These days, the wind still brushes against me with a lingering tenderness, yet the leaves no longer swirl or flutter in their frantic dance of light. Darkness has descended. It has stolen everything, leaving me alone within the labyrinth of my own thoughts. Beneath the ancient Myrana tree, I am paralyzed—trapped in a dream of black wings stretching across the sky. I tremble as I lock gazes with those hollow, white eyes, where two writhing snakes slither out, inching toward me.

  Could this truly be the end?

  The golden machete gleams, embedded in a tree trunk bleeding red sap, quivering—calling to me. I will become you, won't I?

  Iberian, Harvint City, a few years earlier...

  They weren't dead. Even after I shot them, they kept staggering forward with crooked, unsteady steps. But they didn't recognize me. The sunlight left them in a half-blind stupor; only when night fell did they become true monsters, roaming the ruins, hunting the humans who were once their own kind.

  I didn't know where they came from. I didn't know why they appeared. I only remembered it began on the 31st of October, two years ago—the deadly Halloween…

  It was a day pulsing with excitement. I saw it in almost every pair of eyes I met. Crowds blurred through the streets, ignoring the "mild flu" that had been circulating for days, all desperate to finish their costumes for a night of horror. But on the neglected side of the city—where an orphan girl like me resided—such festivities felt a world away. To dream of a better life was like standing on scorched earth, looking up at the deep blue sky and wondering: Can I ever fly that high?

  Still, I considered myself lucky. Lucky to be at Hamster University. Lucky to have a cheap attic room. And lucky that the kind manager of St. Michael’s General Store gave me a job.

  That evening, as I was clearing the day's clutter before closing, Staley—the other clerk—stood by the glass door. She tapped her fingers against the pane, mesmerized by the "zombies" wandering the street.

  "They look so real, Annie!" Staley remarked. "The costumes get better every year. Is 'Zombies' the theme this year? Why is everyone dressed like that?"

  I only smiled. I was too busy dealing with a mess in the corner—left by a pale-faced kid who had thrown up earlier that afternoon—to care about the world outside.

  Click.

  "Ah!" Staley suddenly shrieked.

  I flinched and peeked through the shelves, almost screaming myself—until she burst into laughter. Someone was scaring her right at the storefront.

  Wow… that does look real, I thought.

  It was a stranger, likely in his thirties. His makeup was gruesome: tattered clothes, a sickly green face on a lifeless body, and jagged teeth bared in a snarl. His skin was covered in blotchy wounds, as if he’d been clawed and bitten apart. Staley nearly collapsed with laughter. She probably thought it was just some guy trying to impress her.

  But then her expression shifted.

  "Okay, joke’s over! Stop smearing... whatever that is on the glass!" she snapped.

  I propped my mop in the corner, untied my apron, and walked toward her. My heart skipped. The man was scratching at the door, trying desperately to get inside. He smeared the glass with something thick and sticky—dark red like crushed rose petals, dark red like... blood.

  "That’s enough!" Staley said sharply.

  She was like that—quick to laugh, quick to anger. She reached out and turned the lock. Some instinct screamed inside me.

  "Don't!"

  The wind chime rang out—a long metallic note suspended in time. Too late. The door swung open.

  The twisted man lunged inside and slammed her to the floor. And then... he ate her. He tore into her right before my eyes. Even now, I still remember Staley’s screams as he ripped flesh from her body with his teeth.

  I was too horrified to make a sound. From outside, drawn by the ghastly roar of that blood-soaked creature, a horde of others flooded into the store, shoving and clawing for their share of her remains. I stood frozen. Only when one of those bloodthirsty gazes locked onto me did I realize I had to move.

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  I knocked over the shelf beside me and hurled everything I could grab at the one charging toward me. It didn’t slow him. He leapt, grabbed my shoulders, and slammed me backward into another rack.

  “Graaah! Graa!!!” He threw his head back and shrieked with a primal madness.

  I struggled, but I couldn't break free. His entire weight crushed me down. His filthy, peeling hands clamped around my head. The stench of decay was suffocating. He bared long, sharp fangs above bleeding gums, and a thick stream of black, foul liquid dripped from his mouth onto my forehead, sliding down over my eyelid.

  With my one free eye, I saw him aiming for my throat.

  “GRAAA!!!” He bent down to devour me.

  Instinct took over. I grabbed his head, pushing back with everything I had to keep his jaws away. But he was stronger—and driven by a far greater will to kill. I knew I couldn't hold him much longer.

  In the struggle, a box tumbled from the shelf. White powder spilled out. Makeup pigment. Hope.

  With a final surge of strength, I shoved him sideways. His teeth snapped into the carpet instead of my neck. As he turned back in fury, I grabbed the box.

  Poof! I flung the powder straight into his face.

  He shrieked, staggering blindly, clawing at the air. I didn't wait. I scrambled to my feet and sprinted toward the back door.

  Bang! I slammed it shut and escaped into the narrow alley.

  I collapsed against the filthy wall, shaking violently. I pulled out my phone and dialed emergency services. But what was I supposed to say? "I just saw people eating someone?" My thoughts were fracturing. I tried calling friends. No signal. The service light flickered once—then died. I clutched the phone and began to cry—a strange, jagged sobbing.

  A few minutes later, I managed to calm myself. I tied my red hair back, stepped out of the alley, and walked toward Tromlirg Street. What I saw there shattered me.

  A sea of people running and screaming. "Real ghosts" were hunting "fake ghosts." People who weren't in costume were... eating those who were. It was the collapse—the beginning of the lost days.

  "They’re coming! Run!" someone screamed, sprinting past me before a creature tackled them into a storefront window.

  Crash. They were torn apart among shattered glass.

  I screamed, and then... I ran. I ran for miles, fueled by pure adrenaline. I ran until the noise faded, until my feet split open and bled the color of plum wine. When I finally stopped, there was only the sound of growling in the shadows.

  I tried to believe it was a dream. I was wrong. Every time I woke up, things were worse.

  Three weeks later, there was no government. No military. No world left. There was only the death that humanity had tried so desperately to prevent. But death... always finds its way.

  I was one of the few lucky enough to survive the outbreak. After a year of moving between makeshift camps, our "few" became even fewer. And after two years, only I and one other man remained.

  He spoke little. Worked in near-total silence. The only thing separating him from the infected was that he never hesitated to put a bullet between their eyes. People call him the "Zombie Hunter."

  I once feared he would abandon me. But I realized that beneath his strength lived another fear—not of death, but of silence. Of a world without human voices. He may be quiet, but he cannot endure losing mine. He once tore through a horde in an old Cadillac to find me when I was trapped in a small shop after returning late from scavenging.

  His name is Kael. He is the only person I trust.

  Two years is long enough to change the world. Long enough for streets to turn into silent graveyards between cold, lonely skyscrapers.

  On roads lined with metal carcasses of cars, we ventured out. Shrouded from head to toe, Kael and I moved quietly through the main street. Morning sunlight blinds them—but it does not deafen them. Their sense of smell remains sharp. That’s why I wear a bundle of garlic around my neck. It makes me sneeze, but it masks the scent of the living.

  I flinched and fired when one brushed against my back. Kael frowned; the shot drew attention. They began to cluster, swarming toward the sound.

  Drawing his machete, Kael cut down two zombies blocking our path, grabbed my hand, and ran. The horde swarmed the fallen bodies—but they didn’t eat. They rejected the rotten flesh of their own kind.

  "We don’t have much time before dark," Kael warned once we were clear. "Find a store with supplies. And don't waste bullets unless you have to."

  "I know," I said quietly. I had been careless.

  "What about the military barracks north of here?" I suggested. "Survivors said it was overrun last week. Most of them should have scattered by now. There should be rations and weapons left."

  Kael contemplated, then nodded. The sun was sinking. We had to move before night restored their full strength.

  The afternoon light exhausts me. That reddish-pink glow is the clearest alarm bell for the horrors to come. But as long as it remained, we were safe—for another two or three hours. Enough time to find a room until morning.

  "We're here," Kael said.

  A fallen iron gate lay ahead, trapping a struggling infected beneath it. Kael ended its misery with a clean strike. I raised my hunting rifle and followed him inside.

  The barracks were vast and silent. We entered a large green building—likely the commissary. Dust and darkness filled the air. The deeper we went, the darker it became. Kael nodded toward a doorway leading into a corridor swallowed in pitch-black shadow.

  If anything lurked in there, it would be as strong as night. A shiver crawled down my spine. Kael squeezed my shoulder. With him, I am not afraid.

  Click.

  A sound echoed from the corner. My hands tightened around my rifle.

  Squeak… squeak. A rat darted through a faint shaft of light.

  "Whew," I exhaled. "Good thing it was just—"

  Kael raised a finger. Silence.

  Something much larger shifted in the darkness beyond the inner doorway. And then I saw them. Green eyes. Threaded with red veins. Spinning inside hollow sockets on a pale, gaunt face rising from a blood-soaked body.

  They were staring directly at us.