos.

I reached for my own gun—
But my holster was empty.

Gone.

Had I left it back at the restaurant? Dropped it somewhere on the roof? I didn’t know.

A wave of panic crashed over me.

Then—

Everything went blurry.

My legs gave out. The sky tilted sideways.

I hit the ground hard.

And then everything went dark.

I woke up to the sound of a bell.

A bell?

It sounded like a doorbell.

I opened my eyes slowly, confused. I wasn’t on the ground anymore… I wasn’t outside, either. I was in my bedroom. In my bed. At the house.

I sat up, still dazed, and stared out the window. It was bright outside—daytime. The kind of late morning sunlight that always used to make me feel like I’d overslept on a weekend.

Downstairs, I heard the front door open and Jennifer’s voice carrying up through the walls.

“Hello, Jack!” she greeted cheerfully. “How are you doing?”

“I’m doing fine,” I heard a familiar voice reply. “Is Nathan around?”

There was a pause.

“Yes,” Jen said, “Let me get her.”

“Her?” Jack echoed, clearly confused.

Jennifer started walking up the stairs. “Natalie! Your friend Jack is here!”

“Natalie?” Jack repeated, this time baffled.

I could hear him moving into the kitchen while Jennifer came up to get me. He must’ve opened the fridge, because a few seconds later I heard a bottle crack open and a muttered:

“Ugh. What is this?”

He didn’t finish the drink. I heard the fridge close again.

I ran down the stairs, excited. “Jack!” I called. “I’m so glad you made it! I’ve been so bored.”

He turned to face me—and his expression changed instantly.

“Who are you?” he asked.

I hesitated, then looked at the floor.
“Nathan… or, well… Natalie now.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Is this some kind of joke?” he laughed, clearly not buying it.

“It’s a long story,” I mumbled.

Before I could explain, Jack suddenly swayed.

He staggered backward, knocking into the table, and then collapsed to the floor with a loud thud.

“Jack!” I screamed, rushing over to him.

The noise brought Mom and George running from the basement, their faces pale with alarm.

They froze when they saw Jack lying unconscious on the floor.

George’s eyes darted to the kitchen. “Did he drink from the fridge?” he demanded. “That bottle—it's half empty.”

Jennifer nodded. “I don’t know for sure, but he went into the kitchen right after I went upstairs to get Natalie.”

George groaned and grabbed the half-empty bottle, holding it up to the light.

“This is the formula. The same one Natalie drank.”

I blinked. “Wait... That’s what turned me into a girl?” I pointed at the bottle, horrified.

“Yes,” George said, setting it down with a sigh. “That’s the experimental gender-switch serum I’ve been working on. I knew I should’ve stored it in the basement fridge, but I figured we’d be safe here—with just us and Alfred and no one else around.”

He carefully picked Jack up and carried him down into the basement, into a small sterile room that looked more like a lab.

I followed.

Jack was laid gently on a cot. His breathing was steady. His expression calm.

I sat next to him, my heart pounding.

And then, I saw it.

His face started to change.

It was subtle at first. The shape of his jaw. The softness creeping into his cheeks. His hands—shrinking slightly. His fingers growing smaller.

I felt like I was watching a dream and a nightmare at the same time.

“How is this even possible?” I whispered, staring at him.

Jack—my best friend—was slowly turning into a little girl.

Just like I had.

The screen flickered as the news channel cut to a national broadcast.

The President sat behind his desk in the Oval Office. The flag stood still behind him, its colors muted by the dull lighting. His face looked pale—older than it had the last time he’d addressed the country. His tie was crooked, and his eyes, though steady, carried a weight that couldn’t be hidden.

“My fellow Americans,” he began. His voice was calm but brittle, like it might crack at any moment.

“As many of you are aware, the Isisraxtosa virus is spreading rapidly. Too rapidly. Every major city in the United States—including New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, and Washington, D.C. itself—now reports confirmed cases. We believe the virus originated in South America, most likely in Argentina. From there, it has made its way into the global population through international travel.

“This virus is unlike anything we’ve seen before. It does not act like a traditional pathogen. Once symptoms present, it moves quickly—often transforming the infected in under an hour. Those affected become... hostile. Non-verbal. Aggressive. We do not yet understand the mechanisms behind this mutation.”

He paused, took a breath.

“If there is a way to beat this—we haven’t found it yet. We are coordinating with military and civilian scientists. In the meantime, I urge you all to remain calm. Shelter in place. Barricade doors. Avoid public spaces. Do not engage with anyone showing symptoms.”

“To our allies overseas: this is not just an American crisis. This is a global emergency. We must act together, or not at all. God bless you all.”

The screen froze for a second. Mom stared at it in stunned silence.

Then, without saying a word, she picked up the remote and turned off the TV.

The sudden silence felt too loud.

I was glad she shut it off.

I didn’t want to hear the world ending. Not out loud.

Footsteps echoed from downstairs. George appeared in the doorway, looking like he hadn’t slept in days. His hands were stained with grease or chemicals—or both—and his eyes were hollow.

He didn't speak. He just kept pacing the room, muttering to himself. Circling the same spot over and over like he was chasing his own thoughts.

He’d barely looked at any of us since Jack had passed out earlier that morning. Since Jack had started... changing.

After several long minutes, he stopped dead in his tracks.

“How could I have done this?” he muttered, barely loud enough for anyone to hear.

Mom stepped closer and gently placed her arm on his shoulder.
“What did you do?” she asked softly.

George stared at the floor.

“I just keep wondering…” he said after a moment, “Where did it really start? Where did the first carrier come from? What country brought this here?”

His voice cracked on that last word.

I stepped forward, my voice sharper than I expected.
“Argentina,” I said. “Jennifer’s plane. It had it on board. The first infected came off that flight. They were coming out of Mantri International Airport... and the mall too. I saw them.”

George’s face went white.

“Shit!” he barked, and without another word, he turned and bolted back downstairs. We could hear the echo of his voice yelling for Alfred.

“Check the logs! Find that plane manifest! We need to isolate the sequence!”

Mom looked back at me, worry now carved into every line of her face.

“Honey,” she said slowly, “What is it? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

She didn’t wait for an answer.

We both headed for the basement, our feet moving in sync. I grabbed her hand as we descended the steps quietly, not wanting George or Alfred to hear us. The lab below glowed with pale blue light, computers whirring softly, medical tools glinting under surgical lamps.

We reached the bottom and crouched behind the wall by the stairwell, just close enough to hear George’s voice—but not be seen.

Whatever was going on down there, it was bigger than all of us.

And I had a feeling it was about to get worse.

George was buried in paperwork at his desk, flipping through pages like he was searching for the meaning of life—or how he accidentally ended it.

His glasses were low on his nose, and Alfred hovered behind him, silent but tense.

Mom and I stood at the bottom of the stairs, listening carefully.

George finally let out a sigh and dropped a handful of papers on the desk.

“Alfred and I were working on a formula,” he began slowly. “It was supposed to help treat a plague in Argentina. People were falling ill—high fevers, confusion, death within days. We wanted to help. We volunteered.”

He paused, shoulders rising and falling with each breath. “They called the illness Geocera. It was spreading too fast for local doctors to contain. So we began developing a treatment. A serum.”

George looked up and locked eyes with Mom.

“I named it Isisraxtosa.”

The air went dead still.

“You... created the most deadly virus in the world?” I shouted, stepping out from the stairwell.

George didn’t flinch.

“It wasn’t a virus when we made it,” he said, matter-of-fact. “We tested it here in the U.S.—under controlled conditions. Human trials. You might call them lab rats... or human guinea pigs.”

He turned toward me, his eyes narrowing just slightly.

“In fact, you and Jack both drank some of it—when you had that bottle.”

I froze.

“You mean... that drink was the Isisraxtosa virus?”

George shook his head.

“Not exactly. You drank a version of the formula—mixed with my gender transformation serum. A test compound that was never meant for distribution. The one Jack accidentally drank was the same.”

I glanced toward the corner of the lab.

Jack was lying on a cot, now fully transformed, but calmly tapping away at a game on a handheld console—like the world wasn’t literally falling apart around us.

I turned back to George.

“Okay, but if Jack and I drank it... why didn’t we turn into zombies too?”

George stepped away from the desk and picked up a chart from the wall. “Because you weren’t infected with Geocera. That’s the key.”

He pointed to two overlapping circles on the chart.
“The zombie mutation occurs when Isisraxtosa is introduced to someone who’s already infected with Geocera. Separately? They’re manageable. But combined?” He shook his head grimly. “They trigger complete neurological collapse. That’s where the aggression, the mutation, and the reanimation come in.”

“So... you were trying to cure people in Argentina, and instead...”

“Instead,” George said, “we made something worse. I tested the formula here on people who were ill—but not with Geocera. They improved. So I approved it for shipment overseas.”

“But the people there did have Geocera,” I said.

George didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.

“Then why are people turning into zombies here in the States?” I asked.

He looked tired—more than tired. Like he hadn’t forgiven himself for a single decision since this all began.

“Haven’t you seen the movies?” he asked.

I crossed my arms. “Yeah, but those are fake. This virus is real. And worse.”

“Not everything’s fake,” he said. “Some of the rules still apply. If you’re bitten by one of them, you’ll turn too. The infection spreads fast. Just like in World War Z.”

That got my attention.
“So... movies can help with the apocalypse?” I asked, perking up.

“In a way, yes.” George rubbed the back of his neck. “But don’t go chopping off limbs hoping it’ll save someone. By the time the virus hits the bloodstream, it’s already too late.”

I stared at him.

“So basically... we’re all screwed.”

“Natalie!” Mom scolded sharply. “Language!”

I looked down.
“Sorry, Mom.”

But honestly?

She was lucky I didn’t say worse.

Just then, a loud beeping echoed from a nearby computer terminal.

Alfred jumped up from his stool and rushed over.
“Dr. Russell,” he called, voice tense, “we have a problem!”

George hurried to his side.
“What is it, Alfred?”

Alfred pointed at the screen. A map blinked red, dozens—no, hundreds—of tiny dots swarming toward a central point.

“Your satellite scan picked up a massive swarm of zombies heading this way. Fast.”

George’s eyes widened. Without hesitation, he bolted to the far wall and slammed his hand against a large red button.

A deep mechanical whirring echoed throughout the house, followed by several loud clunks and a rising hum that seemed to ripple through the floor.

I jumped.

“What was that?!” I asked, starting to panic.

George turned to me calmly.
“Don’t worry, Natalie. That was the force field activating. I have one surrounding the entire house.”

“How long will it hold?” Mom asked.

George adjusted his glasses and smiled.
“The house is powered entirely by solar panels. We have over a hundred installed on the roof and backyard. As long as there’s sunlight, we’ll have energy. This house could stay sealed for years if necessary.

He paused.

“Worst-case scenario? If the sun disappears and we’re in complete darkness for over a week, then we might lose power. But until then, we’re safe.”

Jennifer crossed her arms. “Okay… but what about food?”

Mom raised her bag and smiled.
“We still have the food I grabbed from McDonald’s.”

George opened a side door, revealing a storage room stacked floor-to-ceiling with labeled boxes.
“Plus, I stocked up on MREs. Military-grade meals. Enough to feed a small army.”

I glanced over at Jack, who was still sitting on the edge of the bed.
“What about him?” I asked. “He loves to eat.”

George chuckled. “Jack will be fine. There's enough food here to keep everyone full.”

I looked back at Jack, now fully transformed. “What about your parents?” I asked gently. “Won’t they worry about you?”

Jack shrugged.
“Nathan—uh, Natalie,” he corrected himself with a smirk, “my parents went on a trip for the week. Some kind of second honeymoon thing. George said it was okay for me to stay here with you.”

I stared at him—her—then burst out laughing.
“How are they going to react when they find out you’re a girl now?”

Jack laughed too.
“I don’t know. But I’m more worried about how they’ll react to the zombies.”

The television buzzed softly from the kitchen counter as a breaking news alert took over the screen.

A shaken anchor sat at a desk surrounded by stacks of papers and flickering monitors. Her hair was frazzled, her voice tight with fear but trying to stay calm.

“There is widespread panic across the city tonight,” she said. “Many communities are now without phone service, a growing number are without electricity, and some are reporting complete water loss.

“Scientists at the CDC have released the following statement: ‘The bodies of the recently deceased are returning to life. These reanimated individuals appear to be driven by an unknown force that activates the brainstem, resulting in basic motor function, heightened aggression, and a complete lack of self-preservation.’

“Citizens are urged to stay indoors, avoid contact with infected individuals, and do not—under any circumstances—attempt to assist those showing signs of reanimation.

“If you are unable to return to your home or are currently trapped, please note that a list of designated rescue stations is now appearing on your screen.”

A red banner crawled along the bottom of the broadcast, listing shelters and evacuation zones. Most were miles away.

I swallowed hard, pulling my knees to my chest as I sat at the kitchen table.
“I’m so glad we have a safe place to stay for now,” I whispered, watching the screen. “I don’t even want to think about being stuck out there.”

Mom stood at the window, her arms crossed tight over her chest. Outside, a slow horde of zombies wandered toward the house. They bumped into the invisible barrier—our solar-powered force field—and bounced off like confused mannequins.

The low hum of the generator was the only reassurance that the field still held.

Please don’t go out. Please don’t give out.

In the family room, Jennifer was watching Resident Evil 6: The Final Chapter like it was just another Saturday night. I wanted to hang out with her, but she picked that movie of all things. Zombies on the screen, zombies outside the house… it was too much.

Honestly, I think she did it just to creep me out.

Don’t get me wrong—I’ve seen plenty of zombie movies. World War Z, Shaun of the Dead, Zombieland, and of course, The Walking Dead (which is still the best, let’s be honest). But right now? Real zombies outside the window made watching fictional ones feel a lot less fun.

So I decided to make cookies with Jill.

Yes—Jill now. Not Jack anymore.

She picked the name herself, laughing at how “Jack and Jill” just worked. At first it was weird, but she was owning it now. And honestly? It felt right.

We got out the chocolate chips and mixing bowls and got to work.

“So Jill,” I teased while stirring the dough, “did you go up a hill to fetch a pail of water?”

Jill rolled her eyes. “Ha ha. Very funny,” she said with a smirk.

We pulled the cookies from the oven a few minutes later, the smell filling the house like warmth and safety. Chocolate chip—Jennifer’s and my favorite.

Almost on cue, Jennifer popped up behind me like a ninja.

I turned around and jumped.

“God, Jen! Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Is that what I think it is?” she asked, inhaling deeply.

“Yes,” I said, offering her one. “Fresh cookies. You’re welcome.”

Jennifer took one and nodded, munching.
“I tried watching that zombie movie, but I couldn’t do it. Want to watch Cartoon Network instead?”

My eyes lit up.
“Yeah!”

We rushed into the family room, and I grabbed the remote. Channel 176. My comfort zone.

But when the screen blinked on—nothing.

Just static and a red warning screen.

“Jen!” I cried, frustrated. “The channel’s not working!”

Jennifer walked over and glanced at the TV.

“Oh… sorry, little sis.” She frowned. “Looks like all the channels have switched over to the Emergency Alert System.”

I stared at the flickering red screen, feeling that disappointment sink in. I just wanted a break. One silly cartoon. One minute of normal.

But not today.

I sat back on the couch with my cookie, hugging a pillow while the Emergency Alert screen blinked red and white like it was trying to hypnotize us.

Jill flopped beside me, cradling her second cookie like it was sacred.

Jennifer was about to say something when the screen suddenly glitched.

Just for a second.

A loud buzz tore through the speakers, followed by a flicker of static. Then—something else. Not the red emergency screen.

A face.

But not a normal face.

It was grainy. Shadowed. Almost masked.

The voice that followed was distorted—deep and electronic, like it was passing through a dozen filters.

“To anyone still alive… listen carefully. We’re out here. We’re not infected. We know what Isisraxtosa really is. And we know who made it.”

The screen flickered again. Back to red.

I sat frozen, my mouth slightly open, my cookie halfway to my face.

“Did you see that?” I whispered.

“Yeah,” Jennifer said, her eyes wide. “That wasn’t part of the alert system.”

Jill leaned forward, gripping the edge of the couch.
“Someone hijacked the signal.”

Mom rushed into the room. “What’s going on?”

We all stared at the TV.

But it was quiet again.

Just the emergency broadcast.

Just the hum of the force field outside.

But now... something had changed.

Someone else was out there.

And they were watching.

The TV stayed on the Emergency Alert screen for a while. We all just sat there, staring at it like it might do something again.

Eventually, Mom stepped into the room with a laundry basket on her hip and a look on her face that said she was trying very hard to act normal.

“Alright, kids,” she said, “if we’re going to survive a zombie apocalypse, we’re at least going to do it with clean socks.”

Jennifer groaned.
“Seriously, Mom? There are zombies outside.”

“And I will not have mildew growing in my house,” she replied. “End of discussion. Now everyone, put your dirty clothes in the basket, or you’re wearing the same stinky stuff tomorrow.”

We all grumbled but obeyed.

Even Jill.

I watched her quietly as she followed Mom out of the room, still hugging her half-eaten cookie like a security blanket. She seemed fine—kind of. But I could tell something was still bubbling under the surface. Her smile was real, but only just.

Once we all had fresh pajamas and the emergency broadcast went silent, things felt… quieter. Still tense, but less chaotic.

We gathered in the den—me, Mom, Jennifer, and Jill—and spread out sleeping bags on the floor.

Even though we had bedrooms, it felt better being in the same room.

Safer.

More together.

Jennifer brought out some old board games from a hall closet. We picked Life, mostly because Risk felt a little too real and Monopoly might start an actual fight.

“Okay, Jill,” I said, spinning the wheel, “you’re going to college. I hope you’re ready to get buried in imaginary debt.”

“College?” she snorted. “I just woke up as a girl and survived a zombie invasion. I think I’ll skip straight to the ‘find a bunker and hide’ part.”

We all laughed—really laughed—and for a second, it almost felt like normal life again.

Almost.

Later that night, the lights dimmed as solar power switched to its nighttime setting. The windows glowed faintly with the blue shimmer of the force field outside.

We were all camped out on the den floor with blankets and pillows.

I stared up at the ceiling, listening to the soft breathing around me.

Somewhere far off, I could still hear the low groans of the undead.

They couldn’t get in.

Not yet, anyway.

But something about hearing them... knowing they were still out there…

It felt like being inside a snow globe while monsters circled the glass.

Tap.

I sat up.

Tap. Tap.

It came from one of the back windows.

Jill stirred beside me.
“Did you hear that?”

“Yeah.” I got up slowly and tiptoed across the room.

Jennifer opened one eye.
“Probably just a branch.”

I pulled the curtain back and peeked outside.

Nothing.

Just shadows.

Just the blue shimmer of the force field.

I let out a breath and turned away from the window.

But just before I turned off the light and crawled back into my sleeping bag...

I thought I saw a shape standing at the tree line.

Not a zombie.

Something else.

Later that night, I was lying in bed when I heard a loud crash downstairs. My heart nearly jumped out of my chest.

“What was that?” I gasped, running to the staircase.

“Don’t come down here!” Mom shouted from below. “A zombie somehow broke through the force field!”

My blood went cold.

“I thought you said it would protect us!” I cried.

From the basement, I heard George calling up.

“Sometimes there are flaws in things I build! You already know that from the Isisraxtosa virus I created!”

“Don’t forget it also turned Jack and me into girls!” I snapped.

“It’s Jill!” I heard my friend yell.

“So how are you going to stop the zombie?” I asked, my voice shaking.

There was no reply.

Everything went quiet.

All I could hear was the low, eerie moaning of the zombies outside. The sound was constant now—like the world itself had a stomachache.

“If I had a gun, I’d shoot every one of them!” I yelled, even though I knew it wouldn’t help.

I crept down the stairs.

The silence was too loud.

Then I saw it.

The zombie.

It was already inside the house.

I screamed—big mistake. The zombie turned toward me and growled, its cloudy eyes locking onto mine. It started moving fast—faster than I expected. Panic surged through me as I turned and ran.

Everyone else was in the basement.

I was completely alone.

I sprinted into the family room, frantically scanning for something—anything—I could use to defend myself. My eyes landed on a tall lamp. I grabbed it and threw it at the zombie.

It crashed against its shoulder and shattered. The zombie barely flinched.

I ran again.

My heart pounded so hard I could hear it echo in my ears.

The thing was right behind me.

I had nowhere else to go. I backed into a corner, tears falling from my eyes as I curled up against the wall.

“Please…” I whimpered. “Please don’t…”

The zombie reached out—

And suddenly, it dropped.

Hard.

I stared in shock.

Jill was standing there, breathing hard, a bloody kitchen knife shaking in her hand. Her eyes were full of tears—just like mine.

She rushed to me and pulled me into a hug.

“I can’t believe you saved me,” I sobbed into her shoulder.

“I didn’t want to lose my best friend,” she whispered, crying too.

I pulled away and looked at her.

“Who let the zombie in?” I asked. “And why did you all go into the basement?”

Jill sniffed.
“Your mom left the front door open… she said she just wanted some fresh air.” She shook her head. “They went to the basement. I ran into the closet. I guess they didn’t realize we weren’t with them.”

I stood up, furious.

“So they left us up here—alone—with a zombie?”

Jill crossed her arms.
“Some parents you’ve got.”

We stormed over to the basement door. I twisted the knob—locked.

I banged on it hard.

“Mom! Jennifer!” I screamed. “Let us in!”

No answer.

I hit the door again, but they still didn’t open it. Either they thought we were the zombie… or they just didn’t care.

My stomach twisted.

I turned and noticed the front door was still wide open. The blue glow from the force field flickered outside.

I shut the door and locked it tight.

“I can’t believe she left it open,” I muttered.

I looked out the front window.

Zombies.

Hundreds of them—maybe thousands—all closing in, some slow, some faster. The smell of rot and rain was heavy in the air. I looked down at the dead zombie Jill had killed. It stank worse than anything I’d ever smelled.

“We have to get rid of it,” I said.

Jill and I dragged the body to the front door. I peeked outside—no zombies in sight at the moment. Together, we shoved the corpse out and slammed the door shut.

That’s when I noticed the sky.

Dark clouds, swirling. Greenish. Lit with lightning that looked… wrong.

“Jill,” I said, pointing out the window, “look at that.”

She gasped.

“Oh my God.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s a wall cloud. That’s not just a thunderstorm—it’s dangerous.”

We stood at the window as hail began to fall—massive chunks the size of baseballs. We watched as zombies were pelted by the falling ice, some toppling over under the force.

And then we saw it.

The funnel cloud.

Touching down.

“It’s a tornado,” Jill whispered. “And it’s heading straight for the house.”

Panic took over. We ran back to the basement door, pounding with everything we had.

“LET US IN!”

Nothing.

“MOM! PLEASE!”

Still no answer.

The sound of a train roared in the distance. But we didn’t have trains in Mantri.

That wasn’t a train.

That was the tornado.

I didn’t want to leave them—but they had left us.

“We have to go,” I told Jill. “Now.”

She nodded.

We ran to the kitchen, packed food in bags, and bolted out the door. I glanced once at the basement window—but still no one came out.

The car sat in the driveway.

“Let’s pray we can get through the force field,” I said.

Jill jumped into the driver’s seat. I knelt beside her, too small to reach the pedals myself.

She floored it.

We screamed as we crashed through the barrier—and it let us through. Sparks flew, but we made it.

Zombies reached for the car. Rain poured. Wind howled.

I looked back just in time to see the tornado rip through the house.

The house where I used to play games, watch movies, eat cookies.

Gone.

I cried.

Not just because of the house… but because my mom was still in it.

We kept driving. The headlights lit up dozens of zombies in the road. Jill swerved around debris—parts of the house, flying garbage, broken trees.

“Turn on the headlights!” I yelled. She did—and it only drew more zombies to us.

I looked out the window. The tornado was no longer behind us—it had shifted away—but the damage was done.

I checked the fuel gauge. Almost empty.

We pulled into a small town and found a gas station with power still working.

I filled the tank halfway before the electricity cut out.

“Well,” I said, breathing hard, “at least we’ve got half a tank.”

“Where do we go now?” Jill asked.

I turned on the radio. It buzzed with static, then a faint voice came through.

“…people taking the law into their own hands. If you are listening to this broadcast, please locate a rescue station immediately…”

Jill looked at me.
“We could try the capital. Maybe that’s a good place to start.”

I shook my head.
“No. Didn’t you ever watch The Walking Dead? People tried to go to Atlanta and just ended up eaten. Big cities aren’t safe.”

Jill sighed.
“I hope you’re right.”

“So far I have been,” I said with a half-smile.

We drove off into the night, not knowing what we’d find.

But we were still alive.

For now.

We made it through the night. It was daybreak now, with streaks of pale orange light stretching across the sky. The world was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that makes your skin prickle.

The gas gauge showed a little over half a tank, but the dashboard was blinking: Service Engine Soon. Not exactly reassuring. The last thing we needed was to break down in the middle of nowhere—which, judging by the empty road and endless trees, is exactly where we were.

"Jill, can you check the glove compartment and see if there’s a map?" I asked, squinting at the horizon.

"I’d love to," she said, her voice groggy, "but I’m kind of working the gas pedal right now, remember?"

"Oh. Right."

We decided to pull over. Jill slid out from under the steering wheel, stretching her arms and legs like she hadn’t moved in hours—which, to be fair, she hadn’t. I reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a worn road atlas.

"Well, this is useless," I muttered, flipping through pages. "I have no idea where we are. I really wish the GPS would work."

And then—

Cough. Sputter. Clunk.

The car gave a shudder and then went dead. Smoke curled from under the hood.

"Ugh!" I threw the atlas onto the dashboard. "Darn it! Now we’re stuck for real."

We climbed out and surveyed the area. No zombies in sight, thank goodness. The wind whistled softly through the trees.

"Guess we’re walking," Jill said, slinging her bag over one shoulder.

We walked. For what felt like forever. The road stretched on, winding between tall pines and rolling hills. The car eventually disappeared from view behind us. I looked back once, feeling a tiny pang of loss. It was dumb, but it had been our shelter. Our escape. Now it was just another thing we’d lost.

It might’ve been smart to salvage the gas, but where would we store it? And who would carry it? We had no choice but to keep going.

Jill was trudging along next to me, but she wasn’t in the best mood. She didn’t talk much. Just sighed a lot.

To be honest, I wasn’t doing much better.

If she were still Jack, I thought bitterly, this would be easier. He would’ve been stronger. Less emotional. But that formula… that awful drink George created… had changed both of us.

I muttered a curse under my breath at him. Not that he could hear it.

My chest tightened. I didn’t want to think about George, or my mom, or Jennifer… but I couldn’t help it.

They were gone.

The house. The safety. The normal.

Gone.

Now I was homeless.

And maybe even an orphan.

Just then, a deep, low groan echoed from the trees.

A herd.

Zombies. At least two dozen, maybe more, were stumbling out from the treeline, their twisted limbs dragging across the ground, their mouths slack and dark with dried blood.

"Run!" I shouted, grabbing Jill’s hand. "We have to move!"

Our shoes slapped against the pavement as we tore down the road, the echo of our panicked footsteps almost drowning out the growing chorus of moans behind us. My backpack bounced wildly against my back, and my soaked dress clung to my legs, slowing me down just enough to make me want to scream.

"What do we do?" Jill sobbed beside me. "We have nowhere to go, Natalie. Nowhere!"

Her voice cracked. She was terrified. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and her breathing came in short, shaky bursts. But she kept running. Just following me. Like she couldn’t think. Only move.

"Don’t worry, Jill. We’ll figure something out!" I tried to sound brave. "We have to."

I scanned the road ahead frantically.

"Okay—look to the right!" I yelled. "They’re almost to the road—we need to cut left and move. Fast!"

We veered off the road into a clearing, sprinting toward the sound of rushing water. Just ahead, a wide river glistened in the daylight, its current slow but steady.

We skidded to a stop at the river’s edge, panting.

"I remember in The Walking Dead, there was an episode where a zombie grabbed someone in the water," I said, teeth chattering—not from cold, but fear. "What if that happens to us?"

The thought made my skin crawl.

Suddenly, a loud groan came from behind us.

I whipped around.

One zombie.

It staggered through the trees toward the riverbank, its head lolling to one side. A loner.

"I think we’ve got a roamer," I whispered, grabbing Jill’s arm.

"What’s a roamer?" she asked, eyes wide.

"A walker. A single one. They called them roamers in The Walking Dead."

"Oh no," she whimpered. "Shoot it!"

"I don’t want to waste bullets—not on just one. Guns are loud. We’ll attract the whole herd if we fire. Just get in the water. Now!"

We waded in.

The water was cold, shockingly so. It soaked through my clothes instantly. By the time I was halfway across, it was up to my stomach. My breath came in gasps.

Behind us, the roamer wandered past without even seeing us. It groaned and shuffled the other direction.

I giggled—relief washing over me.

"What a dumb zombie," I muttered.

We made it to the far side, both of us drenched from head to toe. If the river had been any deeper, or the current any stronger, we wouldn’t have made it. But we were safe.

For now.

We collapsed on the bank, shivering, catching our breath.

"Didn’t that zombie look like our gym teacher, Mr. Boring?" Jill asked, brushing wet hair from her face.

"You mean Mr. Bourang?" I tilted my head.

"Yeah, but everyone called him Mr. Boring," she said, cracking a smile.

I laughed. "Yeah. I guess I did too."

"But isn’t he kind of far from school?" Jill asked as we started walking again.

I looked around. Nothing was familiar. No signs, no towns. Just endless woods and broken roads.

"I’m not sure. I don’t know how far we drove. Or where we even are. We could be fifty miles from home, or five hundred."

The sun was beginning to drop lower in the sky.

We kept walking, but our pace slowed. Every step felt heavier.

We needed to find shelter before nightfall.

Fast.

Because whatever was out here during the day… would only get worse after dark.

My stomach twisted as I thought about the car—how much gas we’d had, how suddenly it had died. If we still had that car, we might have found a town, a building, even just a place to hide. But now, we were exposed. Vulnerable. Just two little girls soaked and stranded in the middle of nowhere.

And something told me…

The worst hadn’t even started yet.

Jill was getting tired. I could tell by the way she dragged her feet and kept sighing. Truth be told, I was getting tired too. My legs were shorter, which meant I had to take twice as many steps to keep up.

Still, something about that thought made me giggle.

"What’s so funny?" Jill asked, giving me a side-eye.

"Oh, nothing," I said, smirking.

We kept walking. The woods around us were quiet—almost too quiet. Trees loomed overhead like crooked sentinels, and the shadows between the trunks felt deeper than they should’ve. I kept my gun in my hand, ready. Jill had a knife tucked into her waistband, but she didn’t carry it out like I did. She liked to pretend things were fine.

"Did you notice how zombies are faster when it’s hot outside and slower in the cold, like when we were in air conditioning?" Jill asked, breaking the silence.

"Yeah," I said, perking up. "Maybe we should go somewhere cold. North, maybe."

"How can we even tell which way is north?" she said, stopping to look around.

"Moss," I said confidently. "It always grows on the north side of a tree."

I walked over to an old oak and pointed. "See? Moss. We’re going in the right direction. The farther north we go, the colder it’ll get."

Jill nodded slowly. "Speaking of cold... is there a bathroom nearby? I need to go potty."

I giggled and looked around. "Yeah, you're standing on it."

The expression on her face was priceless.

"Ha-ha, funny," she grumbled. "I know we’re in the woods, but really?"

"No, seriously," I said, trying not to laugh. "Girls do it all the time. Just squat. It’s not that hard. Just find a spot behind a tree or something."

She huffed and stalked behind a thick patch of trees, muttering something I didn’t catch.

While she was gone, I looked around for something fun to do to pass the time. My eyes landed on a small patch of smooth dirt near the base of a pine tree. I dropped to my knees, pulled a stick from my backpack, and started drawing in the dirt like it was a giant sketchpad.

At first, I drew a lopsided smiley face. Then a bunny. Then a really terrible cat. I erased that one with my sleeve and tried again. I added a sun in the corner, little rays beaming out like it wasn’t the middle of a terrifying apocalypse.

For a few moments, I forgot about the zombies. The running. The river. The torn-up house. I was just a kid again.

By the time Jill came back, I had a tiny dirt zoo going.

"What’s all this?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Art," I said, grinning. "Apocalypse-style."

Jill took the stick from my hand like it was a paintbrush and she was some kind of famous artist. She scrunched up her face in concentration and started sketching right next to me.

"What are you drawing?" I asked.

"A unicorn with battle armor," she said seriously. "Because if I had one of those, we wouldn’t need a car."

I giggled again. "Make sure it has glitter missiles. And rainbow hooves that stomp zombies."

She nodded. "Already on it."

For a while, we didn’t talk. We just drew, added leaves to our squirrel furniture, made a tiny fort out of twigs and bark, and even started naming pretend forest creatures that we imagined lived nearby. A rock with moss became "Commander Pebble," the wise old leader of the leaf bunnies. A knot in a tree trunk was "The Eye of the Forest," and we made wishes into it like it was a magic portal.

We pretended we were in a secret woodland hideout, far from zombies, where girls ruled and animals could talk and give advice.

"If this were our clubhouse," I said, laying on my stomach and drawing hearts into the dirt, "what would we call it?"

Jill paused. "Hmm. Something cool. Like... Rainbow Cat Fortress?"

I blinked. "That’s actually amazing. Rainbow Cat Fortress it is."

We giggled again and added a little flag over our dirt drawings, with a tiny pine needle acting as the pole.

For a moment—just a moment—it was like everything was okay. We weren’t running. We weren’t scared. We were just kids. Kids playing pretend and letting our imaginations build a world better than the one we were trapped in.

But deep down, I knew we’d have to get moving again soon.

Just not yet.

Not until we finished decorating Rainbow Cat Fortress with pinecones and drew armor for the bunnies.

Not until the world felt heavy again.

Right now, it could wait.

We rested a little longer in the shade of the trees, laughing softly and brushing dirt off our clothes. The breeze was light, carrying the scent of pine and something sweet—maybe wildflowers we hadn’t noticed. Our stomachs grumbled now and then, but it wasn’t enough to ruin the moment.

I rolled onto my back and stared at the sky. "If we ever find a place to live, we should build a clubhouse just like this," I said. "One with squirrel-sized furniture and talking moss stones."

"And a vending machine that gives out chocolate milk for free," Jill added, lying beside me with her hands behind her head.

We were so caught up in imagining that we almost didn’t hear it.

Wheeeeeooooo.

A low, distant whistle cut through the quiet.

We sat up instantly.

"Did you hear that?" I asked, already on my feet.

Jill nodded. "Yeah... it sounded like a train!"

My heart jumped. "A train! Oh my gosh, I hope it's real!"

We grabbed our bags and ran through the trees, following the sound. The woods thinned as we pushed forward, sticks snapping under our feet. We could hear the wheels now—clack-clack, clack-clack—and the rumble of steel on rails.

Finally, we broke through the trees and stumbled onto a hill overlooking a set of train tracks.

And there it was.

A real train.

It was moving slowly—probably only fifteen miles an hour—and had a handful of boxcars trailing behind its rusty engine.

I grinned at Jill, heart pounding with excitement. "Let’s go! We’ve got to catch that train. It looks like it’s heading north!"

We bolted down the hill, our bags bouncing against our backs. The wind whipped against our faces, and our shoes skidded on the loose gravel as we raced toward the tracks.

"Hurry!" I shouted. "We can catch it if we go faster!"

The train clattered by just ahead, moving slow enough to tempt us but fast enough to be a challenge. Jill reached the tracks first and grabbed a rusty handle on the back of one of the boxcars. She struggled for a moment, then managed to climb up onto the step.

"Natalie! Come on!" she shouted, holding out her hand.

I leapt forward, arms stretching, legs burning. My fingers brushed the cold metal.

For a split second, I didn’t think I could do it. My foot slipped, and my heart dropped—

—but Jill caught my wrist.

"I got you!" she cried, her face strained with effort.

I scrambled up with her help, my knees scraping the edge of the step. We both collapsed against the back of the car, gasping and laughing.

"We did it! We actually did it!" I said between breaths.

The wind roared past us as the train continued north, the woods blurring by.

And then…

We heard something.

A soft thud.

Followed by another.

From inside the boxcar.

Jill and I froze.

We stared at the heavy metal door behind us. Something was moving in there.

Thud.

Scratch.

Thud.

Jill’s smile faded. "Natalie… we’re not alone on this train."

I pulled my gun from my backpack, my fingers trembling as I aimed it at the boxcar door. The thuds continued, steady and unnerving. Each sound echoed with hollow weight, like something heavy brushing or slamming against the walls.

"Do you think it’s a zombie?" Jill whispered, her voice barely audible over the roar of the train.

"I don’t know… but we need to be ready," I replied, swallowing hard.

We pressed our backs to the outside wall of the car, listening. Every creak, every rattle of the train made my heart pound faster. The scratching grew louder. Then… silence.

For several seconds, everything was still.

Then the boxcar door jolted.

I gasped and raised my gun higher.

"Be careful," Jill said, stepping to the side and crouching slightly, just in case we had to jump off the train.

I took a deep breath and reached for the handle. My palm was sweaty. My heart thundered in my ears.

"Okay," I said, "On three... One… two… THREE!"

I yanked the door open and jumped back, aiming straight ahead—

—and then blinked.

"Moooooo."

We both stared.

Inside the boxcar was not a snarling zombie… but a cow.

A big, brown-eyed, confused-looking cow, standing in the middle of the empty boxcar with straw scattered beneath its hooves. It stared at us, chewed something slowly, and then let out another unimpressed moo.

I lowered the gun, my whole body sagging with relief.

"Seriously?" Jill said, laughing in disbelief. "All that drama… and it’s a cow?"

I dropped down beside her and laughed too. "At least it’s not trying to eat us."

The cow blinked and took a slow step toward us, snorting gently.

"Well," I said, holstering my gun, "meet our new travel buddy."

We both stared at the cow for a while longer. It seemed calm, chewing away, completely unbothered by the chaos outside or the two girls sitting nearby.

"Should we name it?" Jill asked, nudging my arm.

"Hmm... how about Waffles?"

"Waffles the Cow? I love it."

Waffles let out a soft grunt, almost like she approved.

Not every day do you get a chance to travel in style. Okay, this wasn’t exactly style. Traveling in a boxcar meant for packages—or in our case, cows—wasn’t what most people would do. But it was faster. And with zombies, faster is better.

A few zombies had reached the tracks and stumbled toward the train. Thankfully, they didn’t run. If they had—like in Dawn of the Dead or World War Z—we wouldn’t be alive today.

We settled inside the boxcar, our bags rest beside us as we leaned against the wooden walls. One of the side doors was open just enough to let us see the trees and open fields rushing by. We decided to keep it like that in case we needed to escape quickly. It was our exit—and our window.

Jill sat beside me, hugging her knees. I could tell she was tired. We both were.

After a while, boredom started to settle in. I sighed, leaned back, and glanced at my hands.

"Ew!" I exclaimed. "My nails need cleaning."

"I know what you mean," Jill said with a small laugh. "I noticed mine too. They look like I’ve been digging through dirt all day."

"Well, we have been running through woods, rivers, and zombie dust," I pointed out, mock dramatically.

"True. Apocalypse beauty tips: always bring hand wipes and a nail file," she teased.

We both laughed.

"Maybe after this ride, we can find a nice clean lake and have a spa day—zombie edition," I added.

"With mud masks made of actual mud!" Jill giggled.

The cow let out another lazy moo, like it was joining in the conversation.

For a little while, we let ourselves forget the world outside the train.

Just two tired girls and one cow named Waffles, riding into the unknown.

I stared out the open boxcar door. Field after field of corn stretched as far as the eye could see—tall stalks waving slightly in the breeze, overgrown and untended. No one had plowed them. No one would.

In the distance, I spotted a dark figure moving through the rows. My stomach tightened. It was human-shaped, lurching unevenly. Probably a zombie. It staggered toward the tracks, too far to reach us now—but if the train stopped for any reason…

I shivered.

I looked up. The sun peeked through thin, scattered clouds. Judging by the light, it had to be a little past one o’clock, though it was hard to be sure without a watch.

A long, low train horn echoed across the empty land.

It was almost peaceful.

Almost.

But every peaceful sound out here risked drawing attention. The wrong kind.

I turned my eyes forward as the train curved along a bend in the tracks. From our spot in the middle, I could see the long line of cars ahead and behind—ten boxcars in front of us and about seven trailing behind.

We were in the belly of the beast now. Moving, but not safe. Never fully safe.

I tightened my grip on the edge of the door and kept watch, just in case.

The train passed a herd of bison grazing quietly in an open field, their dark, hulking bodies barely flinching as we rumbled past. It was oddly comforting—something normal in a world that had gone completely wrong.

"I hope the zombies don’t get them," I muttered.

Jill looked up. "I doubt it. They're too big and strong, and zombies don’t exactly hunt in packs like wolves. Besides, who’s going to bite a bison and walk away from that?"

She had a point.

I leaned my head out just a little, letting the cool wind hit my face. It made me wonder: Where exactly were we? What state were we even in?

I knew we were traveling north. That much was clear from the position of the sun and the cooler air. My hope? That we were headed toward the Canadian province of Minnesota.

It still felt weird saying that—Canadian Minnesota. I couldn’t believe the U.S. actually sold it seven years ago. I was nine at the time. Now I looked younger than I did back then. Thanks a lot, George.

Minnesota wasn’t just a memory. It was where my friends Andrew and Ralph had moved after the change. We met during a summer camp right before the border deal. I wondered if they’d even recognize me now, seeing me like this. A six-year-old girl. Their old buddy Nathan, now Natalie.

I glanced across the boxcar. Jill was lying on her back, legs in the air, waving them back and forth like she was pedaling an invisible bike. Her hair was messy from the wind, but her expression was relaxed. Happy, even.

"What’s up with you?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jill stopped her feet mid-air and looked at me with a grin. "Nothing."

"I doubt it’s nothing. I can tell you’re happy."

She sat up slightly, brushing a leaf from her sleeve. "Well, I was thinking... we’re heading north, right?"

"Yes…" I said slowly.

"And it’s almost winter, right?"

"Uh-huh."

"And what happens in the winter?"

I stared for a moment. Then it hit me. "Snow! And zombies don’t like the cold!"

"Exactly!" Jill said proudly.

I beamed. "You’re right! And I noticed the nights have been colder, too."

Jill giggled and flopped back down, resuming her air cycling. I scooted over and hugged her tightly, which wasn’t easy while she was lying on her back.

"Thanks for reminding me there’s still stuff to look forward to," I whispered.

She just smiled, legs still pedaling the air, as the train carried us deeper into the unknown—and, hopefully, into snow.

We must have stopped. All I remembered was shutting the boxcar door for the night. It was pitch black inside. What else could we do but sleep? The train was moving when we drifted off, but when I woke up, a sliver of sunlight peeked through a crack in the door—and the train wasn’t in motion.

"Jill," I whispered, sitting up. "Wake up."

She didn’t budge. Jill had always been a sound sleeper. Even as Jack, it was the same story.

I crawled over and shook her gently. "Jill, it’s morning, and the train has stopped."

With a grumble and a flutter of her lashes, she slowly sat up.

I peeked out through the crack. The world outside was quiet. Still. Not a person—or a zombie—in sight.

Grabbing my bag, I pushed the door open. It squealed loudly—too loudly. Every zombie within five blocks probably heard it. Jill jumped up, grabbed her stuff, and we both scrambled down onto the gravel.

We walked cautiously along the tracks. It was deserted. Towering buildings loomed nearby, but from where we stood on the tracks, we couldn’t get into any of them directly. We had to get past the train yard first.

As we crept forward along the length of the stopped train, a sign caught my eye.

"Minnesota’s Union Depot," I read aloud. "We made it to Minnesota."

"Yeah!" Jill said, her face lighting up. "But what city are we in?"

"Not sure," I said, staring up at the skyline. "But judging by all those tall buildings... definitely a big one."

Then I stopped.

"Wait. What about Waffles?"

We both turned and looked back at the boxcar.

She was still inside. Calm. Chewing. Watching us like she expected to be invited along.

Jill’s face fell. "We can’t bring her, can we?"

I sighed. "I want to... but she’d slow us down. We’ll be going through tight buildings, stairs... she wouldn’t fit. And if we had to run..."

Jill didn’t say anything. She walked back to the car and climbed up. I followed. Together, we gave Waffles one last hug.

"You were the best zombie-apocalypse travel buddy ever," Jill whispered, her voice catching.

I ran a hand along Waffles’ soft fur. "Stay out of trouble, okay? And if you see any zombies, just moo really loud and run them over."

Waffles blinked slowly and leaned her massive head into Jill’s chest.

We climbed down and backed away slowly, tears in our eyes.

"Goodbye, Waffles," I said softly.

She gave one last, low moo that echoed through the empty train yard.

We turned to walk away, but after a few steps, we heard the soft clunk of hooves behind us.

Waffles had stepped down from the boxcar and was slowly, hesitantly following us.

Jill froze. "No… oh, Waffles..."

We both turned, hearts sinking as she took another step forward, her big eyes watching us with quiet trust.

"She thinks she’s coming with us," I whispered.

Jill covered her mouth. "This is the worst."

We walked back to her. Jill gently pressed her hands to Waffles’ broad forehead. "You can’t come with us, girl. It’s too dangerous. You’re safer here."

Waffles snorted softly but didn’t resist.

We coaxed her gently back up the small ramp and into the boxcar. She turned once, looking over her shoulder with those huge, sad eyes.

"I know," I whispered. "I don’t want to leave you either."

Jill leaned against the boxcar wall for a moment, wiping her eyes.

Then together, we slid the heavy door closed—just enough to keep her safe but leave a sliver of light.

The moment the latch clicked shut, we heard a rumble from the front of the train.

The engine chugged. Wheels squealed. The whole train began to shift.

It was moving again.

We stepped back and watched as Waffles’ boxcar slowly pulled away, her silhouette visible through the crack we’d left.

She let out one last, soft moo.

We stood in silence until the end of the train disappeared down the tracks.

"Goodbye, Waffles," I whispered again, barely able to say the words.

Then we turned and walked away.

Toward the depot. Toward the city. Toward whatever came next.

We entered a tunnel that led into another building. This one seemed a little newer than the Union Depot, which felt ancient. I wondered how old these buildings really were. Had anyone even done maintenance in years? The floors were dusty and grimy, but I kind of expected that. The outbreak had been going on for nearly a week—there wasn’t anyone left to sweep the floors.

The building had no power, so the only light came from the tall, dirty windows. We must have been on the second floor because we crossed into a skyway that connected to another building across the street. I pressed my hand against the glass and peered down through the smears of dirt and streaks of dried blood. Zombies wandered aimlessly below on what looked like light rail tracks. The overhead lines confirmed it—definitely a light rail system.

Going outside right now would be suicide.

The silence was eerie, and I felt like I was watching a scene from season one of The Walking Dead, when Rick and Glenn snuck through the buildings of Atlanta.

Jill was already ahead of me, motioning for me to follow. When I reached her, I saw what she’d stopped for—a few bodies on the floor, unmoving. I instinctively knelt and stabbed one in the forehead. Better safe than sorry.

We kept going, passing through another skyway. No matter where we went, the streets below were crawling with the undead. We were trapped above it all.

"I’m hungry," Jill complained. I had a feeling she’d say that soon—I was getting hungry too.

"If we’re careful," I said, "we might find a place that hasn’t been looted or spoiled."

We wandered the upper halls of what seemed like an office complex. Most of the doors were locked, which was both good and bad. Good, because it meant zombies couldn’t get in. Bad, because neither could we. Especially if we needed to hide quickly.

Some of the doors were the sliding kind—the ones that only worked with electricity. We had to force one open just to keep moving.

"Hey, Natalie!" Jill called from up ahead, excitement in her voice.

She was pointing at a faded directory map on the wall.

"Saint Paul?" I muttered, reading the text. "We’re in Saint Paul—the former capital of Minnesota, now part of Canada."

Jill blinked. "Wait, this was Minnesota’s capital?"

"Yeah. When Minnesota was sold to Canada seven years ago, they voted on a new capital city. Saint Paul, Minneapolis, Duluth, Bloomington, Rochester, and Saint Cloud were all considered. But they chose Blackduck. People wanted a smaller city."

"Well, I’m getting my history lesson even in the apocalypse," Jill grinned.

"Yeah, but I doubt any of that matters now," I said. "There’s probably no capital left. If some guy was on the streets with a sign, it’d say ‘THE END IS HERE.’"

I looked down again at the walking corpses below.

"Guess what, Natalie," Jill said, pulling my focus back.

"What?" I said, still watching the street.

"I have good news and bad news."

"Okay... what’s the good news?"

"I found a little store we can get food from!"

"That’s amazing!" I lit up. "So, what’s the bad news?"

She pointed toward a broken-down door, its automatic function dead. On the other side, through cracked glass and shadows, we saw them.

At least twenty zombies.

All of them… waiting.

In a zombie’s point of view, I wonder what they think. I doubt they're actually saying “Braaaaaiiins.” More likely, it’s something like, “I’m starving, give me food,” or maybe even, “Someone, please kill me... Oh wait, I’m already dead... Someone, please kill me more.”

Maybe the movie Wasting Away had it right. In that one—besides the whole 'Super Soldier' thing—the zombies thought everyone else was out to get them. Maybe, to them, eating people is self-defense. I bet human flesh tastes like any other animal to them.

Still... it's disgusting. Turning into a zombie basically makes you a cannibal. Gross.

And what about vegetarians or vegans? Do they just become meat-eaters overnight? That would suck. So much for PETA. I don’t think they’ve figured out how to stop this kind of apocalypse.

Would it be safer to live out in the country? We saw fewer zombies on the trip up here. Maybe it is safer. But right now, it doesn’t matter.

Because Jill and I are stuck.

We ran. The moment we spotted the zombies inside that store, we turned around. We needed food, but we weren’t suicidal.

The problem? There was nowhere to go. Every hall, every walkway—we were just circling back to the same places. This whole Skyway system was like a maze with no exit.

Then we heard it.

Glass shattering.

The moan.

The crash.

They had broken through the door.

Panic mode.

We sprinted. My bag bounced painfully against my back. My shoes slapped the tile floor. My little dress whipped around my legs, slowing me down. I didn't care. I had to keep running.

But something was wrong.

"Jill?!" I screamed.

She was gone.

I froze.

That was the worst thing I could’ve done. Screaming was like ringing a dinner bell for every zombie in a five-mile radius.

I spun around, eyes scanning the corridor. Only one zombie had slipped through the door so far—but more were coming. I couldn’t just leave her.

I took a step forward.

And the world went dark.

“I’m dead. I’m dead. I know it.”

Is this what zombies thought of? Was the world always this dark to them? Was this what it felt like being turned—just endless blackness and hunger?

“Natalie, you can open your eyes, silly girl.”

I knew that voice. It was Jill.

I opened my eyes.

I was lying on a bed. A clean bed. In a room. Not a hospital. Not a prison. Just a normal room. It took me a second to process it.

“Where are we?” I asked, groggy.

“An apartment,” Jill said with a smile. “A man named Mr. Sanders brought us here.”

I sat up, rubbing my eyes. Through the window, I saw a beautiful park. Or... what used to be beautiful. Now it was crawling with zombies.

“What park is that?” I muttered. “Zombie Park? Because I’m not going near it.”

“Mears Park,” a deep voice said.

I jumped.

A man stepped into the room. He was older, dressed in a patched coat and a tired expression.

“That’s Mears Park,” he continued. “Used to be one of the nicest spots in downtown. It went through some rough times—homeless camps, protests, crime—but the city cleaned it up. Kicked out anyone who loitered more than thirty minutes unless they were there for concerts. Typical politics.” He sighed. “I used to be one of those people they kicked out.”

I glanced at Jill, then back at him.

“Are you Mr. Sanders?”

He nodded. “The one and only. And no, not the Colonel. I wish. He died rich and greasy.”

“What good is money now?” I said, getting out of bed.

Mr. Sanders looked out the window with us. “None at all. All that city planning, all that beautification... now the parks are back to being overrun. Just by a different kind of homeless.”

The silence hung there for a second.

“I’m surprised the military didn’t lock the city down,” I said. “Like they did in The Last of Us—quarantine zones, patrols, soldiers... something.”

He snorted. “They tried. Right where you’re standing used to be part of one. It didn’t last long. Barricades fell, infected got through. Then the soldiers bailed. A few families made it out. I stayed behind, figured I knew the layout better than anyone.”

“I guess this really is the end of the world,” I whispered.

“Or the beginning of something else,” Mr. Sanders said. “Depends what you do with it.”

I wandered over to the computer in the corner. "Does the Internet still work?"

Mr. Sanders chuckled. "Give it a try. And don’t worry about power—Galtier Towers Apartments have solar panels on the roof. Helped with rent, back when that mattered. I doubt I’ll be paying rent again anytime soon."

I powered it on. While the machine whirred to life, I opened the fridge, half-expecting it to be empty. But instead...

"Chicken?" I blinked. "You have a fridge full of chicken?"

"Just call me the Colonel," he laughed.

I gave him a look. "I thought you said you weren’t Colonel Sanders?"

"Shh!" he whispered sharply. "Keep your voice down—you’ll bring the dead back twice. I just love chicken. Always have. I’ve got a big freezer in the other room—chicken, chicken, and more chicken. Folks on this floor used to call me the Colonel ‘cause of that. And my last name. Doesn’t mean I ran a fast-food empire, though."

I giggled and bit into a drumstick. "Hope you don’t mind."

"That’s what it’s for," he said. "Eat up. There’s enough in there to feed half the block. If the block wasn’t full of cannibals."

The computer finally finished booting up.

“You're not connected,” the browser announced. “And the web really isn’t the same without you. Let’s get you back online.”

“Well, that’s disappointing,” I pouted. “No Internet.”

Mr. Sanders leaned in. "You’re not wrong. But it’s not because the net’s dead—it’s just that we don’t have a Wi-Fi connection here."

I groaned. "Then plug in the Ethernet."

"Can’t. I don’t have the cable. The router was downstairs. Belonged to the woman in the apartment below."

"So let’s get it."

"Yeah, about that—her place is crawling with biters."

So much for Googling how to survive an apocalypse.

I left the computer on. Mr. Sanders wanted to play Solitaire anyway. You’d think a man with that much chicken would also own a deck of cards.

I flipped on the TV and surfed through static. No cable. Just the Canadian Emergency Network. If this were still the U.S., we’d be watching the American National Emergency Network instead.

I flopped onto the bed with my chicken. Jill sat on the couch, flipping through a paperback. My mind spun in circles.

What were we doing here? Sitting around. Watching nothing. Eating chicken. We should’ve been moving. Heading farther north. Finding people. Finding answers.

If only we had a working cell phone.

If only I could call Mom. Or Jennifer.

If they were still alive.”

If it weren’t for the tornado, we would still be in that house—safe behind the force field, surrounded by food, cable, and enough video games to last the rest of the apocalypse. But nope. A twister had to come and hurl our safe little world into chaos. Figures.

Cell phones don’t work anymore—at least not the regular kind. But satellite phones still should. Satellites don’t crash just because the world below is on fire.

The thought made me sit up straighter. We needed a satellite phone. If only I knew where to get one without getting my face eaten off.

Munch. Munch. Munch.

Right. Still eating chicken. I looked down at the drumstick in my hand, already half gone. Jill had grabbed one off the plate beside me on the bed. She looked completely relaxed, like this was just some lazy Sunday picnic.

But I knew better. That calm look of hers? It was a mask. Underneath it, she had to be just as terrified as I was. Probably wondering if the door would hold, or if we’d end up a midnight snack.

Still... that door was thick. Solid steel. Reinforced. And these walls? Cement, not drywall. That was good. If they had been anything less, the zombies might’ve chewed through them by now.

But what about the apartment next door?

I pressed my ear against the bedroom wall, hoping to hear something. Nothing. Not even a creak. The walls were too thick. Good for safety, bad for curiosity.

So I tried the cup trick. The one from old spy movies. I pressed a drinking glass to the wall and leaned in. Still nothing. This was getting annoying.

If I couldn’t hear through it... maybe I could scrape through it.

I padded into the kitchen, found a decent knife, and was halfway back to the bedroom when—

“What are you doing with that, young lady?” Mr. Sanders’ voice caught me like a siren.

I froze. “I... I was just going to scrape the wall to see if there were zombies next door,” I admitted.

He gave me a look that was part amused, part horrified. “That’s not a good idea. If they hear or smell us, they’ll come. And I already know there are zombies next door.”

“You do?”

He nodded. “I checked every unit on this floor. Locked up what I could. But they’re in there. Trapped. For now. They’re smart though—well, smart enough. Given time, they figure things out.”

A chill ran down my spine. “What about the floors above or below us?”

“We’re already on the top floor,” he said, pointing at the ceiling. “Only thing above us is the roof. Below us?” He shook his head. “Didn’t even bother. That whole stack is infested. Unless someone down there did what I did, it’s crawling.”

I blinked. “Wait—you said the roof?”

“Yep. Why?”

“There’s a pool up there, isn’t there?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. And a massive movie screen. The old theater used to be downstairs, but the pool deck became the go-to spot after the renovations.”

Just then, Jill came charging out of the bedroom. “Who said pool?” she asked, grinning ear to ear.

I laughed. “Apparently, we’ve been living under one.”

“Is it safe up there?” Jill asked.

Mr. Sanders scratched his chin. “I never checked. I was too busy securing this floor. But if you’re asking if there might be zombies... I’d bet yes.”

I turned to Jill. “What do you think? Up for a little zombie pool party?”

She nodded, determination in her eyes.

Looks like we were going zombie hunting.

I stared out the window at the zombies in the park. It wasn’t a pretty sight. The once-beautiful park now looked like a war zone—trash scattered everywhere, benches overturned, and blood smeared across the pavement like crude brushstrokes on a forgotten painting. I didn’t know where all the zombies were coming from, but I sure wished they’d go somewhere else. Watching them shuffle around was seriously creeping me out.

Down on the street, I spotted a stray dog gnawing on what looked like a severed leg. I gagged a little. That was officially the grossest thing I’d seen all day—and that was saying something.

The sun was starting to set, casting long shadows through the buildings. I sighed. Back in the old days, that’s when the city would come alive—streetlights glowing, neon signs buzzing, cars rolling by, people laughing in the distance. But now? It was just darkness creeping in. No lights. No sounds. Just silence, and the ever-present groan of the undead.

Well, almost no lights. Our apartment still had electricity thanks to the solar panels. It made the place feel like a small bubble of the past, barely holding on in a world that had completely let go.

I wandered into the kitchen and grabbed another piece of cold chicken from the fridge. As much as I loved chicken, I was starting to get tired of it. My sister would’ve loved it cold. She always liked her food straight out of the fridge—chicken, chow mein, even frozen pizza.

If only we still had microwaves. My parents told me stories about them—how they used to heat up food in seconds. But those got outlawed back in 2084, before I was even born. Something about health concerns and environmental regulations. Typical future stuff.

I brought the chicken back to the bedroom. Jill was still curled up on the couch, reading like always. If there had been a copy of War and Peace lying around, I’m pretty sure she’d be halfway through it by now. I glanced at the book in her hands. Stuck in the Middle by Natasa Jacobs. Huh. I wondered what it was about. Maybe I’d borrow it when she was done.

It was getting late. I was full, sleepy, and bored. Nothing was on TV except the Emergency Broadcast Network, and we still didn’t have internet. Even if we did, I doubted anything was left to stream. The apocalypse kind of killed the whole subscription model.

I lay back on the bed, wrapping myself in a blanket that still smelled a little like laundry detergent. My eyelids were getting heavy.

Tomorrow, we’d check the roof. Maybe it’d be empty. Maybe it wouldn’t.

Either way, I had a feeling things were about to change again.

"Ew! Ew! Do we have to do this?" Jill cried. Mr. Sanders was standing there with a bucket full of zombie guts from one he'd killed earlier that morning, smearing the gory mess all over us like it was finger paint day at preschool.

"If you want to get to the pool without being eaten alive, then yes," he said, slapping another squishy handful onto Jill's arm.

"But it’s disgusting! And it smells like something that crawled out of a toilet and died—twice!" Jill groaned, nearly gagging.

"You’re telling me," I said, pinching my nose. "I’ve had it on longer than you. But hey, remember episode two of The Walking Dead? Rick and Glenn used this same trick. Zombie guts for camouflage—it worked for them."

"Yeah, and it rained right after!" Jill shot back. "It washed off and they almost died!"

I smirked. "I don’t think it’s going to rain indoors, Jill. Worst-case scenario, we have to take a bath before going swimming. Not exactly the end of the world… oh wait."

Jill groaned again. "I definitely just lost my appetite."

"Cool. More chicken for me!" I said, grinning as I plopped onto the floor with a piece.

Watching Mr. Sanders try to smear zombie goo on a squeamish six-year-old was like watching someone try to bathe a cat. Hilarious, terrifying, and definitely messy.

Sure, it smelled like death dipped in onions, but I had to admit, I hoped this plan would work. Back at the mall, I could pick off zombies from a distance. Here, they might be just a few feet away. That’s why we needed this disguise—and also, weapons.

"Hey, speaking of that..." I said, eyeing the old man. "What are we using to fight with? Because unless this is Minecraft, punching them isn’t going to cut it."

Mr. Sanders smirked and walked over to a cabinet, unlocking it with an old key. Inside was a stash of knives, a hatchet, and—was that a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire?

"Whoa," Jill whispered. "Are we in The Last of Us now? Because I feel like Ellie, and you look like you’re about to go full Joel."

"You two take the knives and bat," he said. "I'll stick with the hatchet."

I handed Jill the bat. "You know, if this doesn’t work and we get eaten, at least we’ll go out looking like absolute badasses."

She looked down at her slime-covered dress. "Badasses... who smell like a dumpster."

"Exactly," I nodded. "Now let’s go get that pool. Zombie-style."

“What are we going to use as weapons?” I asked Mr. Sanders.

“Don’t worry about that, I have it all planned out,” he said, putting the last touches of zombie guts on Jill. He then disappeared into his apartment for a moment and returned with a few items. From behind his back, he revealed two swords—one he handed to me and the other to Jill.

“Cool! I can be like Michonne,” I grinned, giving the blade a playful swing.

“You sure don’t look like her,” Jill teased, wrinkling her nose, “and you definitely don’t smell like her either.”

I stuck out my tongue. “Don’t swing that katana like that,” she warned. “You might accidentally cut us.”

I quickly stopped. “I’m actually using a katana, just like Michonne?” I could barely contain my excitement. I wanted to jump for joy, but I held back. Any noise might draw the zombies below. I did notice the katana seemed smaller than the ones I’d seen on TV. Maybe they made kid-sized versions?

Mr. Sanders returned holding a hatchet. He had given us his best swords, so this was all he had left for himself.

As we headed toward the staircase that led to the rooftop pool, I noticed something. “Mr. Sanders, why aren’t you wearing any zombie guts?”

“I’m a professional,” he said, matter-of-factly. “I cleared this whole level of zombies, and most of the Skyway too. They won’t get the drop on me.”

I decided not to argue. He was right—he had gotten us this far.

As we climbed the stairs, a nervous energy buzzed inside me. How many zombies were waiting up there? Would our camouflage actually work? Could Jill and I, now stuck in six-year-old bodies, really handle fighting dozens of zombies?

The top door crept closer. I could already hear the soft groans and shuffling feet on the other side. Mr. Sanders stepped in front of us, calm and confident. I couldn’t help but admire that. I missed being strong like that—back when I was a sixteen-year-old boy. Now, I felt like I was swinging a toy sword.

Mr. Sanders turned to us, his expression serious. “Are you both ready for this?” he whispered.

We both nodded.

I gripped my katana tighter. Jill raised her cutlass, which was slightly smaller than mine but still sharp and deadly.

Mr. Sanders opened the door just a crack to check. Only a few zombies were in sight. “This’ll be quick,” he muttered. He threw the door open and lunged forward, attacking with precision. The zombies turned on him instantly, ignoring us completely.

Jill and I slipped into the room behind him and quickly shut the door, barricading it with a chair. We made sure no one—or nothing—was getting out the way we came in.

That’s when a fresh wave of zombies surged in from the far side of the rooftop.

Mr. Sanders fought them off, moving with surprising agility for someone his age. Jill jumped into action, swinging at the nearest undead. Because of her height, she aimed for their sides—midsection strikes that threw them off balance. I joined her, slashing at legs.

“Die!” I yelled, cutting through one of the zombie's thighs. It groaned but kept moving. I growled in frustration. All I could really do was take out their legs. Once they fell, I finished them off by slicing through their necks.

I was getting tired. This wasn’t like the shows or the games. It was messy, exhausting, and repetitive. Slice. Chop. Drop. Slice. Chop. Drop. Rinse and repeat. And the worst part? They weren’t even going after us. Mr. Sanders had drawn most of the attention.

Still, we weren’t going to let him fight alone. I ran over to help him, slicing more zombie legs as fast as I could. Jill was nearby, hacking and dodging like a champ. Once they were down, we finished the job with our blades.

The rooftop was slowly becoming a graveyard. And for once, we were the ones digging the graves.

Jill’s sword wasn’t doing a great job. She was chopping away, but her strikes barely slowed them down. Sure, she knocked off a few arms, but the zombies kept coming. I knew I had to step in and give her some help.

“Need some help?” I asked, catching up to her.

“Why not? What else can I do? This sword he gave me sucks balls.”

I giggled and jumped in beside her. There were only nine zombies left on this side. I wasn’t sure how many were still on the other—most had chased after Mr. Sanders. I couldn’t help but wonder why these stragglers didn’t follow.

Then more zombies began shuffling in from nowhere.

“Wait… what?” I muttered, heart pounding.

Something wasn’t right. I darted toward a walkway and spotted the problem. The elevator doors were wide open—and they were crawling out of the elevator shaft.

“Seriously?” I gasped. “How are they climbing?!”

Zombies weren’t supposed to be smart. They weren’t supposed to be coordinated. But here they were, clawing their way up like oversized cockroaches.

I rushed to the elevator and threw my shoulder against the door. It wouldn’t budge. I pressed all my weight against it, gritting my teeth. Nothing.

“Jill!” I shouted. “I need help!”

No answer.

I turned and saw her across the pool near Mr. Sanders. No way she heard me. I sprinted toward her, boots slipping slightly on the blood-slick tile.

That’s when she slipped.

Her foot landed wrong in a puddle of zombie gore, and before I could warn her, she went down—right into the deep end of the pool.

All the zombie guts we’d smeared on ourselves washed away in an instant.

“HELP!” she screamed, flailing as she broke the surface.

The zombies noticed immediately.

One by one, they turned and began dropping into the pool after her.

“JILL!” I screamed, frantically searching the wall until I spotted the life preserver. I grabbed it and hurled it into the water.

“GRAB IT!”

She tried. Once. Twice. The third time—because of course it had to be three—she finally got it.

I gripped the rope with both hands and pulled with everything I had, dragging her toward the edge.

Meanwhile, Mr. Sanders had seen the commotion. Without hesitation, he leapt into the water. The zombies went in after him.

I couldn’t save him. Not with Jill barely clinging to the preserver and a dozen zombies between us.

I yanked her onto the deck and dragged her to the stairwell. She was soaked, terrified, and weaponless. Her sword was at the bottom of the pool.

“I can’t believe this,” I whispered, eyes stinging. “We lost him. We lost Mr. Sanders.”

I turned back to the pool, but it was already too late. The zombies had overwhelmed him.

We shut the door behind us.

We hadn’t won.

Not this time.

Chapter Twelve

We got back into Mr. Sanders' apartment. Jill and I were still crying. I couldn't believe it. How could we have lost? As far as I knew, I'd never seen a movie where zombies actually climbed—except World War Z, but those zombies climbed on top of each other. These ones? They were climbing a rope. Or a wire. Alone.

It reminded me of an episode of Doctor Who—“New Earth.” Some infected humans climbed an elevator shaft like zombies, but they weren’t undead. Just sick. Sure, Doctor Who had its share of zombie-like monsters, but none were like this. Those were more for laughs. This? This was real.

“Now that we’re safe from the zombies, what do we do?” I asked softly.

“I don't know,” Jill muttered, wiping her eyes. “We don’t have anyone to help us anymore. Mr. Sanders is gone and…” Her voice cracked as she broke into fresh sobs.

I walked over to the computer. It was still on. That was a good sign. I checked the Ethernet cord. It was long—too long for no reason. But there was no connection. I followed the cable across the room, where it disappeared into a small hole in the floor.

“This must run to the old lady’s apartment downstairs,” I thought. Mr. Sanders had mentioned her before. Maybe she was still alive—and had the Internet. I had to find out. If we didn’t have Internet, we couldn’t find maps, food supply locations, or other safe zones. I needed that link.

I looked back at Jill. She’d cried herself to sleep. That was good. I didn’t want to tell her what I was doing. If she knew I was sneaking into a zombie-infested floor for Wi-Fi, she'd lose it.

Still coated in dried zombie guts, I added another smear for good measure. It still smelled horrible, but that smell had kept us safe before. I grabbed my katana, took one last look at Jill, and slipped into the hallway.

The door to the stairwell creaked open. Dark. Why was it always dark when you didn’t want it to be? Most of the lights on the other floors worked fine. Maybe this one was on a different circuit—or maybe maintenance gave up on it. Either way, it gave me chills.

Step by step, I moved down the staircase. My hand hovered near the wall as I stepped over a few corpses—long dead and, thankfully, still. When I finally reached the landing, I eased open the door.

Zombies.

Not a horde, but enough to make me tighten my grip on my katana. They staggered aimlessly down the hallway, not noticing me yet. Thank God the hallway lights worked.

If I was right, the old woman’s apartment was directly beneath Mr. Sanders’—so I headed to the unit below his. Of course, it was locked. I had two options: find a master key from the lowest level or pick the lock. I wasn’t going forty-something floors down.

I dug into my pocket and pulled out a bobby pin. Hey, they were good for more than just keeping my hair back. I stripped off the rubber tips with my teeth and bent it into shape. Carefully, I worked the pin into the lock, keeping one eye on the hallway.

My fingers were shaking. I kept imagining a groan right behind me, teeth closing in—

Enough. I stood, drew my katana, and cleared the hallway. Two zombies. One clean sweep. Legs gone. Heads off. I made sure the other doors were closed and locked, then returned to the task. Silence settled like a blanket—thick and heavy.

Finally—click. The door creaked open.

But I couldn’t get inside. The chain was on. She was still alive—or had died recently. Either way, she hadn’t turned. Yet.

I wasn’t strong enough to force the door open with my weight—not like this. So I did what any stubborn six-year-old would do: I backed up, locked eyes on the door—and ran full speed.

BAM.

I smacked into the door hard. “Ow!” I cried, clutching my nose. My eyes watered. That was stupid. So stupid.

Then—click. Rattle. Slide.

The chain and lock opened. The door cracked.

And there she was.

An older woman—late fifties or early sixties—stood in the doorway, eyes wide. “Oh dear, I’m so sorry!” she said, pulling me inside gently.

I didn’t notice until it was too late—I’d dropped my katana outside.

She guided me inside and sat me on the couch. She bustled to the kitchen and returned with a handkerchief-wrapped ice pack.

“Here you go, sweetie,” she cooed, handing it to me. “Put this on your booboo.”

Booboo? What did she think I was—four?

Still, I pressed it to my nose. “Owie,” I muttered, half-embarrassed, half-comforted. She picked me up and placed me on her lap like I weighed nothing. It felt… strange. But also nice. I hadn’t been held like that in a long time.

My mom used to do that—before she met George Russell. Just thinking about him made my stomach twist. He was the reason we were in this mess. The zombies. The virus. The formula. Isisraxtosa. His fault.

“So, little miss,” she said gently. “Why were you trying to break into my apartment?”

I sniffled and looked down. “I just wanted to fix the Internet. Mr. Sanders said the router came from this unit, and I thought… I thought it was overrun with zombies. I just wanted to help…”

“You didn’t need to risk your life for that. You could’ve knocked.”

“We can’t use the phones,” I replied.

“Oh. Right. I forgot.” She chuckled softly. “By the way… how’s the Colonel doing?”

I looked up, eyes wide—and she saw the answer.

“Oh,” she whispered.

“He didn’t make it,” I said. “Zombies. On the roof. It was awful.”

“That place was crawling with them,” she muttered. “Would’ve been better to go to the old pool downstairs. It still works.”

I blinked. “Why didn’t we think of that?”

“You use big words for someone so small,” she smiled.

“Uh… fast learner,” I lied. I wasn’t going to tell her I used to be a sixteen-year-old boy.

Suddenly I remembered—Jill. “I have to go. My friend’s upstairs. She’ll freak out if she wakes up and I’m gone.”

“How old is she?”

“Six. Like me.”

“You girls shouldn’t be alone. You should come live here.”

“We’re okay,” I insisted. “I’m good with zombies. I took out two earlier. And we made it out of the rooftop pool fight.”

She gave me a look of concern. “Still. You’re just kids.”

Before I could answer, someone knocked at the door.

“Who could that be?” the lady wondered. She walked over to the door and looked out the peephole. Why didn’t she do that when I was there? Maybe she did, but didn’t see me because of my height.

“Oh my goodness.”

She opened the door. On the other side stood Mr. Sanders, holding my katana. I guess that’s how he found me. Behind him was a very mad-looking Jill. I was in for it with her.

“Mr. Sanders! I thought you were dead!” I cried, rushing to hug him.

“I would’ve been if it wasn’t for Jill dropping her sword in the pool. I was able to kill all of the ones in the water and get away, shutting the door behind me. I’d recommend not going back up there.”

Since Mr. Sanders was alive, we could live upstairs in the apartment again. That’s where I wanted to be. The best part? We could now go between the two floors. No zombies on either level, thanks to me killing the only two on this one.

We worked on fixing the Ethernet cord. Not surprising—it had just been unplugged. She probably did it while cleaning one day. Her apartment looked spotless, even now, during the apocalypse.

Maybe, just maybe, we could clear the rest of the building. All forty or so floors. Turn the whole place into a safe haven. A home for anyone we find. Could we actually kill all the dead and make this building ours?

We could even fix the pool upstairs. And the one outside. But that’ll take a while—especially after what happened with Jill and Mr. Sanders earlier today.

We made it back to the apartment, and I finally got on the Internet. I checked out a few local places that might help us. And maybe watched a video or two. I hadn’t seen any shows in days—I’d go crazy if I didn’t see my favorites, even if I’d already watched them a dozen times.

Jill was back in the room, reading again. She sure loved books. And she was definitely still mad at me. I just hoped she wouldn’t stay mad forever. I didn’t mean to scare her. I was only gone for a little while, trying to fix the Internet. I didn’t think she’d even notice. But she must have woken up, seen I was gone, and panicked.

I stepped into the room and sat down on the bed. Jill kept reading. I waited, hoping she’d look up. She didn’t. After a while, tears welled up in my eyes.

“I’m sorry for leaving you alone, Jill,” I whispered.

“That’s not why I’m mad,” she said, not looking up. “I wanted to go with you. You should’ve told me.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that.” I pouted. “I’m sorry.”

Jill hugged me. “You’re my best friend. And best friends stick together.”

We were both exhausted from the day. It only took seconds before we fell asleep. We hadn’t eaten much, but we’d eat tomorrow. I knew it.

And it was true—because the next morning, we woke up famished.

I found out the lady downstairs was named Beverly. She was kind enough to bring us some fried eggs, pancakes, and a cup of fresh-squeezed orange juice.

With Beverly living here the whole time, I started to wonder—how many more people were still in the building? There had to be a way to find out... without the dead noticing.

I stared outside. The zombies had taken over—left, right, every which way. Mears Park was now crawling with them. I couldn’t understand why they were so drawn to it. I was starting to go stir-crazy. I wished I could just go somewhere. Even a mall would be better than this.

Mr. Sanders and Jill were in the living room, reading a book together. How could Jill read so much? I knew it was useful, but come on—wasn’t she bored?

“Mr. Sanders?” I whined. “Is there anything I can do to pass the time?”

“You could read a book,” he offered.

I sighed. “Never mind.”
What I really wanted to do was go zombie hunting. That was fun yesterday—well, until Jill fell in the pool. Or swimming! “Beverly said the pool downstairs is still safe. All we need to do is fill it up.”

“That pool?” Mr. Sanders frowned. “I don’t know what she’s talking about. It’s too dangerous. You can only reach it by going through the Skyway. It’s part of an old fitness center,” he said. “Besides, you’d have to climb a lot. Over forty-five stories.”

“How did you bring Jill and me up here, then?”

“I carried you. Jill rode on my shoulders.”

I looked over at Jill. She was smiling. Lucky.

I turned back to Mr. Sanders. “What about the zombies? How did you get past them without fighting?”

“I killed all the ones in the stairwell,” he replied. “I had to find a way to get around faster. Taking the elevator would’ve been too risky. It’s noisy, and it’s old—it doesn’t close fast enough. If there were zombies waiting when it opened, you wouldn’t have time to shut it before they got inside.” He looked at me, waiting for a reaction. “So… still want to go to the pool?”

I grinned. If he wanted to be smart, I could be smart right back.
“Only if I ride your shoulders.”

We were in the staircase, heading downstairs. Jill stayed back—she wasn’t ready for a mission. Instead, she wanted to hang out with Beverly and help make dinner. Just in case, I brought my katana. I wasn’t sure if any had found their way into the stairwell. Anything could happen now.

Honestly, I was having fun. I hadn’t had a shoulder ride since I was little. And now that I am little again, I had to take advantage of it.

I was surprised that only a few stair lights had burned out. The rest still worked, making it pretty bright. That made it easier to spot the dead lying on the steps. Kind of gross, though. I wondered if it was possible to get new bulbs to replace the missing ones. I hate the dark.

There was a lot to think about while going down these stairs. One thing I noticed was just how much Jill and I had changed over the past week.

I kept wondering about Mom and Jessica. Were they safe from the tornado? They were in the cellar when it hit the house. Are they grieving over me and Jill—if they’re still alive? I have to find out. There has to be a way.

Finally, we made it to the bottom. But that wasn’t the end. Now we had to find a way to reach the pool.

Would there be zombies in the pool area, like there were on the roof? And if there are… I just hope there aren’t as many.

Back in Mr. Sanders' apartment, Jill and Beverly sat near the window, talking softly while the world outside stayed still and gray.

“I understand what you mean,” Jill said, nibbling on a cookie and glancing down at her hands. “I worry all the time. I already believe my parents are dead. They went on a trip and… they never came back.”

Her voice cracked slightly on that last part.

“Oh, sweetie…” Beverly’s expression softened as she pulled Jill into a gentle hug. “I’m so sorry you’ve had to carry that alone.”

Jill leaned into the embrace for a moment, letting out a shaky breath.

“What about Natalie?” Beverly asked, brushing a bit of hair from Jill’s forehead. “Are her parents still alive?”

Jill hesitated, then replied quietly, “Her father was killed in the war of 2112…”

“2112?” Beverly blinked, pulling back a little. “How could he be her father—twelve years before she was even born?”

Jill let out a nervous laugh. “Yeah… it’s a long story. You might want to sit down for this.”

Down on the main level of the apartment building, Mr. Sanders and I were getting ready. We were not going to be caught off guard.

A dead zombie lay on the floor next to us.

Wait… aren’t they all dead?
I giggled to myself at the thought. A weird, nervous kind of laugh—the kind that bubbles up when you’re trying not to lose it completely.

Mr. Sanders dragged the body closer and began cutting it into pieces with a grim expression. I knew what he was about to do, and my stomach turned.

This part always made me sick.

I hated the smell of rotting flesh. It clung to everything—your clothes, your hair, even your skin. But if you wanted to get through a herd of the dead without ending up one of them, you had to use camouflage. Gross, gory camouflage.

I asked Mr. Sanders to put some on himself. He gave me a look that said absolutely not—but he did it anyway. I respected that. Even if he looked like he wanted to vomit.

We were supposed to check out the pool again, but after peeking through the doorway windows and seeing how many zombies were still lingering in there… yeah, no thanks. That plan changed fast.

New plan: get out of the building, find more weapons, maybe some gear. Anything that could help us stay alive.

“You know where the police station is?” I asked.

“Yes, but it’s secured tight,” he answered.

“Damn,” I muttered under my breath.

He turned sharply. “Watch your mouth, young lady. No girl should be swearing at that age.”

I shrugged, trying to play it off. “Yes, sir…”

We finished smearing the zombie guts. The stench was unbearable. I gagged more than once, but I reminded myself—it was the stink that would keep me safe.

Moving slow and silent, we crept into the lobby. Mr. Sanders eased the door open, and we slipped out. Not a single zombie noticed. They didn’t even turn our way. They must’ve thought we were just more of them.

We didn’t speak. Not even a whisper.

We wandered through the Skyway—the same one Jill and I had been in the other day. We followed a narrow glass corridor that led to another building. It looked like a bank.

“Why are we at a bank?” I asked, lowering my voice. “We don’t need money. We’re not gonna rob a bank, are we? That’s kinda pointless. What would we even buy? Zombie insurance?”

Mr. Sanders cracked a half-smile. “Most people don’t know this, but banks have guns hidden inside. Security guards. Vaults. Panic rooms. They don’t rely on tasers.”

Huh. That was news to me.

We moved carefully through the Skyway, checking out every bank we could reach. It was eerie—like strolling through a ghost town inside a glass maze. The dead shuffled along down below, some even inside the buildings we passed. But none of them noticed us.

There was so much to see, but nothing was open. Shops locked up. Lights off. Chairs overturned. The whole place felt frozen in time—like everyone had just... vanished. I found myself wondering what this place looked like before everything went to hell. Coffee shops, fancy restaurants, little boutiques. There was even an anime store. I made a mental note: if we ever made this area safe, that was the first place I’d loot. Jill could have her books. I wanted plushies and DVDs.

Mr. Sanders tugged at my arm. “No dawdling.”

Ugh. Fine. It was boring checking bank after bank, especially when none had anything useful. I still thought the police station would’ve been faster. I mean, I am kind of good at breaking through security. He doesn’t know that yet.

We passed a store with shattered windows and a dark blue sign: Twin Cities CelDirect. Not just any phone shop—this one sold satellite phones too. That could actually be useful. I squinted to memorize the name. I’d look it up online when we had Internet again. Assuming the net was even still a thing.

“This is nothing compared to the Minneapolis Skyway system,” Mr. Sanders said with a dry laugh. “But even there, you can get lost. Let’s keep moving. We’ve got a lot to do.”

By the time we made it through the entire section, my legs ached. I spotted a map on the wall and stepped over to check where we were.

“Wabasha Street,” I muttered, tracing the path with my finger. We had traveled nearly half the Skyway by now. Not far from the library. That made me perk up a little.

I wasn’t the biggest fan of books, but maybe I could find one on survival. Or something about zombies. Or—better yet—I could grab one for Jill. She’d be so happy to have a book of her own.

“Can we go to the library?” I asked Mr. Sanders hopefully.

He glanced out a nearby window. “It’s going to get dark in an hour. We better head back.”

I frowned. “Why? We’re fine. We’ve got weapons.”

He didn’t answer right away. He just started walking.

I groaned and dragged my feet, reluctantly following. I didn’t get it. Why now? We were still camouflaged. Still safe. But he was clearly spooked by something.

As the sun dipped lower and the shadows stretched across the buildings, we picked up the pace. Something about the air felt different. Heavier. Thicker.

Then we heard it.

A low, guttural sound. Not quite a moan. Not quite a growl. It echoed faintly at first—but it was there. And it wasn’t coming from one direction.

It was coming from everywhere.

Mr. Sanders pulled his gun instantly. I froze, heart pounding in my chest. The sound grew louder. Closer. It was wrong. It wasn’t the usual undead groan we were used to.

It was something else.

Something worse.

I swallowed hard.

What the hell was it?

Just then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the freakiest thing I’d ever laid eyes on.

This wasn’t a regular zombie… or maybe it was? I couldn’t tell. Whatever it was, it was chasing us—and it didn’t care about the camouflage. I couldn’t believe it. The disguise wasn’t working.

This thing was bigger than any of the zombies we’d seen before. Mutated. Wrong. Terrifying.

It reminded me of those creatures from the Resident Evil movies and games. Its body looked like it was made of slime—barely holding together, all warped and melted. The head was shaped like a demon, twisted with rage. Its arms moved like snakes, slithering with every step. Its teeth looked like they could chew through steel.

I wished this was a dream. I didn’t want to be here anymore.

Then—bam—I tripped.

I hit the pavement hard, my breath knocked out of me. Mr. Sanders stopped, turned, and fired his gun. The blast echoed through the streets. It hit the creature—but it only staggered it. Stunned it, maybe.

It wasn’t enough.

I scrambled to my feet and kept running.

We were about a block from our apartment entrance when we got cut off. A pack of creatures stepped into our path.

At first, I thought they were dogs.

Man’s best friend, right?

Wrong.

These things looked like dogs that had crawled out of a nightmare. Mangled, mutated, and growling like they hated the world. One glance, and I realized—they were the same kind I’d seen earlier. The ones I’d mistaken for regular strays. Yeah… not even close.

I gripped my katana tighter. Mr. Sanders had his gun trained on the mutant behind us. He was quick—but so were the dogs.

Now I understood why he said we needed to be back before dark.

The freaks really did come out at night.

The mutant was getting closer. I couldn’t see it, but I could hear it. Wet, slithery footsteps, getting louder. Mr. Sanders kept firing, but it wasn’t dying. Nothing was stopping it. Nothing worked.

My eyes snapped back to the dogs. Why weren’t they attacking? They just stood there, growling low, like they were waiting for something.

And then… I knew what it was.

Zombies.

They were coming in from all directions. The ones in the streets must’ve finally figured it out—we weren’t one of them. The camouflage had worn off. They started shuffling toward us, groaning, faster this time. More alert.

I spun in place, heart racing, and that’s when I heard it—

A scream. No… a shriek. So loud, so inhuman, it cut through the air like a blade.

I jumped a mile high.

“What the hell was that?” I gasped.

And then I saw it.

The dogs weren’t waiting for us.

They were waiting for it.

From the shadows came something massive. A new creature. It looked like a dog, but way bigger. Its muscles rippled beneath rotting flesh. And it had three heads—like a monster straight out of Greek mythology.

Like Cerberus.

Only uglier.

Each head had rows of razor-sharp teeth, and from the middle one, a tongue shot out—long and thick, like a whip. Only this tongue had teeth at the end.

And it came straight at me.

I swung my katana, but missed. The tongue zipped back, just inches from my face. I stumbled backward, trying to get distance.

Snap! It lashed again.

This time, I struck. The blade hit its mark. I cut the tongue clean off.

It hit the ground with a wet smack, the little teeth still twitching.

Why did it only attack with one tongue if it had three heads?

Then I realized—it only had one tongue. A long, weaponized horror coming from whichever head wanted to use it.

I stood frozen for a moment, heart pounding, the katana still raised.

Was it studying me?

The other dogs just stood back, watching. Their eyes never blinked. Never moved.

What was Mr. Sanders doing? I could still hear gunshots, not far from me. But it didn’t sound like anything was working. I wanted to switch enemies—let him deal with this thing and I’d take the other one.

Actually… never mind. Forget I said that.

Then it happened.

The Cerberus creature charged.

All the dogs with it.

I screamed.

There was no way I could survive this. Not with just a katana. Not against that.

I knew, deep down, this might be the end.

…

BOOM!

“Wait! What happened? How did—?” I spun around, eyes wide. Mr. Sanders stood beside me, just as stunned. His mutant was gone. So were mine.

Dead.

All of them.

But how? We were still standing. Alive. Breathing.

There was a massive hole torn into the wall, revealing the world outside. Guts were splattered everywhere—chunks of monster flesh steaming in the cold air. The smell hit me hard—three times worse than anything I’d smelled before.

Zombies outside the building turned toward the sound. Some pressed against the glass. We were exposed.

And then, out of nowhere, a child appeared.

I blinked. He looked to be about nine years old.

“Who are you?” I asked, breathless. He looked like a boy—just a kid—but something about him felt... different.

He stepped out from behind a toppled desk, and following behind him was a little girl, about my age.

“My name’s Hunter Ziegler,” he said calmly. “And this is my sister, Madison.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” I mumbled, still trying to wrap my brain around what had just happened. “But… how did you kill those mutants?”

Hunter gave a crooked smile. “You gotta stay ahead of the game if you wanna survive the zombie apocalypse. I had a bazooka.”

“A bazooka?” I yelped—then instantly regretted it. “You could’ve killed us!”

“I could have,” he said with a shrug, “but I’m very talented with it. I angled the shot away from you and your old man there—just enough to take them both out with one blast.”

I stared at him, half-impressed, half-terrified. “What about the mutant dogs?”

“They ran off. But they’re not far. They’ll be back, which is why we need to get moving.” He looked at me seriously. “By the way, where do you live?”

Mr. Sanders raised his hand and chuckled. “We’re only about a block away. I live on the top level.”

Hunter nodded. “Fine with me. I like a challenge. My sister might not be too thrilled about it, though.”

Madison didn’t say anything. She clung to her brother’s arm, clearly not a fan of the stairs ahead.

I wasn’t thrilled either. There was no way I could ask Mr. Sanders for a shoulder ride—not with two new kids here. That wouldn’t be fair to... Madonna? Madeline? What was her name again?

Oh. Right. Madison.

We started the climb.

As we made our way up, I felt a weight settling in my chest. I was disappointed. We didn’t even get a chance to work on the pool. Not that it would’ve mattered—it was almost November. Snow could hit any day now, and the pool would just freeze over.

Wait… was it November?

I paused.

Is today Halloween?

Of course it would be Halloween. The scariest day of the year—and here I am, nearly killed by a demon-zombie dog.

I tried to retrace the days in my head.

Jessica came back from Argentina on October 25th. I remembered because she wouldn’t stop joking about her plane ticket—flight 1025, seat 1025, departing at 10:25, and arriving on 10/25. All those 10-25s. She thought it was hilarious.

Didn’t seem so lucky now.

That night, we got trapped in the McDonald’s. The next day—the 26th—we made it back home, just in time for the storm. On the 27th, Jill and I ended up stranded after the car broke down. Then we rode the train—probably the 28th. We arrived in Saint Paul and met Mr. Sanders on the 29th. On the 30th, we tried (and failed) to clear out the pool and met Beverly.

And today...

It is Halloween.

Great.

It’s funny how my brain works when I wander. The more I think, the faster time moves. Before I knew it, we were only one floor away from Beverly’s.

Hunter stayed alert the whole time. Every creak, every corner, he was ready. That gave me some peace of mind.

But deep down, I felt something else.

Disappointment.

For a while, I thought I was the best zombie whiz around. But now... Hunter made me feel like everyone else. I wasn’t special anymore. I felt a tear slip down my cheek as I watched Madison drag her feet up the stairs behind her brother.

If only there were a way to clear out every level of this apartment building. Then we could fix the elevator. Never have to climb stairs again.

Finally, we reached the top.

It was quiet up here. Still.

We knocked on Beverly’s door with our secret knock—the one we’d come up with so she’d know we weren’t zombies. A second later, we heard another knock in reply. A light one. That was Jill’s signal.

I knocked once more.

The door opened.

It was Jill, smiling from ear to ear. Of course, if Beverly had been the one answering, she’d have looked through the peephole first. But Jill and I were both too short to be seen that way—hence the knock pattern.

It was good to be home.

Even if “home” was now the top floor of a zombie-infested apartment building.

As we walked in, Jill spotted Madison and Hunter.

“Who are they?” she asked.

“These are two children we found along the way,” Mr. Sanders answered.

“They helped us when some hideous monsters attacked us,” I added quickly.

“The name’s Hunter,” he said, stepping forward and holding out his hand. Jill and Beverly shook it. Then he pointed toward his sister. “And this is my sister, Madison. If it wasn’t for me, she might not be here. I’ve been protecting her since the very first day.”

He paused, his voice growing more serious. “We lived outside, where the dead roam. We even stayed at the local homeless shelter—Dorothy Day Place. Lots of the dead living there.”

“That was scary,” Madison pouted, clutching his arm.

“I wasn’t scared,” Hunter said proudly. “There was food. We had weapons. The zombies couldn’t get at us.”

“You might not have been scared,” I replied, trying to hold back my frustration. “But choosing an open shelter where zombies can just walk in and eat you while you sleep doesn’t exactly sound like—”

“Shut up!” Hunter snapped. “Madison and I stayed in a locked room every night. We could see everything happening and had a trapdoor on the roof to escape. I know what I’m doing. At least I don’t stand around and wait for a Cerberus to chase me.”

That hit too hard.

My chest tightened, and my face burned. I turned and ran into another room, tears already falling.

“You didn’t have to be so mean to her,” Mr. Sanders growled.

Jill and Beverly looked at each other and exchanged a knowing glance before following me. They found me curled up on the bed, crying into the pillow.

“I don’t want to see anyone,” I sobbed.

“What’s wrong?” Beverly asked softly, sitting beside me and rubbing my back gently.

“I spent years watching zombie movies and shows,” I cried, voice muffled against the sheets. “I read all the books. I studied. I learned everything so I’d be ready when this day came. And now… I ruined it. I drank the Isisraxtosa formula like an idiot. I could’ve been smart. But now I’m stuck in this tiny girl’s body with a tiny brain, and I lost everything I knew.”

I shook as I cried harder. “Hunter’s bragging like he’s the smartest person alive. Like I’m just some kid. I studied too. I did! How about he drinks the formula and sees how it feels!”

Beverly didn’t say anything at first. She just stayed there with me, quiet and patient.

Eventually, I curled back into the bed, sniffling. She reached into a small drawer and pulled out something I hadn’t seen in years. A pacifier.

She held it out gently.

I knew it was for babies. I knew I was too old. But right now? I didn’t care.

I took it.

Gradually, I accepted it.

It’s tough to be a child.

I feel like everyone—except Jill—thinks I’m too young to do anything. I’m not even allowed to use a gun. I do get a small katana, though thanks to the internet, I found out it’s actually a wakizashi. A Japanese sword, a little shorter than a katana. I’m not sure why Mr. Sanders called it that. Maybe he was just trying to give me confidence.

Sometimes I hate being six. I wish I were sixteen again. But then again, being small does have its perks. Jill, Madison, and I can squeeze into places no one else can. We’re about the same height. Same age too.

I ran into the living room and stopped cold.

I saw what they were watching. Of all movies… why that one? Never mind. I won’t go there. I’ll just let it go. I turned around and slammed the door behind me.

I walked into the room with the computer and sat down. At least online, I could figure things out. Jill was the only person from my past I knew was still alive. But if there was even a sliver of hope that Mom and Jennifer were too...

Minecraft.

Of all the things to check online—of course. Jennifer’s obsessed with Minecraft. I typed in the website. It was still up. That was a good sign. Now I just had to hope the server she used was still running.

I’d played Minecraft tons of times growing up. It’s kind of old now—over a hundred years old, I think. I’m still amazed people still play it. The graphics are ancient compared to today’s games, but maybe that’s why people love it so much.

I downloaded the game to the computer and hoped it would work. These old games can be tricky. When the login screen finally popped up, I breathed a sigh of relief.

I typed in my old account: NatTheKing.

I giggled a little. I really should change that name someday.

It took forever to load. I don’t know how many updates this game’s had over the years, but I’m pretty sure this was the last one. Kind of sad. I always wished they’d add the evil bunnies back in.

I watched the screen as it slowly loaded. Way longer than it used to. I knew why—the internet. Without anyone maintaining the servers, it was painfully slow. But still, I whispered to myself, Don’t fail me. Please don’t fail.

I was about to give up… when the server finally appeared.

“It’s working?” I whispered. “I can’t believe it.”

Now I just had to see if Jennifer was on.

I clicked the server name and waited again. I glanced at the clock. Seven minutes—seven—just to get this far.

I stared outside while I waited. The dead were still wandering around below, owning the streets like they had always belonged there. I looked back at the screen.

Connection Lost. Timed out.

Of course.

I tried again. And again. Same error. Just as I was about to close it, it finally loaded in.

I pressed Tab to see who was online. She wasn’t there.

My heart sank a little.

But… there was someone. A girl, based on the name.

[NatTheKing] Hello?

I waited. No response. Maybe she was away from the keyboard.

Still, after all this effort, I wasn’t about to log off. I headed to one of my old builds to kill time. I’d gotten pretty carried away the last time I was on. Hard to believe I built a huge castle at age sixteen. Now, at six, I didn’t even know how to recreate the front steps.

So I built a little house. It was all I could think of. I wished I could make something grand like before. My eyes started to sting.

Then came a reply.

[JamGirl02] Hey Nathan! Haven’t seen you on in a long time.

Oh no.

One of my old online friends. I’d completely forgotten about her. How was I supposed to explain that I was now a girl named Natalie?

[NatTheKing] Yeah. It’s been a while. How’s the zombies in your area?

[JamGirl02] Being zombies. How about yours?

[NatTheKing] lol. Pretty much the same. Ugly—like they came straight out of the morgue. Not like the ones on The Walking Dead.
Hey, have you seen my sister Jennifer on here lately? Her IGN is js420.

Ugh, character limits. I hated how short the messages were. But I understood—it was to stop people from spamming.

[JamGirl02] Nope. This is my first time on since it all started. But if I see her, I’ll tell her you’re looking.

[NatTheKing] Thanks. Tell her I’ll be on every day at this time—if I can get on. Internet sucks.

[JamGirl02] Yeah, true. I’ll let her know. I was hoping more friends would log in. I guess… most of them are gone.

We talked for a while. Eventually, we just played the game together. I found her working on this huge build, not far from my tiny, sad little house. I offered to help. She let me.

Part of me was scared she’d find out I wasn’t who I used to be. I was a six-year-old girl now. But even if she found out… who would believe it?

My stomach growled.

I looked over and noticed a cup sitting next to me. But that wasn’t enough. I needed real food. Chicken. Yeah, that sounded good.

Speaking of chickens, it’s weird how you don’t really see many animals in The Walking Dead. A few horses. A goat. Maybe a pig or two. And they all died, of course.

I headed to the kitchen, grabbed a few cooked chicken pieces, and went back to the game. My friend was still working on the chimney. It was getting dark in the game. That’s when the mobs come out. Mobs are the monsters.

Why did they have to put zombies in this game, too? Like real life isn’t enough?

I ran into the building and climbed the stairs to where she was. I knew they’d be spawning soon.

[NatTheKing] If only the zombies outside would spawn like the ones in this game.

[JamGirl02] lol. And then burn to death when the sun rises. That’d be nice.

[NatTheKing] I think Minecraft got it wrong. It’s vampires that burn in sunlight—not zombies.

A few zombies appeared in the game. I didn’t have a weapon. She gave me a sword. That made me laugh a little. If only I had my real katana, these things wouldn’t stand a chance.

I looked away from the screen and down at the street. The real zombies were still out there.

At least in the game, I didn’t have to see their guts. Or smell them.

[JamGirl02] It kinda sucks. Zombies in here, and in real life.

[NatTheKing] You’re telling me. I was just thinking the same thing.

We were mid-battle when something popped up on the screen.

I froze. My mouth dropped.

After all this time—after all these days—

[js420 joined the game]

I couldn’t stop the tears. Jennifer. My sister.

She was alive.

And if she was alive… then maybe Mom was too.

Maybe even…

George.

[NatTheKing] Jennifer!!

I typed as fast as I could—but the moment it appeared on the screen…

The server crashed.

Connection Lost. Internal exception: java.net.SocketException: Connection reset

“Crap!” I cried. “That was Jennifer! She’s alive!”

I rushed back to the main page and tried reconnecting. This time, I got:
Can’t connect to server.

I kept hitting refresh. Over and over. Same message.

I didn’t want to restart the game—it took forever. What if she logged off while I was loading? What if I missed my chance?

Tears poured down my face. I slammed the game closed and restarted it, but now it wouldn’t load anything. Not even my name. It just said:

Play Offline.

Minecraft was gone. I couldn’t play with friends. I couldn’t see Jennifer again.

I dropped my head onto the keyboard and cried.

I didn’t know what else to do.

I had been so close.

I must have cried myself to sleep, because the next thing I knew, I was in bed.

I had to get up. I wasn’t sure where everyone was. It was dark outside, and I could hear the groans of the zombies from below. Even though we were on the top floor, they still made enough noise to send chills down my spine—especially at night. It was creepy.

Then I heard it.

A loud shriek.

That sound.

No. No, no, no.

It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be another Cerberus… could it?

I started to cry again.

Beverly came into the room and rushed to my side. “Shhh,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around me. “Don’t cry. You don’t want to wake everyone.”

“I don’t think I’m the one who’s going to wake them up,” I sniffled. “Can’t you hear that?”

“Yes, I can,” she murmured, holding me close. “But they’re far enough away. We’re safe for now.”

Just then, Hunter burst into the room.

“I don’t think we’re safe,” he said in a hushed voice. “That’s a Cerberus. I’m sure of it. And it’s on the roof.”

My breath caught in my throat. I knew what that meant. I’d seen what they could do.

“Would we be safe if we stayed quiet?” Beverly asked calmly.

“We might,” Hunter said, barely above a whisper. “But we might not. If it knows we’re here, it can get to us fast. Its saliva is acidic—it can melt through metal. And its tongue is long, like a whip. Natalie’s seen that firsthand. Plus…” He hesitated. “It can breathe fire.”

My heart dropped.

“If it sets the roof on fire,” Hunter continued, “we won’t have time to escape.”

“Then let’s not make a sound,” I murmured, frozen in place.

“Go warn the others. Quietly,” Beverly instructed him.

I sat near the window, watching the world below. Mutant creatures were scattered across the ground. I didn’t even know what they were. I just wished they weren’t there.

This wasn’t Minecraft. They wouldn’t burn up when the sun rose. They wouldn’t despawn. They would still be here—waiting.

The girls were told to stay silent. Mr. Sanders slipped into the room, gathering supplies as quietly as possible. I could tell by the way he moved—we were getting ready to leave.

I didn’t want to.

This place felt like home. Safe.

I grabbed my wakizashi—though I still liked to call it a katana. The girls gathered swords and guns. I took a small gun, the only one light enough for me to handle.

Beverly packed up some food and a few useful items. I glanced at the clock.

4:00 a.m.

The sun wouldn’t rise for another three hours. And even then, it would still be dark. The mutants would still be out there.

I prayed Mr. Sanders had a plan, because I sure didn’t.

When we were all packed, Mr. Sanders opened the apartment door slowly. We held our breath.

Nothing.

No creatures. No dogs. Just silence.

The stairs were the next challenge. Echoes. Every creak could give us away. And the same staircase also led to the roof.

Where the Cerberus might still be.

This was Jill’s first time going back downstairs since we got here. It was hard for all of us. The food we left behind… the safety… it would all go to waste.

We had dreamed of clearing this building, making it a safe haven for survivors.

Now it was just a dream. One we had to leave behind.

We crept down the stairs, listening carefully with every step. Nothing followed us. No strange sounds inside. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling something would.

And then… we heard it.

That familiar shriek. Louder now. Echoing through the stairwell, bouncing off every wall.

My spine went cold.

I sped up, passing the others. I needed out of this building. I needed away from that sound.

Then I froze.

A clicking noise.

“Hold on,” I whispered, lifting my hand. Everyone stopped.

The clicking came again—tap tap tap… scratch scratch scratch… tap tap tap.

Jill leaned in. “A zombie?”

“No,” I whispered. “That’s not a zombie. That’s Morse code.”

Three taps. Three scratches. Three taps again. SOS.

“Someone’s in trouble,” I said, heart racing.

I tapped and scratched back: Where are you?

The response came a few seconds later: Apt 1802. Dead outside door.

Mr. Sanders frowned. “That’s going to be a problem.”

“We can’t fight them now,” Beverly whispered. “Not with the Cerberus above us.”

“We’ll handle it,” Mr. Sanders said. Hunter nodded in agreement.

I wanted to help… but I was scared. I knew I wouldn’t make a dent in a real fight.

They each grabbed their swords. Guns were too loud. A single gunshot could bring the monster down from the roof.

Mr. Sanders opened the door to the 18th floor. We were lucky—the zombies were near the far end of the hall. He and Hunter dashed forward.

I counted six. Hunter took out two quickly. Mr. Sanders took the others. We slipped into the hallway and closed the stairwell door behind us.

Apartment 1802 was near the middle. I knocked gently. Beverly smiled at me.

A chain slid open, and a terrified African Canadian man peeked through. His eyes widened when he saw us.

He opened the door. “Come in,” he whispered.

We filed inside quickly.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” he said. “I have no idea how you even found us.”

“Wasn’t it Morse code?” I asked.

“Morse code?” He looked puzzled. “Oh—that must’ve been my son, Zachary.”

He ducked into a back room and returned with a boy, maybe thirteen.

“This is Zachary. He knows all that old stuff,” he said proudly.

Zachary gave a small wave. “Hi.”

“Nice to meet you, Zachary,” Mr. Sanders said. “I’m Mr. Sanders. This is Beverly, Natalie, Jill, Hunter, and Madison.”

“I’m Rodney,” the man said. “My wife Tia, and my daughters Shakina and Desiree, are still asleep.”

We settled in their living room for a bit, catching our breath. Finally, Rodney asked, “So… why are you all up so early?”

“We lived on the top floor,” Beverly explained. “But there’s a Cerberus up there. We had to leave.”

Zachary’s eyes lit up. “You mean the monsters with three dog heads, a dragon tail, and snakes growing out of their backs? I see them from the window every night.”

I nodded. “They’re worse than the zombies. We have to get out of this city.”

“It could be like this in every city,” Mr. Sanders warned.

“Jill and I were outside at night before, and we never saw them,” I added. “It was only when we got here that they showed up.”

We kept talking, but I started to feel uneasy. Like we were wasting time.

“I’m not staying here,” Rodney finally barked. “We need to get the hell out of this city.”

“But where would we go?” I asked.

Everyone had a different idea. I wanted to go back home to Mantri, Kansas. Rodney wanted to go north. Zachary wanted south. Mr. Sanders and Beverly wanted to stay nearby—just in case things ever returned to normal.

Hunter and Madison didn’t care either way.

It was almost 7:00 a.m. The sky was brightening, though we couldn’t see the sun—too many clouds.

Hopefully the mutants would hide during the day.

Tia, Shakina, and Desiree finally woke up. They were shocked to see so many people in their apartment. After introductions, Tia started packing supplies. Shakina and Desiree each grabbed one item—a doll.

Honestly? I would’ve done the same.

But dolls don’t protect you from zombies.

By 7:45, we were ready to move. Except now came the worst part—camouflage.

Jill and I hated it. I could tell Madison, Shakina, and Desiree weren’t thrilled either.

As daylight broke, we quietly stepped into the world again.

Every step, every zombie near us, made my heart pound. Any one of them could figure us out. If that happened…

We had one goal: find a broken-down light rail. Try to get it working.

“This’ll get us to Minneapolis,” I giggled nervously.

“It’ll take us farther than that,” Hunter said. “It goes all the way to Eden Prairie. We could stay at the mall there.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to go to the Mall of America?” Madison asked. “Less walking.”

We all agreed. The Mall of America would be quicker. Let’s just hope we’re not fighting zombies the second we get there.

Rodney managed to get the train started. It wasn’t easy—he didn’t have a key—but somehow, it roared to life.

We climbed aboard.

This was going to be a long ride.

Let’s just hope we make it.

This was the first sunrise I had seen in days.
It was a brisk morning, but the early November sun made the air feel warmer with each passing minute. I still hated smelling like a corpse, but if it kept the zombies away… I’d take the stink.

Rodney wasn’t a bad driver, considering he’d never driven a light rail before. The tracks were still in decent shape—which made sense. After all, it had only been about a week since everything went to hell.

As we traveled slowly down the tracks, I stared out the windows at the motionless cars lining the streets and the hundreds of zombies shuffling aimlessly between them. Some were pressed against building doors or windows, clawing to get out—or in. It was like watching the whole world rot in slow motion.

Because the train was moving, the zombies noticed it. Many turned and began lurching toward us. Any that got in front were mowed down. Blood and guts splattered across the front of the train, painting it in streaks of slimy red. It was disgusting.

Good thing it wasn’t nighttime. Who knows what kind of monsters might show up then.

We weren’t moving fast—maybe ten miles per hour. Honestly, we could’ve jogged faster.

“Are we in Washington?” I asked, staring at a rusted, dome-shaped building that looked eerily like the U.S. Capitol.

“No,” Mr. Sanders replied with a faint smile. “You’re looking at the old Capitol Building of the State of Minnesota—before Canada took over.”

I blinked. “Why’s it so rusty? Don’t they take care of buildings like that?”

“They stopped maintaining it after the roach infestation of 2103. It was abandoned in 2117 when Minnesota became a Canadian province.”

I sat back, a little stunned. They just... left it? That felt wrong.

As we rolled deeper into the city, the streets started to look worse. Glass covered the sidewalks. It looked like Halloween, but with no costumes—no ghosts, no princesses, no tiny superheroes. Just the decorations left behind, flapping in the wind, shredded and forgotten.

We passed a food market with collapsing walls and rotting pumpkins outside. Cars sat abandoned everywhere—crashed into poles, buildings, each other. Looters had been here. Windows were smashed. Graffiti was splashed across the walls. And the dead… were everywhere. Lying in the road. Pressed against shop windows. Wandering aimlessly.

The farther we got from downtown Saint Paul, the worse it became.

Then I saw it.

A strand of intestines hanging from the top of a doorway.

I felt my stomach twist.

And then—I threw up.

“Eww!” Jill groaned. “Did you have to do that right in front of me? Now I’ve got to find another seat!”

“Sorry…” I whimpered, tears in my eyes. “It’s just… everything I’ve been seeing.”

“It’s a light rail,” Madison corrected me as I wiped my mouth.

“Light rail, train—whatever,” I muttered. “They both run on tracks.”

The light rail started picking up speed. I prayed the tracks ahead weren’t damaged. I didn’t want to imagine what would happen if we hit a break—especially on a bridge.

We passed more shops. An old McDonald’s with a busted sign—the golden arches now just one lonely curve. It had clearly been broken into. I couldn’t help but think about Mom and Jennifer. About that time we were stuck in a McDonald’s inside the mall.

Tears welled up in my eyes.

Jennifer. She was alive. I knew she was. But she didn’t know I was.

There had to be a way to let her know I was still here. Still fighting.

Then I spotted it.

A pawn shop.

There could be weapons in there.

“Stop the train!” I shouted, leaping from my seat.

Rodney slammed the brakes and turned around. “What’s wrong?” he asked, panic in his voice.

“Nothing’s wrong,” I said quickly. “I just saw a pawn shop back there. It looked untouched. We might find more weapons.”

Rodney’s jaw clenched. “Don’t ever yell like that unless it’s an emergency.”

Tears pricked my eyes again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare anyone…”

“She’s right,” Mr. Sanders said, stepping in. “We’ll need more supplies once the smell wears off. Especially if we’re heading to—”

“The Mall of America,” Jill added.

“Yes,” Mr. Sanders said, half-grumbling. “That.”

“We’d better hurry,” Beverly said, glancing nervously at the sky. “The longer we’re out here, the closer it gets to dark. And you know what that means.”

I shuddered.

We scanned the area for zombies before opening the train’s doors. The beep was loud in the quiet morning air.

Only a few of us left the train—me, Mr. Sanders, Rodney, Hunter, and Zachary. The others stayed inside.

The pawn shop had a few cracks in the windows but didn’t look looted. I picked up a rock and broke the door’s glass.

Immediately, the alarm blared.

Zombies started heading our way.

Zachary and I rushed in with our guns drawn while the others held off the approaching undead.

Inside, I found a locked door with a sign I couldn’t read.

“Hey, Zachary… what’s ‘armes et de munitions’ mean?”

“It’s French,” he said. “Weapons and ammo. Jackpot.”

“Why is everything in French?” I asked.

Zachary shot me a look. “Seriously? Just open the door.”

I checked drawers, cabinets—nothing.

“Um, Natalie?” Zachary said.

I turned. He was opening the door.

“ZACHARY, LOOK OUT!” I screamed.

Too late.

A zombie lunged from inside and bit him right on the shoulder.

Zachary screamed. I screamed louder.

Rodney and Mr. Sanders rushed in.

“ZAC!” Rodney shouted.

Mr. Sanders raised his gun, aimed carefully, and took the shot—straight through the zombie’s head. The bullet missed Zachary by inches.

Zachary collapsed, clutching his arm.

“We need to get him to a hospital!” Rodney shouted.

“We’re out of ammo,” Mr. Sanders said. “Rodney, Hunter—get him back to the train. Natalie, grab everything you can. Let’s go.”

He handed me a cart. I raced into the room, eyes scanning every shadow.

We grabbed what we could, and just as the zombies got too close, we raced back to the train.

As we stepped inside, Tia rounded on me.

“IF IT WASN’T FOR YOU—ZACHARY WOULDN’T BE HURT!”

She shoved me hard. I fell into a seat and burst into tears.

“STOP!” Beverly, Jill, and Mr. Sanders shouted at once.

“She’s just a little girl!” Beverly snapped. “You can’t push her like that. You could kill her!”

“WHAT DO YOU THINK IS GOING TO HAPPEN TO ZAC?!” Tia screamed.

Mr. Sanders stepped between us, calm but firm. “I’m sorry about Zachary. But this isn’t how we survive.”

I stayed curled up, sobbing into my hands. I hadn’t meant for any of this to happen.

“I didn’t mean to… I tried to warn him…”

“Where are we going?” Jill asked.

“To the hospital,” Beverly said gently, checking on me.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” I whispered. “He’s not going to live.”

“What do you mean?” Tia snapped, voice rising.

I stood, tears still fresh on my cheeks.

“He was bitten. In every zombie movie and show I’ve ever watched, a bite means death. You can’t just cut it off. You can’t cure it. He’s got maybe an hour. Maybe less. And once he dies… he’ll turn.”

Tia sobbed. The twins cried. Zachary whimpered in her arms.

The train slowed down.

Outside—an enormous herd of zombies blocked the tracks. Worse, the electric wires above were torn.

No power. No escape.

Rodney rejoined us from the front of the train. “Any ideas?”

Mr. Sanders shook his head. “None.”

Then a quiet voice spoke.

“I do,” Zachary murmured.

Everyone turned.

“There’s only one way out,” he said weakly. “You’ll have to kill me. Let me reanimate. Use me… for camouflage.”

“No!” Tia gasped.

“Please, Mom,” Zachary begged, crying now. “As my last wish.”

Rodney knelt beside him, tears in his eyes. “If that’s what you want, son.”

“I love you, Dad… Mom… Desiree… Shakina…”

Before Rodney could even raise his weapon, Zachary went still.

Dead.

Everyone cried.

Rodney gently laid his son’s body across a bench. Outside, zombies pounded on the windows. Thankfully, there was no power—they couldn’t open the doors.

Two minutes passed.

Zachary stirred.

Rodney raised his gun.

The moment Zachary’s eyes opened, Rodney pulled the trigger.

The shot echoed in our bones.

We got to work. We had no choice. Zachary was our only way out.

Covered in his blood and guts, we opened the emergency door manually.

The zombies… ignored us.

They thought we were one of them.

We walked a block and found an abandoned bus with the door still open. We climbed in.

“No keys,” Rodney groaned.

“Problem?” I smirked. “What problem?”

I slid into the driver’s seat, pulled out a few wires, and within seconds, the engine rumbled to life.

Rodney stared. “How does a six-year-old girl know how to hotwire a bus?”

Beverly, Jill, and I just looked at each other and laughed.

We took our seats.

“Still want to go to the Mall of America?” Rodney asked through the intercom.

“Yes!” we all shouted.

“Hold on tight.”

Rodney steered the bus forward, past the train, past Zachary.

We were on our way.

It didn’t take us long, but by the time we reached the mall, the sun was already going down.

We were starting to panic.

The Cerberus—or something worse—would be coming out soon. And we hadn’t even gotten inside yet. For all we knew, the mall might not be safe. Creatures could already be in there.

To our surprise, lights were on inside the building.

It was a good sign… but also strange. How were the lights still working? Was the mall running on solar, like the apartment building had been?

We didn’t wait to figure it out. We rushed off the bus and headed straight for the doors.

We were so close to safety.

I ran ahead, slammed into the glass—and immediately stumbled back, clutching my head.

“The doors are locked!” I cried.

“We may have to break it,” Hunter shouted, scanning the area.

We all looked around for something—anything—we could use. The only thing nearby was a metal wastebasket. Hunter grabbed it and stepped back, ready to charge.

Just as he was about to throw it—

“DON’T!” a voice called from above.

We all froze.

“Who’s there?” I shouted.

“Hold on! I’ll let you in!” the voice replied.

A few tense minutes passed.

Then, through the shadows of the mall’s entrance, two teenage girls appeared. They walked briskly toward the door and began unlocking it.

As the glass doors slid open, we exhaled in relief and quickly stepped inside.

“Thank you!” we said almost in unison.

“What are your names?” one of the girls asked.

“My name’s Natalie,” I said with a tired giggle, “and this is my best friend, Jill.”

“Hi,” Jill added softly.

“I’m Mr. Sanders.”

“I’m Beverly.”

“My name’s Rodney, and this is my wife Tia, and our daughters, Shakina and Desiree.”

The girl smiled. “Nice to meet you. I’m Jamie Jacobs, and this is my friend, Bloom Reinhold.”

It's been about a week since the outbreak.

Jill and I had traveled from Kansas to Minnesota, met a few new friends, and even lost a wonderful place to live—all in a matter of days. And for me, being a six-year-old girl, it's hard to live in a world filled with the dead.

It was dark outside the mall. I scanned left and right, then behind us—every shadow, every rooftop. Zombies or other strange creatures could come out of nowhere. I looked through the glass doors and saw two girls watching us.

"What are your names?" one of them asked, unlocking the door.

The other stood nearby, scanning the darkness with a gun in her hand—ready, not for us, but for whatever might be following.

"My name is Natalie," I said with a little giggle. "This is my best friend, Jill." As we walked through the doors, I noticed something odd—the place was spotless. It didn't look like a single zombie had ever stepped inside.

"Hi," Jill murmured quietly. She looked nervous. I didn't blame her. After losing Zachary earlier, we were all still shaken.

"I'm Mr. Sanders."

"I'm Beverly."

"My name's Rodney, and this is my wife and three..." He paused, pain flickering across his face. "I mean, two kids—Desiree and Shakina."

"I'm Hunter, and this is my sister, Madison," Hunter added proudly.

"What are your names?" I asked the girls.

"My friend's name is Bloom Reinhold, and I'm Jamie Jacobs," the girl replied.

As we stepped inside, Jamie locked the doors and checked the others around the entrance.

I stared at the entryway, wondering if something like the Cerberus could break through.

"Watch out," Jamie warned suddenly.

Right after she spoke, an enormous metal fence with spikes dropped from the ceiling, slamming down over the entrance.

"How can a mall have those?" I asked, wide-eyed.

"They don't," Jamie said with a grin. "I added them a few days ago—with help from Bloom's mom, Claire, and my older sister, Jessica."

"That's clever," Rodney said, clearly impressed. So was I.

"Are you all staying here in the mall?" I asked, still surprised. "Wouldn't it be easier to use the hotels connected to it?"

"Yes," Jamie said. "And there are many more families here. I was the one who thought of making the mall a shelter for people who lost their homes."

I shut up. That made sense. Still, I wondered about the hotel rooms. I could ask later.

We began walking deeper into the mall. I looked around at the people inside. Some looked like they'd only just arrived. Their eyes were tired. I knew that look—we had it too.

As we passed by the doors, I glanced back—just in time to see a horde of zombies swarm the mall entrance.

We were lucky we'd made it inside when we did. The sight gave me shivers. Beverly gently pulled me away from the window.

We moved through the mall and toward an escalator that led to a lower level. It looked like it used to be some kind of water exhibit. I'd have to check it out sometime—hopefully there weren't any dead animals down there.

As we walked up another escalator, we passed shops that had been turned into makeshift homes. Each had chain gates for safety—clever. Some had children inside, playing or sleeping. Beds were set up like bedrooms. Couches and chairs made up the living rooms. A few even had TVs.

"Hey, look at that," Hunter said, pointing at one of the shop-homes where teens were playing video games.

It reminded me of the game system I used to play with back in Mantri, Kansas. I got a little excited. Maybe I could play Minecraft again with JamGirl02... maybe even reach my sister.

"It's not polite to stare into other people's homes," Beverly reminded us gently.

I noticed Bloom walking behind us. She hadn't said a word. That made me nervous.

The halls were dim. The only light came from inside the homes and the moon filtering through the skylight. I was grateful for that. Zombies were drawn to light, just like they were to sound and smell.

Even though we spoke quietly as we walked, we didn't stop talking. It helped us feel safe.

Eventually, we entered a huge room that looked like a small indoor amusement park—abandoned now. Nothing had moved in a while, probably since the outbreak started.

"Mom, we've got some new arrivals," Jamie said, stepping into a large store that used to be a toy store. A woman stepped forward and greeted us.

"Hello, newcomers. I'm Joslyn Jacobs," she said warmly, shaking our hands. "Welcome to the Mall of America... though it's not much of a mall these days. Come inside."

We followed her in. Toys were scattered everywhere. A few young girls played quietly on the floor.

"Don't mind my daughters. The toys keep them entertained."

The adults chuckled.

"I had a question," I said.

"Are you wondering why we don't use the hotel rooms instead of the stores?" she asked, smiling. "I get that one a lot."

"Um... yeah." I looked down, embarrassed.

"We considered it," she explained. "But big families would need two or three rooms just to fit. This way, everyone can stay together. And stores usually have a backdoor—hotels don't."

"She's got a point," Mr. Sanders agreed. "Back in Saint Paul, our apartment only had one way out."

"How'd you escape?" Jessica, Jamie's sister, asked, stepping into the room and startling Madison and the twins.

"We were brave," I said proudly. I pulled out my Katana and gave it a dramatic swing—well away from everyone, pretending to slice zombies.

Joslyn looked at me, amused.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk."

My stomach dropped. That reminded me of The Walking Dead—like Terminus or Alexandria, when people were told to hand over their weapons.

I clutched my Katana tighter.

Joslyn chuckled. "Relax, little one. We allow weapons here. Just don't play with them, and keep it to one per person."

I breathed a little easier.

"By the way, nice Katana."

I smiled.

"Mommy, I'm tired," Desiree whined.

"Do you have any rooms for us?" Rodney asked.

"Of course," Joslyn said. She handed out old maps of the mall to Rodney and Mr. Sanders. Beverly peeked over his shoulder.

"To make things easier, I'll need the names of everyone staying together," she said, looking at the Jacksons. "This your family?"

"That's right," Rodney replied. "My wife, Tia, and daughters Desiree and Shakina. I had a son, but... he died earlier today."

"I'm so sorry," Joslyn said gently.

"How come you always say Desiree before my name?" Shakina suddenly blurted.

"Because my name's first in the alphabet—and I'm older," Desiree declared.

"You are not!"

The twins started arguing again.

"Girls, shut the hell up!" Rodney snapped. "Do you want the dead to hear you?"

That shut them up fast.

I giggled.

After assigning rooms, Joslyn approached the rest of us.

"I've got a great spot for your fam—"

"My sister and I would like our own room," Hunter interrupted.

Joslyn blinked. "Oh... I assumed you were all family. I'm sorry, but we can't let minors live alone."

"Well, then we're not staying here," Hunter snapped. He grabbed Madison's hand and started to leave.

"Wait!" Joslyn called. "I think I have a solution. You can stay close, but separate."

We paused.

"Each store has a storage closet—big enough for a small bedroom. We can switch the locks so they can lock from the inside."

Hunter glanced at his sister, then nodded. "Okay. We'll do that."

Joslyn handed us a folder with the key to our new space.

We were on the third floor, near the food court. Jamie helped us find it. Bloom had taken the Jacksons to their spot on the second floor.

When we arrived, we saw a closed gate and a darkened neighboring shop. We couldn't meet the neighbors yet—but we did see a cat lounging inside.

I wish we had a cat.

Our spot overlooked what used to be a food court. It was dusty, with overturned chairs and dirty floors. Maybe Jill and I could clean it up tomorrow.

Inside our new shelter, the room was mostly empty—just a few beds.

"I guess we have to furnish it ourselves?" Jill asked.

"Yes," Jamie said. "There's an Ikea past the ice rink and water park. You can go tomorrow—but bring weapons. There might be Rotties."

"Rotties?" I asked.

"That's what we call the dead. Like how The Walking Dead called them Walkers."

"You're a fan too?" I lit up.

Jamie grinned. "You still know that show? It's been off the air over a hundred years."

"They can't get in here, right?" Beverly asked.

Jamie shook her head. "Nope. We sealed the Ikea entrances. But bring a group just in case." She checked her watch. "Anyway, I've got to go. Security is still watching the outside in case we find more survivors."

"Thanks for helping us," Mr. Sanders said. "Please thank your mom, too."

"Will do." Jamie smiled, then helped close the door. I ran over and locked it.

As she walked away, Mr. Sanders pulled down the gate.

Inside, we had two and a half beds and a couch. We gave one of the big beds to Hunter and Madison, placing it in their closet-room. We promised not to open the door until they could change the lock.

Jill and I shared a bed with Beverly. Mr. Sanders took the couch.

Tomorrow, we'd make this place feel more like home.

I should have felt safe. I really should have. But for some reason...

I was still scared.

I drifted off to sleep.

And sometime in the middle of the night, a loud, unfamiliar noise jolted me awake.

I gazed out the windows of the shop where my friends and I were staying. In the distance, I heard people shouting—and that loud, screeching sound continued. I didn’t dare go out to investigate. I wanted to fight, but I wasn’t sure what we were up against. I gripped my Katana tightly, ready if I had to defend us. But if that noise came from something as big as the Cerberus, my Katana wouldn't stand a chance.

The screeching got closer. Jill and the others woke up.

“What’s going on?” Mr. Sanders asked groggily, looking toward me.

“Shh… don’t talk,” I whispered.

A shadowy figure appeared down the hallway. It was massive—at least six feet tall—with what looked like tentacles. I couldn’t make out the details, but I slowly backed away from the window and crouched behind the counter in the center of the room.

Peeking over the top, I watched the thing approach the doors.

“Stay quiet,” I whispered toward the bed where Jill and the others were huddled.

The creature moved closer to the storefront… then turned and kept walking down the hall. My eyes were wide and watery as I stared at it. If I hadn’t seen it myself, I wouldn’t have believed it. It looked like a black panther—but with six legs and two tentacles sprouting from each shoulder. Like something from a horror movie.

Why isn’t anyone stopping this monster?

Still hiding, I started to worry about the Jacksons next door—and what Hunter and Madison were doing in their room.

When I figured the creature was far enough away, I crept to the door and knocked gently.

I waited. Surely they’d heard the noise.

I looked back toward the window, then at the door again. I remembered the promise we made not to open it.

After a minute, the door creaked open, and Hunter stepped out.

“My sister’s freaking out,” he whispered. “What’s going on?”

“We’re not doing anything,” I whispered back. “There’s a creature in the halls.”

We heard the screech again, but this time it sounded farther away.

This was going to be a long night without sleep.

I clutched my Katana to my chest, tense and ready. If that thing got in here…

“You know, for a six-year-old, you’re kind of a badass with that Katana,” Hunter whispered.

“I’m not six,” I grumbled. “I mean—I am now—but I was sixteen. A week ago.”

Hunter blinked. “What?”

“She and I were sixteen before this,” Jill chimed in, trying to help. “Back when all this started.”

Hunter laughed softly. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s hard to explain,” I said. “But all of this—this whole zombie thing—started because of one man. His name’s George Russell. He’s a scientist from Mantri, Kansas. He created a formula he thought would cure a plague in Argentina. At first, it worked. But later, everyone who took it started dying. And then… coming back.”

Hunter still looked confused. “Okay… but what does that have to do with you being six?”

“I’m getting there,” I said. “George is my mom’s boyfriend. The day we moved into his house, I drank what I thought was soda from his fridge. It was the formula.”

“Wait,” Madison said, stepping into the room. “You drank the zombie formula? Wouldn’t that mean you’re infected?”

“No,” I said. “It only affects people with that specific plague. Jill and I didn’t have it. Instead, it… changed us. Made us younger. And turned us into girls.”

Hunter laughed. “So you two were boys?”

“It’s true,” I said, not even flinching.

“That’s an amusing story,” came a voice from the shadows.

“Who’s there?” I said sharply, turning toward the sound.

A figure stepped forward—Jamie.

“Jamie?” I blinked. “How did you get in here without us noticing?”

“Easy,” she grinned. “You were busy talking to Hunter. I slipped in through the door. I only came to talk about the creature, but… your story was too interesting not to hear.”

“It’s all true,” I insisted.

“I believe you,” she said, smiling. “You mentioned Isisraxtosa. That formula was used here too. It wasn’t just Argentina.”

“What? I thought it was only down there!” I was shocked.

“Maybe George tested it here first,” Jamie shrugged. “But I’m not surprised it created zombies. Because here—it was used on animals. At a vet clinic.”

My eyes widened.

“Animals who took the vaccine died a few days later. But they didn’t stay dead. They came back—mutated. Larger. Stronger.”

“So that explains the Cerberus,” I whispered, stepping closer to the window.

Jamie nodded. “That’s actually what I came here to tell you. I forgot to mention our secret weapon.”

“Secret weapon?” I asked, lowering my voice. “You mean that thing is—?”

“Yes,” Jamie cut in. “She helps us. Especially at night.”

“What is it?” Jill asked, walking over.

“A Night Stalker,” Jamie said.

“A what?” I laughed.

“Or Phantom Cat,” she added, rolling her eyes. “She’s my cat, okay?”

“Oh,” I said softly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. She still knows who I am. She sleeps next to me when she feels things are safe. She just… hogs the bed now.” Jamie laughed.

We all did.

“I guess things aren’t safe right now since she’s out,” Mr. Sanders said.

“Correct,” Jamie nodded. “But that screeching you heard? That wasn’t her. That came from something else—a mutated bird-lizard hybrid. We call it the Bicephalic Basilisk.”

“How did it get that name?” I asked.

“My friend Bloom named it. It has two heads and looks kind of serpentine.”

That name gave me chills.

“I’d stay away from them,” Jamie warned. “Their bite paralyzes you—just enough so they can eat you alive.”

Madison shivered.

Jamie continued. “First time I saw one was a few days ago. I was out with one of our soldiers. It came out of nowhere. He tried to fight, but it bit him. He froze. I was terrified. I hid. Then it started tearing him apart… piece by piece.”

“There are children present,” Beverly scolded gently.

“I don’t mind,” Jill said, giggling. I nodded in agreement.

“I do,” Madison said quickly.

Jamie backed off the gory details. “Well, I’m not sure how they’re getting in. But we’ll figure it out soon.”

“How did you get away?” I asked.

“My cat,” Jamie smiled. “She rescued me. The soldier… was already gone.”

“Oh no…” Madison whispered.

“Don’t worry. She’s immune to the Basilisk’s bite. Her tentacles are fast enough to crush them.”

“Whoa…” we all said.

Jamie checked her watch. “It’s almost two in the morning. You should get some sleep. Breakfast is at eight.”

She turned and left the room.

“We might as well try to sleep,” Mr. Sanders said, glancing at me, Jill, Madison, Hunter—even Beverly. “As Jamie said, the Night Stalker will protect us.”

Everyone moved to their beds. I stayed by the window a little longer, just to be sure. Once I was convinced the hall was empty, I crept to my bed.

And slowly—finally—I drifted off to sleep.

I woke up to the smell of sausage in the air—something I hadn’t smelled since Mom made it at the McDonald’s back in Mantri a week ago. The memory made me a little sad.

I sat up in bed, accidentally waking Jill.

“Sorry,” I whispered.

“That’s okay,” she replied quietly. “I had to get up anyway. I need the little girls’ room.”

“So do I,” I said. “Where is it, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Jill mumbled, rubbing her eyes. “It’s a mall. Probably out in the hall like usual.”

I got up and headed out the door. I looked both ways before stepping into the hallway. It felt safe. I could hear noise echoing from all directions, as if the mall were just opening for the day. I giggled at the thought. Maybe someday, the zombie apocalypse would end… and this place really would be a mall again.

As I walked, I passed stores-turned-homes. Many had curtains or makeshift decorations for privacy. Some had colorful handprints on the windows—proof that kids lived there. I thought about our place. Right now, anyone could see inside. I’d have to find something to cover the windows later.

Further down, I finally found the washrooms. Just like Jill said—Men’s and Women’s, right where you’d expect them.

I wondered where we could go for a real shower. I could definitely use one.

After finishing up, I noticed a bunch of people walking down the hall. Curiosity got the better of me, so I followed them. They passed right by our room and continued toward what looked like a dining area. A few people were setting tables with cups and silverware. I guessed this was the place where meals were served.

I wandered over. A kind-looking woman glanced up and smiled.

“Where’s your mommy or daddy, little girl?” she asked.

The words hit me hard.

I started crying.

“Oh honey, are you okay?” she said, kneeling to comfort me.

Just then, Jill and the others arrived.

“There you are, Natalie,” Beverly said, rushing to my side.

The woman stood up. “Is this your daughter… or granddaughter?”

“She’s more of an adopted granddaughter,” Beverly replied gently.

“I’m Martha,” the woman said.

“Beverly,” she responded with a nod.

“I’m Mr. Sanders—but you can call me The Colonel.”

“The Colonel?” Martha raised a brow. “As in Colonel Sanders? The chicken guy?”

We all laughed.

“I may look a little like him,” Mr. Sanders chuckled, “and I do make excellent chicken, but no—I’m not that Colonel Sanders. He died over 150 years ago.”

After introductions, we sat down at one of the tables.

More people were filing into the dining area, and a line was forming. A man approached our table.

“You must be new here,” he said. “You’ve got to stand in line for your meal.”

We thanked him and got up quickly, but the line was already long. I groaned. Why didn’t someone tell us this earlier?

By the time we reached the front, I was starving.

Breakfast was bacon, eggs, toast with jam, and grits. I chose raspberry jam. I was thrilled to see grits—most people here didn’t seem to touch them, but they were a favorite of mine. Maybe they weren’t popular this far north.

I sat down and dug in. A lady came around offering drinks.

“Milk or orange juice?” she asked.

“Milk,” I replied, then stared out the window as I sipped from the cup.

Outside, the dead wandered aimlessly.

It made me wonder… with all the noise inside the building, why weren’t they swarming?

Couldn’t they hear us?

Maybe these zombies weren’t like the Walkers from The Walking Dead after all.

The morning passed quietly after breakfast. Most of the kids were still waking up, and some of the adults were already making plans.

"We're going to IKEA," Mr. Sanders said, adjusting the strap on his bag. "Need to grab furniture and supplies for the rooms."

Rodney nodded, already lacing up his boots. "They said it's still mostly intact—just dusty. But we'll have to go through the second-floor corridor, past the water exhibit. Keep your weapons ready."

"I want to go too," I blurted out, stepping forward. "I can help."

"You're too young," Rodney said firmly. "It could be dangerous."

"And you're a little girl," one of the older men muttered. "We can't risk you getting hurt."

I clenched my fists. The words stung. I wasn't just a girl. I wasn't just a kid. But no one was listening.

Jill noticed my face and nudged me gently. "Let it go. We'll find something better to do."

I watched them leave, frustration burning behind my eyes.

Once they were gone, Jill, Madison, Hunter, and I decided to explore the mall. It was still quiet in this part of the building, except for the occasional echo of laughter or muffled voices behind store gates.

We wandered past old shops repurposed as living quarters and eventually came across a large electronics store with a glowing blue sign above the glass doors.

ZYNTEK TECH + ENTERTAINMENT

"Zyntek?" Hunter squinted. "Never heard of it."

"It's probably the Best Buy of the future," Jill shrugged.

"Looks fancy," I said, already walking toward the door.

Inside, the place was massive—rows of sleek devices lined the walls. Screens played looping holograms of ads. Everything was dim but powered. One corner had a section labeled 'Retro Gaming + Archives' and another marked 'Media Stations – Offline Use Available.'

"I wonder if we can get online from here," I whispered, rushing over to one of the computers.

A few terminals were unlocked. I booted one up, crossing my fingers. The interface flickered to life.

Zyntek's system was weird—sleek, but clunky somehow. Took me a minute to figure out how to navigate it. Jill watched over my shoulder as I typed in the Minecraft server info again.

The loading circle spun. Spun again. Froze.

"Come on..." I muttered.

After what felt like forever, the server list popped up.

js420 – Online

I gasped.

"She's on!" I shouted. "My sister's online!"

The others gathered around. I quickly logged into my account—NatTheKing—and joined the server.

It loaded slowly, just like last time.

Finally, I spawned in. Same world. Same builds.

I pressed Tab.

[NatTheKing]: Jennifer???

No reply.

I ran to our usual meeting spot on the server—a huge quartz bridge we built together before the world went to hell. I waited.

"Maybe she's AFK?" Jill offered.

I typed again.

[NatTheKing]: It's me! Please say something. Please be there...

Still nothing.

But then—

[js420]: ???

[js420]: Nat?

My chest tightened.

[NatTheKing]: YES! I'm alive! Are you okay??

[js420]: Where are you??

"Guys, it's her," I whispered, tears welling in my eyes.

Before I could type another word, the screen glitched.

The server kicked me out.

Connection Lost: Timeout Error

"No!" I screamed, hitting the desk.

I tried to rejoin, but it wouldn't load. The Wi-Fi was gone. Dead again.

Madison rubbed my back. "At least you know she's alive."

"She doesn't know I am," I whispered.

I stared at the screen, heart pounding. I wasn't giving up—not yet.

I didn't move. I just sat there staring, hoping the server would magically come back. It didn't.

"She was there..." I mumbled.

Jill put a hand on my shoulder. "You'll find her again. At least now you know she's alive."

"I just wish I could've said more." My voice cracked.

Hunter kicked a loose bit of plastic on the floor. "Well, moping here won't fix anything. Let's go do something."

"Like what?" I said flatly.

Madison pointed toward the upper floor. "Didn't Jamie say there's an amusement park in the middle of the mall?"

That perked me up a little.

Jill smiled. "Yeah, I think it's called... Ice Village?"

"Oh right!" I stood, brushing off my jeans. "Jamie said it used to be called Knott's Camp Snoopy. Then just Camp Snoopy. Then something boring like The Park at MOA. Then Nickelodeon Universe. And a bunch of other names before they finally gave up and called it Ice Village."

"Ice Village sounds cooler than Nickelodeon Universe," Hunter said, making a face.

"They had Spongebob," Jill reminded him.

"Spongebob's been dead since the 2090s," Madison added with a smirk.

We left Zyntek and made our way toward the center of the mall. As we walked, the ceiling grew higher, and the air colder. A soft hum of generators echoed around us, mixed with the occasional squeal of machinery.

Then we saw it.

The old amusement park still had remnants of every version it had ever been: faded signs with snowflakes over chipped green logos, rusted roller coaster tracks, cartoon murals on the walls half-covered by ice-themed banners. A huge sign arched overhead:

WELCOME TO ICE VILLAGE

Below it stood a small gate—open, with a flickering 'operational' light.

We stepped inside.

I gasped. It was beautiful in its own weird, broken-down way. Fake snow blanketed parts of the ground. Giant frosty trees lined the walking paths. Some animatronic snowmen still moved, albeit slowly and creakily.

And in the middle of it all was a roller coaster.

Its white-and-blue track twisted above us like a frozen ribbon. A single coaster car sat at the base, looking lonely but intact.

"No way," Hunter grinned. "It actually works?"

"Power must still be routed here," I said. "Like the electronics store."

Madison tilted her head. "Is it safe though?"

"Nope," Hunter said, climbing into the car. "Which is exactly why we should do it."

Jill and I exchanged looks, then ran to join him.

"I am so going to regret this," Madison muttered, but she climbed in too.

There were just enough seats for the four of us. I buckled myself in and took a deep breath.

"Ready?" Hunter said, hands on the lever.

"No," I squeaked.

"Too late!"

He pulled the lever, and with a mechanical groan, the ride jolted to life.

The car clicked slowly up the first incline. We all leaned back, hearts pounding.

"I can't believe we're doing this," Jill laughed, holding my hand.

The top of the track crested into view. The entire mall stretched out before us—the rooftops of old rides, the frost-covered rails, the skylights above.

And then—

WHOOOOOSH!

We plummeted down the first hill, screaming our lungs out.

Twists. Turns. One loop. I thought I was going to puke and laugh at the same time.

And then, just as fast as it started, the ride screeched to a stop.

We sat there breathless.

"That..." I gasped. "Was awesome."

"Let's go again," Hunter said.

We did.

We were still laughing and catching our breath when we heard footsteps—fast ones—pounding across the tile.

Someone was running into Ice Village.

A teen boy burst through the entry arch, panting hard. He was around Jamie's age, maybe older, and his jacket was torn and splattered with dirt—or blood.

"Jamie!" he shouted, stumbling forward.

Jamie appeared from behind a nearby kiosk, her face already serious. "What happened?"

The boy clutched his side and looked around at all of us, wide-eyed. "We were attacked... inside IKEA."

That sobered everyone fast.

"Attacked by what?" Jamie asked, stepping closer.

"Not a Rottie," he said, shaking his head. "People. A small group. Three or four of them. They've been living in the back corridors—somewhere past the garden section. They must've been hiding there for days."

My stomach twisted. We had just been goofing off, riding roller coasters, and now—this.

"Are they armed?" Jamie pressed.

"One of them had a gun. The others had knives. They jumped us when we tried to grab some of the carts. Said we were trespassing. One of them—an older guy—kept saying this was their turf now."

"Did they hurt anyone?" Hunter asked.

The boy nodded. "Rodney's hurt. Not bad, I don't think, but they hit him with something. Mr. Sanders is trying to get him out now."

Jamie turned to one of the guards standing near the security booth. "Get backup. Quietly. No sirens. I want four of our best, and someone check the east cameras. I want to know how they got in and how long they've been there."

"Yes, ma'am," the guard said and took off.

Jamie turned back to the boy. "Thank you, Evan. Go see Joslyn and have her check your injuries."

He nodded and jogged off, limping slightly.

I looked at Jill, then at Hunter.

"So much for a peaceful supply run," I said.

"Guess that means the fun part of today is over," Madison added.

"Not quite," Jamie said, turning back toward us. "You four—get back to your rooms and lock up tight. I don't know if these people are going to stay in IKEA or start exploring the rest of the mall. Either way... we're locking things down tonight."

The air felt colder now than it had when we arrived.

We didn't argue. We left Ice Village quickly, our laughter gone, replaced by silence and the heavy weight of uncertainty.

The corridors leading to IKEA were dim and quiet, lit only by flickering emergency strips along the walls. Jamie moved fast, her boots echoing against the floor. Four guards followed her—two with rifles, two with high-powered stun batons. Every one of them looked alert. Tense.

But none more so than the figure beside her.

The Night Stalker.

It padded silently at Jamie's side, its dark fur seeming to shimmer like oil in the light. Its six muscular legs moved in sync, and its tentacles curled and flexed behind its shoulders like they had minds of their own. It barely made a sound—except for the low growl vibrating from its throat.

Jamie reached the edge of the IKEA entrance and stopped, raising a hand.

"They're back near the warehouse area," whispered one of the guards. "Thermal scans show movement near the exit doors—but we only see three heat signatures."

"Could be a fourth in hiding," Jamie said. "Let's keep it tight."

The Night Stalker suddenly stiffened, its tentacles flaring.

Jamie crouched beside it. "You smell them, girl?"

The creature hissed low.

And then—it took off.

It moved like lightning, barreling through the entrance, leaping over carts and shattered shelving. The guards scrambled after it.

They heard the intruders before they saw them.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!"

Gunfire erupted.

The Night Stalker didn't stop. One of the intruders fired straight into its chest. The creature reeled back—just slightly—before righting itself and pouncing. Claws raked across the floor as it charged.

Blood splattered across the concrete as it slashed at one of the men—sending him flying across a stack of bedding displays.

Another attacker screamed, slashing with a machete. The blade sank into the Night Stalker's side—deep.

The creature shrieked.

But it didn't fall.

The wound... started closing. Right in front of them.

Skin knitted together. Muscle realigned. Within seconds, the slash was gone—leaving only a streak of blood and the horror on the attacker's face.

"What is that thing?" someone shouted.

Jamie arrived behind the chaos, gun drawn.

"You're on our turf," she shouted. "Surrender now."

One of the attackers—older, wild-eyed, clutching a rifle—spat on the ground. "We were here first!"

He raised the rifle toward Jamie.

The Night Stalker roared and launched forward.

A tentacle wrapped around the man's weapon and yanked it from his grip. Another curled around his legs and slammed him flat on his back.

"Next time," Jamie said coldly, "I let her finish the job."

The others surrendered quickly after that.

The guards rounded them up, zip-tying their wrists and dragging them to a holding area deeper in the mall.

The Night Stalker returned to Jamie's side, its body still damp from the gunshot—but perfectly healed.

She stroked its fur. "Good girl."

We were almost back at our room when we heard the noise—heavy boots on tile, low murmurs, and something else. Something... wet.

Hunter pulled me to the side, and we ducked behind the corner near the escalators. Jill and Madison followed, crouching close.

That's when we saw them.

Jamie walked at the front of the group, calm and unshaken. Her eyes locked forward like nothing surprised her anymore. The guards followed behind her, dragging three beaten, bloodied men. One limped, one had a black eye swollen shut, and the third was completely silent—like he was somewhere else entirely.

But it wasn't the men that stopped my breath.

It was her.

The Night Stalker.

She padded just behind Jamie, her inky-black body still slick with blood—some of it hers, most of it not. Her side still shimmered faintly from a wound that had clearly already healed. I watched in awe as the last traces of a deep slash faded into smooth, dark fur like it had never happened.

"What is that thing?" Madison whispered, wide-eyed.

"A miracle," Hunter whispered back.

We kept low, staying out of sight, but I couldn't look away. The way it moved was almost unnatural. Silent. Fluid. Powerful. Its tentacles curled tightly at its sides, still twitching slightly—like it hadn't calmed down yet.

One of the guards muttered something to Jamie.

She stopped.

And looked directly at us.

I froze.

She didn't say anything. Didn't scold us.

Just offered a tired, knowing nod... and moved on.

The men were taken down the hall toward a side corridor labeled SECURITY in faded white letters.

The Night Stalker paused for a moment, her glowing violet eyes flicking to where we were hidden. Her gaze met mine.

She stared.

I didn't move.

Then, slowly... she walked away.

None of us said anything for a full minute.

Finally, Jill whispered, "I think I peed a little."

We all laughed—nervously, shakily, but it helped.

We stood up and walked the rest of the way to our room.

"That thing saved everyone, didn't it?" I asked.

"Yeah," Hunter said. "And if it wanted to kill us... it probably could."

That night, I couldn't stop thinking about the way it healed. Like something out of a comic book. Like Wolverine or something.

I wondered what else Jamie was hiding in this mall.

And I wondered what else was out there... even worse than the Night Stalker.

Later that night, we were all back in our room. Jill was brushing her hair on one of the beds. Madison had already fallen asleep. Hunter was pacing like usual, still riding the high from earlier.

I sat near the window, watching the soft glow of the mall's overhead lights. Everything felt still. But the kind of stillness that made you hold your breath.

Then—there was a knock.

Not on the door. On the glass wall.

I flinched and turned—ready to grab my sword—until I saw her.

The Night Stalker.

Standing beside her, calm as ever, was Jamie.

She slid open the door a few inches. "She wanted to see you," Jamie said gently. "After what you kids went through today, she's checking on everyone."

The creature stepped inside like a whisper. Smooth. Silent. Those glowing violet eyes locked onto mine again.

I swallowed. She was massive up close. But there was something... calm about her tonight. Her tentacles curled lightly behind her shoulders, no tension in them now.

"She doesn't have a name," Jamie added.

"What?" I blinked. "You're telling me this elegant mutant panther with glowing eyes and Wolverine powers... doesn't have a name?"

Jamie shrugged. "Didn't seem important. She's not a pet."

"She's more than that," I whispered.

I looked into the creature's eyes. She wasn't just a monster. Not anymore.

"Okay," I said. "You're not some 'Tentacle Kitty.' You deserve something better."

I paused, thinking.

Dark. Protective. Silent. Beautiful.

"Luna," I whispered. "Yeah. You're Luna."

The creature blinked slowly.

Then, to my surprise, she stepped forward—gracefully—and lowered her head to rest against my knee.

My breath caught. I didn't move.

"She likes it," Jamie said with the smallest smile.

"She's perfect," I whispered, resting my hand gently on her sleek fur.

After a moment, Luna backed away and padded out the door. Jamie gave me a final nod before following, sealing the door behind them.

And just like that, I wasn't scared anymore.

Not of the mall. Not of the dark.

Luna was out there.

Watching over us.