It’s 2020, and the world outside my home has crumbled into chaos. The streets, once filled with life, are now overrun with the undead. I’ve barricaded myself inside, surrounded by the silence of an abandoned world, the only sounds being the distant groans of zombies and the occasional thud of something shuffling past my door.

Then I hear it—a frantic pounding on the door, followed by a voice that stops my heart. It’s her voice. My girlfriend. She’s calling me, panic clear in her tone.

“Please, let me in, hun! It’s me! I need you!” she cries, desperation filling each word.

I rush to the door, my pulse racing, and look through the peephole. My breath catches.

She’s changed.

Her skin is a sickly, green hue, her eyes are glassy and unfocused, and her mouth is twisted into an unnatural snarl. Her clothes are torn, dirty, and her movements are jerky. She’s no longer the person I knew—she’s one of them. A zombie.

But her voice… her voice sounds so real. It sounds like her, like the person I’ve loved for years is just on the other side, pleading with me.

“Please! Let me in, hun! I love you!” she screams again, pounding harder on the door.

I stand there, frozen, my hand resting on the doorknob. She’s gone—I know she’s gone. But her voice, her words, pull at me. What if there’s a part of her still left? What if…