The world had ended on a Tuesday. It was hard to say exactly when the first bite happened—maybe it was in a dark alley somewhere, or a quiet suburb on the edge of town. But by the time everyone realized it, the streets were overrun.
Emily crouched in the back of an abandoned store, her breath shallow. Her hands trembled as she clutched the pistol. Outside, she could hear the growls of the infected—groaning, stumbling, dragging their decayed feet along the cracked pavement.
She had seen them before, those once-human creatures with empty eyes and mouths dripping with hunger. She'd learned to stay quiet, stay still. Every day was about survival now, a game of patience.
Suddenly, a noise shattered the silence. A shuffle of feet. Her heart slammed against her ribcage. A figure appeared in the doorway. It was tall, wearing a torn jacket—her brother, Noah. He had been gone for two weeks. His face was pale, but it wasn’t the gray pallor of the infected. It was fear.
“Noah,” Emily whispered, stepping out from her hiding spot. “Where have you been?”
He staggered toward her, bloodshot eyes wide. “They’re getting smarter,” he rasped, his voice hoarse. “They’re… evolving.”
Before she could respond, a group of shadows appeared behind him—slow, deliberate, moving with a purpose. Not the usual mindless shuffle, but something more.
They were learning.
Emily’s breath caught. The end was no longer just a nightmare. It was here, and it was hunting them.
She pulled the .40 HK Compact from her waistband, luckily, she had the foresight to invest in a forty-caliber handgun before the zombie apocalypse struck. The 9MM and .45ACP ammunition disappeared in the first few days, but .40 was still abundant. She silently patted herself on the back again.
To be continued. . .
