Isaac had always believed he was an ordinary man, no hero, just someone who worked hard for his family. But when the virus spread, turning people into monsters, the world demanded more from everyone.

But even heroes fall. One night, the infected breached his home. Isaac fought like a man possessed, wielding a makeshift bat, shattering skulls and bones, blood staining the walls. Eliza was running upstairs with their baby when one of them grabbed her by the ankle. Isaac heard her scream and turned to see her struggling. In the chaos, he couldn’t reach her in time. The thing sunk its rotting teeth into her neck.

Isaac screamed, a primal roar that echoed through the broken house. He buried Eliza that night in the backyard, digging with his bare hands while their baby cried softly from inside the house. He kissed his wife’s cold forehead one last time before covering her with earth. Then, he held his baby close, whispering promises to a child too young to understand. He had failed to save Eliza, but he wouldn’t fail his last piece of family. He couldn’t.

The next morning, Isaac felt the bite. In the melee, one of the infected had clawed him, the wound festering overnight. He knew what it meant. He’d seen it happen to others. The fever hit first, making every movement feel like fire in his veins. Then came the hallucinations, flashes of Eliza, of their old life, distorted by the infection spreading through his blood.

Days passed, then weeks. Isaac’s transformation completed, but something within him remained. The infection had taken his body, twisted it into a beast, but it couldn’t claim his soul. He was no longer a man, but not fully a monster. His thoughts were fragmented, his human memories fading like whispers in the wind. Yet, a single purpose kept him anchored: Protect my kid.

(Years later...)

I pulled my hood up, feeling the weight of my pack on my shoulders. The streets were quiet, too quiet, with only the wind rustling the overgrown weeds that had taken over the city.

I glanced back at him. Dad.