The days bled into months, a rhythm of survival that Ariciah had begrudgingly learned to follow. Months even turned into years. Every day was a new battle, every breath a gift she had wrestled from the jaws of the apocalypse.
But despite the pain and the loneliness, she persisted, scraping together a fragile existence among the ruins. She had learned how to evade the infected, how to navigate the city's labyrinth of debris, and how to scavenge for whatever meager scraps of food remained hidden in forgotten corners.
Yet all it took was one careless mistake, one moment of distraction, for everything to unravel.
She had entered the abandoned grocery store just after dawn, hoping to find something, anything, that might sustain her for a few more days.
I feel danger all around and the chill is bitingly freezing!
The air inside was stale, thick with the scent of decay, but she pushed on, weaving between overturned shelves and shattered glass. Her hands trembled as she dug through piles of rotting produce and broken jars, her mind already cataloging each new disappointment.
The shelves that once held rows of canned goods were empty, and the aisles were littered with the remnants of panicked looting.
I need to find something valuable!
But Ariciah refused to leave empty-handed, forcing herself deeper into the store's shadowed corners. Her breath came in shallow bursts, each one a reminder that she had become a master of moving quietly, of slipping through the cracks of this broken world.
She didn't hear the infected until it was too late.
Oh shit!
A low, guttural growl rumbled through the darkness, and Ariciah's heart froze. She spun around, her weapon raised, but the creature was already upon her, a gaunt figure with hollow eyes and flesh hanging from its bones.
Shit!
Its teeth sunk into her arm before she could react, the pain like white-hot fire spreading through her veins. Ariciah screamed, swinging her weapon wildly, feeling the impact reverberate through her arms as she connected with the creature's skull.
It crumpled to the ground, but the damage was done. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her mind reeling as she pressed a trembling hand to the bite wound on her forearm. Blood seeped through her fingers, hot and slick, mixing with the bitter taste of panic in her mouth.
No! I can't be infected!
Why?
She stumbled out of the store, her vision blurring as she clutched her arm to her chest. The infection spread like wildfire, burning its way through her body, and leaving her shivering and weak. Her thoughts grew sluggish, tangled in the fog that clouded her mind.
Why me?
She knew what came next—she had seen it happen to others. The fever, the delirium, the slow loss of control until there was nothing left but the hunger, the mindless need to consume.
Haven't I suffered enough?
Ariciah's steps faltered as she searched the crumbling cityscape for a place to hide, a place where she could face her end alone. She found an old office building, its windows shattered and its walls crumbling with age.
Was living so hard?
The lobby was littered with debris, but she managed to climb the stairs to the second floor, her breath coming in sharp, painful gasps. She collapsed against the wall of a dusty, empty room, sliding down until she was seated on the cold, hard floor.
I wanted to stay alive but...
Her vision swam as the fever took hold, sweat pouring down her face. She pressed her back against the wall, her head lolling to the side, staring out through a gap in the broken window at the darkening sky.
I'm sorry, brother...
Her mind was a whirlwind of regrets, spinning faster with each passing moment. She thought of Ellis, of the way he had looked at her with that trust, that hope.
She thought of her parents, of the life they had tried to shape for her, a life she had never truly wanted, but one she had tried to live for their sake. And she thought of herself, of the person she might have been if she had ever truly been given a choice.
As the infection coursed through her veins, a strange, heavy lethargy settled into her limbs, and she realized with a sinking heart that this was it, her body was failing, turning against her. Her breaths came in shorter, more labored gasps, her chest tightening with every inhale.
"I'm not ready," she whispered, her voice cracking in the silence. Her hands fisted in the fabric of her jacket, nails digging into her palms. "I'm not ready to go."
Her mind drifted to the life she had left behind, to the dreams she had never chased, the words she had left unsaid. She remembered the stories she had once wanted to write, the worlds she had imagined creating with the stroke of a pen.
She thought of the friends she had lost, of the ones she had failed to protect. The weight of it pressed down on her, crushing her with its intensity.
And yet, beneath the suffocating despair, a flicker of something else burned, anger and defiance. If she had been given another chance, she wouldn't have let herself be bound by expectations, and wouldn't have allowed her life to be dictated by fear and indecision.
She would have fought harder, lived more fiercely, and reached for something beyond the safe, narrow path that had been carved out for her. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hold onto that thread of defiance as her body grew colder, her mind slipping further into the haze.
The darkness crept in at the edges of her vision, a shadow that threatened to consume her entirely. But she clung to that flickering flame, imagining herself rising up against the darkness, even as her strength waned.
"If I could... if I could do it all over again..." Her voice was barely a breath now, her lips cracking with the effort. "I wouldn't... I wouldn't give up."
Her body convulsed, the pain flaring white-hot before fading into a numb, bone-deep cold. Her breaths grew shallow, her pulse slowing to a dull, fading rhythm. The infection tightened its grip around her heart, squeezing out the last remnants of warmth.
The world around her blurred into a wash of shadows and light, a strange, almost dreamlike state where time seemed to stretch and warp.
Memories flickered behind her eyelids, moments from a life she had never truly lived, laughter shared with friends, the feel of the wind against her face as she ran through fields, the warmth of a campfire beneath a starlit sky.
Is this what they call the last seven minutes of life?
And in those moments, as her consciousness began to slip away, she found herself wishing, with a desperate, aching fervor, that she could have just one more chance. One more chance to fight, to carve out a place for herself in this shattered world.
To become someone who could look the darkness in the eye and refuse to back down.
But the darkness continued its encroachment, her mind spiraling deeper into the void. The edges of reality frayed, and she felt herself slipping away, drifting into the cold embrace of oblivion. Her heartbeat slowed, each thud growing fainter, her breaths turning to shallow rasps.
Yet as her final breath escaped her lips, something stirred deep within her, a pulse, a spark, like the dying embers of a fire that refused to be snuffed out.
It was small, barely more than a whisper against the darkness, but it was enough to remind her that somewhere, deep inside, a part of her still clung to the idea of life.
And as the shadows closed in, as her body gave in to the infection and the world faded to black, that spark flickered one last time, a promise, a vow, that if there were any chance left, she would seize it with everything she had.
The darkness consumed her, cold and unyielding, but somewhere in the depths of her mind, that spark burned on, a stubborn ember refusing to be extinguished. And with that thought, Ariciah's world slipped away, leaving only the promise of what might lie beyond the shadows.