"Hey, where do you think you're going?"
Brandon's voice cut through the tense atmosphere just as Emily tried to slip away from the group. His eyes were fixed on her with a mix of frustration and concern. Before she could explain, he strode over, grabbed her arm, and pulled her back toward the team.
"Stay with the group!" he insisted, his tone carrying an edge of authority. "You think you can just wander off because you're the governor's daughter? If anything goes wrong, who's responsible?!"
Emily blinked at him, more amused by his dramatic delivery than intimidated. His stern demeanor made it seem like she'd done something terribly wrong.
Wow, the original Emily really put up with this? she mused, shaking her head internally. "I just needed a quick breather," she replied casually, gently removing his hand from her arm. "If you're in such a rush, go on ahead. I'll catch up. This was my decision to come along, so if anything happens, I'll handle it."
Brandon paused, taken aback by her calm resolve. The usual expectation of compliance wasn't working anymore. The team exchanged puzzled glances, surprised by the shift in dynamics.
"Fine," Brandon grumbled, annoyed by the attention. "Let's move out!" He marched away, frustration evident in his stride.
The others hesitated for a moment before following, leaving Emily alone by the deserted vehicle. Once the area was clear, she sprinted toward the decrepit factory she'd been aiming for all along.
The factory loomed even more ominously than she remembered from the story. The air grew colder, carrying the stench of decay as she ventured further inside. Shadows seemed to engulf every corner, and the silence was oppressive.
Emily slowed her steps, every instinct telling her to turn back. This isn't good, she thought. The story didn't describe it like this.
But it was too late.
Through the factory entrance, she spotted a lumbering figure—its twisted posture and jerky movements unmistakable. A zombie.
Her heart pounded in her chest. She ducked behind a rusted oil drum, holding her breath. The creature's slack jaw and vacant eyes reminded her of a video game zombie, but this was all too real.
Think, Emily, she urged herself, gripping her pistol tightly. The front door's a no-go. I'll have to find another way out.
Taking shallow breaths to steady her nerves, she crept further into the factory, using the shadows to stay concealed. She felt like a stealthy predator, slipping from one hiding spot to another, though she knew she was the prey.
After what felt like an eternity, she reached the back corner of the factory. There, just as the story described, stood an old metal cabinet. This was where the serum was hidden.
Emily knelt down, her hands feeling along the base of the cabinet. Her fingers scraped against grime and debris, but she kept searching, her heart pounding in her ears.
A sound behind her—a faint shuffle—made her freeze.
The zombie. It was getting closer.
Her search became desperate. Just as she was about to give up, her fingers brushed against something small and boxy. She pulled it out, dirt falling away to reveal a compact metal case. Her hands trembled as she pressed a switch, and the case clicked open to reveal a tiny glass vial.
Got it!
But her triumph was short-lived.
The metal cabinet door creaked open on its own.
Emily froze, clutching the vial tightly. The eerie groan of the door echoed through the factory, sending a chill up her spine.
Then she saw it—a pale shape stirring in the darkness.
Something was inside the cabinet.
Her breath caught as the shape moved, shifting slightly, then stepped fully into the dim light. It wasn't a zombie.
It was a man.