Six Months Before The End

Lucy woke with a scream trapped in her throat. Her eyes flew open, and she scrambled backward, searching desperately for somewhere to hide. She expected to see rotting faces, bloodstained hands, and dead eyes staring hungrily at her.

Instead, she saw a white ceiling. For several seconds, she couldn't understand what she was looking at. Her breathing came in short, painful bursts as she searched the room for the monsters that had torn her apart.

Nothing.

There were no screams, no growling, no smell of blood. No infected people trying to break through the windows. Only the familiar curtains, the wardrobe beside her bed, and the soft morning light coming through the window.

Lucy pressed herself against the headboard.

“No,” she whispered. “No, this can't be happening.”

She looked down at her body. Her clothes were clean, her hands were uninjured, and her skin was free of the wounds she remembered receiving when the zombies caught her. She touched her shoulder. The place where the infected had bitten her was perfectly fine. Lucy gasped and began checking herself frantically, touching her arms, her neck, and her stomach. She remembered the pain. She remembered falling to the ground, unable to escape the creatures surrounding her.

Most importantly, she remembered Bryan. Her son had been crying when she told him to run. She had watched him disappear into the alley, knowing she might never see him again.

Then the zombies had overwhelmed her. She remembered thinking that if she ever had another chance at life, she would never allow anyone to hurt her son again.

But how could she be alive? Had someone rescued her? Was this a hospital? Had the military found her body and somehow brought her back? Lucy looked around the bedroom again. Everything was familiar. The dressing table, the framed wedding photograph, the bedside lamp Stephen had bought her years ago.

Her eyes settled on the calendar hanging beside the wardrobe.

She stared at the date. Then she rubbed her eyes and looked again. It was six months before the outbreak.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “That isn't possible.”

She climbed out of bed so quickly that her knees nearly gave way. She hurried toward the calendar and gripped its edges, reading the date repeatedly.

She had returned six months before the world collapsed. The city was still standing. The people she remembered dying were still alive. The government had not announced the emergency evacuation, and the streets were not filled with zombies.

Lucy covered her mouth as tears streamed down her face.

Then she suddenly remembered her son, Bryan.

Her heart began pounding. “Bryan!”

She rushed out of the bedroom, almost tripping over the edge of the rug.

“Bryan, where are you? Bryan!”

Her voice cracked as she hurried down the hallway.

“Mommy!”

A little boy came running toward her from the living room.

“Mommy, I'm here! Have you woken up?”

Lucy stopped moving. For a moment, she could only stare at him. Bryan stood before her in his favourite blue pyjamas, his hair slightly messy and his face bright with the innocent curiosity she had thought she would never see again.

He was alive.

Her little boy was alive.

“Bryan?” she whispered.

The boy tilted his head. “Yes, Mommy. What's wrong?”

Lucy rushed forward and dropped to her knees, pulling him into her arms.

“Bryan!”

“Mommy!” He stumbled slightly from the force of her embrace. “You're squeezing me!”

She loosened her grip immediately but refused to let him go. Her hands moved over his shoulders, his arms, and his face, checking him for injuries.

“Are you okay?” she asked desperately. “Are you hurt anywhere? Does anything hurt? Tell me the truth, baby.”

Bryan stared at her with growing concern.

“I'm fine, Mommy. I just woke up.”

“Are you sure?” She touched his cheeks. “Your head doesn't hurt? You haven't fallen anywhere? Nobody has hurt you?”

“No!” He looked genuinely confused.

 “Mommy, why are you asking me all these questions?”

Lucy pulled him against her chest again. “I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry.”

She began crying harder.

For months, she had watched her son grow through photographs and memories, imagining the future they might have shared. In her final moments, she hadn't even known whether he had escaped.

Now he was here, warm and breathing in her arms.

“Mommy, are you crying?” Bryan asked softly.

Lucy pressed a kiss against his forehead. “I'm just happy to see you, my love.”

“But you saw me yesterday.”

The words struck her so deeply that she closed her eyes.

Yesterday.

To Bryan, nothing had happened. He hadn't watched his mother die. He hadn't been abandoned by his father. He hadn't witnessed the world turning into a nightmare. For him, it was an ordinary morning. For Lucy, it was a miracle. She held his little face between her palms.

“Listen to me, Bryan. Whatever happens, I will always protect you. Do you understand? I will never let anyone hurt you.”

Bryan's expression softened, although he still looked puzzled.

“Okay, Mommy. But Daddy is about to leave for work. He said he was going to make breakfast before leaving.”

Lucy froze. “Your father is here?”

Bryan nodded. “He's in the kitchen.”

She slowly released him.

Stephen. Her husband was alive, too.

The man who had looked into her eyes and driven away while she begged him to save their son. The man who had chosen Vanessa over his own family. The man who had left her to die among the infected.

He was here, six months before everything happened. Lucy wiped her face with the back of her hand. “Go and sit down, baby,” she told Bryan gently. “I'll be with you in a minute.”

She watched him return to the living room before standing.

Her legs felt unsteady as she walked toward the kitchen. Stephen stood beside the counter, preparing breakfast. He wore a white shirt and dark trousers, and his car keys rested beside his phone.

He looked exactly as she remembered him before the apocalypse. For one brief moment, Lucy remembered the young man she had fallen in love with. The man who once called her his greatest blessing, who had promised that they would build a beautiful life together.

She had believed him. She had believed that their marriage meant something.