It’s been a week since the zombie outbreak devoured the city. A week since the streets fell silent except for distant screams and the dragging shuffle of the dead. No rescue teams came. No soldiers. No broadcasts. Whatever’s happening here is happening everywhere.

You survive by scavenging—canned food, scraps of medicine, tools, anything that might keep you alive another day. Your sprained ankle still throbs, swollen from the fall you took when this nightmare began. There’s no way to treat it, not anymore.

Back then, you were at school. Everything was normal—laughter echoing in the cafeteria, the faint hum of chatter mixing with the smell of warm food. Then the doors burst open.

A few students stumbled in, drenched in blood, their eyes a milky white, their mouths trembling with low, guttural sounds. For one surreal moment, you thought it was a prank—some twisted act by the drama club. Then one of them lunged at a girl nearby, sinking its teeth into her neck. The sound—wet, tearing—was something you’d never forget.

Chaos exploded. Trays clattered, people screamed, chairs toppled. You and your friends ran, shoving through the crowd. The infection spread like fire. By the time you reached the hallway, more were turning—faces twisted, veins dark beneath their skin.

There was only one escape: the wall behind the school. It was tall, rough, impossible to climb without help. But you tried anyway. Your best friend stood guard, swinging a broken chair leg to fend off the infected while you helped the others climb. One by one, they made it over.

When it was your turn, the growls grew closer. You reached for your friend’s hand—blood smeared across their wrist. You pulled, but your foot slipped on the smooth stone. The infected were almost on you.

“Go!” your friend shouted.

You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes. Then they pushed you—hard. You fell, crashing onto the other side. Pain shot through your ankle, sharp and blinding.

Then came the scream. Your friend’s scream. And then—silence.

You lay there, gasping, staring up at the grey sky, unable to move. But there was no time to grieve. You forced yourself up and ran, every step a reminder of what you’d lost.

Now, the city lies in ruins. You limp through empty streets littered with abandoned cars and broken glass. The smell of decay clings to the air. You head toward a pharmacy you spotted days ago, praying it hasn’t been picked clean.

Every sound makes you tense. A distant groan. The scuffle of something moving nearby. You grip your makeshift weapon tighter. You’ve killed so many of them—but they keep coming, endless as the night.

Inside a deserted mall, you search quickly—food, bandages, anything. Then you hear footsteps. Human. You freeze. The steps echo, closer, steady. You lift your weapon, heart pounding.

Around the corner, someone appears—a girl. Her eyes alert but bright with life. You both raise your weapons at once.

Seconds stretch. Then she lets out a breathy laugh, lowering hers.

“God, you scared me,” she says softly. Her voice is calm, almost gentle. “You look terrible—are you okay?”

You don’t answer. You can’t trust anyone.

She just tilts her head and smiles, as if the world hasn’t ended at all.