Horrific Shorts: Zombie Edition

We weren't supposed to survive.

Not after what happened at the silo. Not after we watched the others burn. Not after my brother took the bite to save her—and I took the shot to stop his suffering.

But still, we stood. Just the two of us. Ava and me.

The world ended in noise and teeth. Now it was quiet.

We made camp in the shell of a grocery store, its glass shattered and shelves stripped bare. The freezer buzzed uselessly, a ghost of old comforts. We pushed carts against the doors and painted the windows black.

And every night, we counted stars through bullet holes in the ceiling and listened for moans that told us we were not alone.

We didn't talk about the past. Only the now. Only the next.

"Do we run in the morning?" Ava would ask, as if there was still somewhere to run to.

I'd nod. "West."

"Why west?"

"Because it's not here."

One morning, I found her looking at a Polaroid from before.

Before the infection. Before the military checkpoints. Before her mother's screams faded under the basement door.

It was her and a boy—probably her younger brother. Both were laughing, coated in flour, in some forgotten kitchen.

I didn't ask questions. She didn't offer answers.

Some things are heavier than a loaded rifle.

We weren't a couple. Not in the old sense of the word. But our silences fit together. Our hands moved in rhythm. We shared warmth when the nights bit harder than the dead ever could.

Once, I kissed her when we thought we were going to die.

She didn't kiss me back.

Until the next night, when she kissed me first.

The undead found us on Day 47. Five of them, maybe six, pouring in from the alley like rats through smoke.

We didn't panic.

We moved as one.

She took left, I took right. I reloaded before she asked. She covered my blind side without a word. It was violent. Fast. Bloody. But we survived.

We always did.

When it was over, we collapsed in the back room, panting. Bleeding. Laughing.

"We make a good team," she whispered, pressing her head against my shoulder.

I didn't say anything. I just held her tighter.

Later that night, when the moans faded, she turned to me and said:

"If it comes down to it… if I ever turn—"

"No," I interrupted.

"You have to promise."

"I won't need to."

She looked away. "We can't beat all of them. Just remember… it's us. No one else. Just—"

"Two against the world," I said.

She smiled. "And maybe that's enough."

We left the store the next morning.

The wind howled like ghosts through the parking lot. But our steps stayed steady.

Two shadows in a broken world.

Two heartbeats where there should've been none.