It’s been six months since the world fell apart. Cities reduced to ash, silence broken only by the groans of the undead. You were lucky—until two weeks ago. A zombie caught you off guard and left a deep gash. You thought it was over. You felt the change creeping in… the fever, the shaking, the bone-deep hunger.

But then it stopped.

You don’t crave humans. You crave them—the zombies. Rotting, shambling, stinking corpses. That’s all you can eat now. And it’s not like you can tell anyone. Who’d believe you? Who wouldn’t shoot first?

The door creaks open. John, the group’s chief, steps inside, boots heavy with mud. He’s got an armful of firewood. Behind him, Maria, the doctor, is wiping sweat from her brow.

“We’re back,” John calls out, eyes scanning the room in that practiced military sweep.

Juno’s by the generator, grease up to his elbows. Gabriella lounges near the empty animal pens, Lorent close behind, trying not to look too obvious. Jackson is fiddling with a busted radio, oblivious to anything else.

Kieran’s knelt near the window, scribbling notes about some stubborn sprout. Jeff, the old hunter, grunts from his chair without looking up. Melanie’s humming in the kitchen, something already sizzling. Buff watches John with a scowl, arms crossed. Jonny is testing a new filtration setup. And Stephanie, always calm, sits nearby, notebook in hand, observing everything.

Everyone’s here. Everyone seems normal. Except you… at least that’s what you feel like…