Ryan The zombies attacked this morning. I don't know who opened the gates or why the infected herd would ignore the blazing sun. Light kills them slowly, and after having shot a few of them, I've made the conclusion they seem to be under mind control. None of them seemed aware of their actions, and what baffles me more is that they didn't care about their burning, rotten skin either. I also noticed that they are scary strong. Damn, I hope Amelia is alright. I don't care about what she said about being a clone. I spent most of the night thinking about her words while staring up at the ceiling—it turns out I don't give a fuck if she was born the natural way or if she was created. My dick still twitches at the thought of getting buried deep inside of her. I like Amelia. She makes me want to be a better person. I don't know that much about her yet, but I know enough to conclude that she is unique. When I first met her, she was shy and withdrawn, b

AmeliaAs I stand by the beginning of the stairs, my chest cramps the moment I see Ryan take off his t-shirt. I'm still wet from the shower and draped in his clothes. His scent is on me, and even though I'm supposed to join Zoya upstairs, my legs are working against me.I stand frozen, unable to make a single move as Ryan aims his stormy eyes on me. A smile touches his lips, and my eyes fall to his carved abs, helpless to resist tracking the pathway of hair down to his crotch. He is gorgeous, but sex isn't on my mind."Shouldn't you walk upstairs? Ryan asks and folds his arms under his chest. The zombie bite is pretty visible, but I'm guessing he isn't afraid of getting seen with it inside his cabin."I..." I stop talking and lick my lips. I feel my heart sting—I don't want to leave him. "Can I sleep with you tonight?"Ryan looks surprised. "Isn't the bed upstairs good enough for you?"Feeling frustrated, I march up to him with determi

Stepping into the car feels wrong, like something terrible is about to happen. Yet I open the door to climb into the vehicle—Courtney is already sitting in her seat, glaring daggers at me. Her hair is flowing around her dolled-up face, and my eyes land on the cut right below her nose and upper lip. Did I cause that? The makeup is doing nothing to hide the scar. "Look at what you did to my beautiful face, Amelia," Courtney says. "This is your work." My gaze turns bitter. "I'm sorry, but if you hadn't tried to stop me from making my own decisions, then you would still be as pretty as a Barbie." Courtney looks ready to murder me. Her mouth opens and closes, and I lift my eyebrows. "What?" I ask. "I thought we were friends..." Courtney says. "Were we truly friends, or did you only hang out with me because Ryan told you to?" I can hear Zoya snort behind me, but she catches herself in the last second and climbs into the miniv

"There is no end to these zombies!" While Giovani shoots down zombie after zombie, I watch my father observe us with a smile plastered to his face. Odd how he isn't helping his zombie companions fight and instead turns around to disappear into another room slowly. "If you want to save your cute little lover, chat with me in the other room, Amelia." My father speaks from the door frame. A smile is glittering over his thin lips. "Come on, follow me." Ryan falls onto his knees and glances up at me. He seems to be struggling not to turn into a zombie. "Don't follow him." I bite my lower lip. Ryan looks sickly pale, and I know I don't have much time to make my decision. I should follow my father, right? The others have joined us and are shooting zombies to the left and right—I could easily track my father into the other room. It might be my only chance to prevent Ryan's death. "Stay here," I order Ryan. "I will see what my father has to say."

One Year Later I replay the events that unfolded in my father's mansion every day, usually in the form of nightmares that haunt me at night. There are so many things that I could have done differently that day, ways of how I could have saved Ryan. It hurts remembering him. I can no longer visualize precisely how his face looked like, but I can remember how he made me feel, which usually ends up with me in tears. Most of the time, I cry alone inside my room and pretend that rush of hurt and pain never hit me like a wave when I walk out to the others, even if I know that everyone living inside this mansion is aware of my pain. "He is still alive. It's Ryan we are talking about," Zoya has told me plenty of times with her hand on my back. "Killing him is like trying to get to a cockroach—they always survive." I pray that she is right. For the past months, I've been searching for Ryan everywhere. I hunt for materials and food every day. I'm