If You Were Infected

Coming home was more dreadful than the photoshoot… or the news anchors smiling creepily. Opening the door, I saw my stepfather watching me as I entered through the kitchen. He didn’t say a word and didn’t show any reaction. The smell of stale beer and fried oil lingered in the air, as if it had never left the walls.I headed straight to my room and heard his approaching footsteps. Slow, measured; each step pressed into the floorboards like a warning. A metallic click sounded at the door. It was locked again. I was stuck all afternoon in my little cage, my windows locked with screens on the exterior, at least so that some fresh air could come inside. The screen was dented in one corner—my failed attempt to escape last time. I stared at the ceiling until it went dark, waiting for my stepfather to unlock the door once again for dinner and a shower. The paint above me was cracked, a thin line running from one corner to another, as if something had split the room in half. It didn’t take lo

It had been a while since Mark and Isaac had retreated from each other. There was nothing we could do.Alia was missing.Lenore got to her feet and pulled out her phone. She had been carrying it for almost an hour. Frustration painted all over her frowning face. She was also anxious, biting her nails as she furiously tapped on the screen.I sat in a seat near the back door, watching her while staying aware of my surroundings.Fortunately for us, the sickos couldn’t find us here. The thick wall played a huge part in our survival. Its narrow windows at the ceiling were the only way we could check outside.Josh had been carrying Andrew on his shoulders while standing on a chair, slightly shaking as he kept his balance. “What do you see? Tell me!” he asked.“Just wait a sec, and keep me steady,” Andrew said as he peered through the glass.Lenore approached me with frustration evident in her heavy steps. “This is insane! There’s no signal here at all,” she exclaimed. “I can’t call my mom,

The rooftop had a spacious helipad for air transport. But somehow, it was a death trap, too. Getting up there would be a dead end if the monsters found us before we were rescued.My schoolmates desperately discussed the helicopter that was about to save our lives. We opened the windows and waved our hands as if to get the chopper’s attention. However, it seemed to stay overhead, its blinding light cutting through the glass panes.I glanced below. The sickos flailed violently with their hands reaching skyward, roaring angrily at the hovering vehicle. Then, a sudden shattering of glass interrupted the whirring and roaring. The windows splintered in the neighboring rooms, and the undead inside began to stagger through the broken glass. A waterfall of bodies overflowed the lawn, joining in the flailing herd.The rooms were thinning out of monsters.The noise from the helicopter must have angered them. It must have pulled them away from the rooms.“Mark!” I called, frantically looking for

Before we could process it, the body arched backward, her spine cracking. A snarl escaped her lips as she tried to rise from the ground. But Mark drove her back down with his foot. He grabbed my hand and dragged me to the nearest house. When we reached the doorstep, a hand broke through the wooden door. I shrieked. Mark pulled me again, heading for the basement doors. He pulled the heavy cellar doors with all his strength, and dust flew around the frame of the hole that gaped darkness beneath us. “Go!” Mark hissed. Then I heard roars.I hesitated, but I descended first, my heartbeat racing from the blinding blackness of the underground. The doors closed behind me, and the only thing I could hear was Mark’s footsteps, but I couldn’t see him. The suffocating silence and the thick air were familiar, flashing a glimpse of my own wretched bedroom. Until his cell phone lit up. His silhouette made my body feel lighter. I stood still on cold feet and gooseflesh; the recent memory of

We had a stare-down for what felt like an hour. He watched my every move, my every breath, anticipating what might come next.I panted, afraid. My hands shook as I clasped my injured arm that hung low at my side. Blood trickled to the floor, mixing into the puddle. I could barely look at it as I felt it spitting out more red. I felt like I could collapse, my knees giving out from under me. My heavy breaths trembled as my fingers ran through the wound. Deep scratches. Gurgling sounds. This could kill me. He could kill me.I saw how tightly he gripped that pry bar. I saw how deeply furrowed his eyebrows were.I saw how firmly he gritted his teeth.He was anticipating my change. He was waiting for the moment I fell to the floor, with my body stiff and frozen, like the woman earlier. But I was still standing.Well, barely.It already felt like a gallon of blood had spilled from my arm. It numbed, but there was no pain just yet. But I was expecting it. My eyes squeezed shut.Don’t think