Horrific Shorts: Zombie Edition

It wasn't supposed to happen like that.

We were supposed to make it to the rooftop, signal the chopper, get out.

We were so close.

But that kiss…

That kiss was where it all ended.

And maybe where it all began.

Mara and I had survived things that would've killed most couples.

Burning checkpoints.

Cannibal cults.

The infected twins in the school basement.

But somehow, we always made it out—bruised, bleeding, laughing like fools in the wreckage.

We had a rule: Don't fall in love.

Because love gets you killed.

Love makes you hesitate.

Love makes you hope.

And hope… is a trap.

The night before the extraction, we camped in the old elevator shaft of Tower 16.

Concrete cold.

Rain slipping in from a broken hatch above us. S&o@urced d+irec.t%l^y from* MV%6$L.E%M$P6YR...

We took turns keeping watch, as always.

But she didn't sleep.

She just stared at me like I was something she'd already lost.

"I have to tell you something," she said.

"No," I told her. "Whatever it is—tell me after we get out of here."

But she leaned forward, close enough for me to smell the peppermint gum we traded for two cans of beans last week.

Her voice cracked.

"I was bitten."

I froze.

Not because I was afraid.

But because I didn't want to believe it.

Not her. Not Mara.

"Where?"

She pulled up her sleeve.

Just below the elbow.

A clean puncture. No rot yet, but the veins were already turning gray.

"When?" I asked.

"Two days ago."

"You lied to me."

"I needed to believe I could still get you out."

I stood up. My head hit the pipe above. I didn't care.

"You should've told me—"

"I know."

"I would've—"

"I know."

And then she kissed me.

It was fast.

But full.

Like it was the last breath she'd ever take, and she wanted it to be mine.

When she pulled back, her eyes were wet.

Not with fear.

With peace.

"I didn't want you to carry it," she said. "But now you have to let me go."

I shook my head.

"I can't."

She handed me the pistol.

"The chopper leaves at dawn. Take the stairs. I'll take the fire escape. One of us needs to make it."

"Mara—"

"You kissed me back."

"I know."

"Then make it mean something."

I never saw her after that.

I reached the roof.

Signaled the chopper.

Left with her taste still on my lips—metallic, desperate, beautiful.

She never showed.

They asked me if anyone else was coming.

I lied.

Said, "No. It was just me."

Now, when I dream, it's that kiss.

The one that ended the lies.

Ended the hope.

Ended us.

They said the infection is passed through fluids.

That a kiss could be death.

Maybe that's why I've been waiting to turn.

But I haven't.

Not yet.

Maybe it wasn't a kiss of death after all.

Maybe it was a kiss of release.

Or maybe…

She took it with her.