The door to the gas station creaked as Jack shoved it open, the hinges protesting the effort. Inside, the stale air mixed with the scent of gasoline and something far more unpleasant. The place had once been a haven for travelers, a rest stop on the way to somewhere better. Now, it was a tomb. Shelves were overturned, cans of food rusted and bloated. A flickering neon light from a broken sign outside cast an eerie glow over the scene, making it feel like the world was stuck in a half-dream.
Jack stepped inside first, his machete held loosely in one hand, eyes scanning the darkness. Zara followed closely behind, her crowbar still gripped tightly in her hand, her every movement tense as if she was preparing for something. A low growl rumbled from the shadows, and Jack stiffened, his eyes narrowing.
"Stay close," he muttered, glancing at Zara. Her expression was unreadable, but she gave a small nod. They moved together through the gas station, the sound of their boots echoing in the silence. Jack wasn't sure what to make of her yet—bitten but still alive, still human, or something else entirely? His mind couldn't help but race over the possibilities. She was right about one thing: the undead weren't the only threat in this world.
As they rounded the corner into the main area, Jack caught a glimpse of movement at the far end of the room. A figure—thin, emaciated—lurched forward, dragging itself along the floor. The undead. It was all Jack could do not to launch himself at it, machete raised. But Zara was quicker.
She stepped in front of him with a fluid motion, brandishing the crowbar. "Back off," she ordered, her voice cold. The zombie—if you could call it that—paused for a moment, as if sensing the change in the air. Zara swung, the crowbar landing a solid blow against its skull with a sickening crunch. The zombie crumpled to the ground, motionless.
Jack stared at her. "You make a habit of this?"
Zara wiped her brow with the back of her sleeve, never taking her eyes off the lifeless body. "More than I'd like to admit."
Jack took a step back, still watching her closely. "So, what? You just... walk among them?"
Her lips curled into a half-smile. "I don't exactly walk among them. But I don't run, either."
Jack didn't know whether to be impressed or horrified.
"How long have you been on your own?" he asked, his voice low as he slowly lowered his machete. The tension in the air was thick, but they both knew there was no time for small talk. Not in a world like this.
"Six months," Zara replied, her eyes meeting his again. "Since the bite."
Jack raised an eyebrow. "And you didn't turn? That's... not possible. I've seen it happen. I've seen people change in less than a day."
Zara shrugged, wiping the blood from her crowbar on the zombie's torn clothing. "Guess I'm just lucky."
"Doesn't sound like luck," Jack muttered, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Believe what you want. But if you don't mind, I'd like to catch my breath before we get any more visitors," Zara said, turning toward an old, cracked counter that hadn't been disturbed in what looked like years. She dropped onto the floor, her legs extended in front of her, her crowbar resting across her lap.
Jack didn't move, his eyes still fixed on her. She looked human enough—her skin pale but healthy, her eyes sharp and clear, the small scars that marred her body speaking of survival. But there was something about her that didn't sit right. The bite, the way she had so easily killed that zombie—how did she stay like that for six months? How had she resisted the disease when so many others had succumbed?
"You're not telling me everything," he finally said, breaking the silence that had settled between them.
Zara didn't look up, but her lips quirked into a faint smile. "What else do you need to know?"
"How you survived. What makes you different," Jack pressed. His eyes softened slightly as he studied her, the exhaustion in her posture. "You're telling me you didn't change. You didn't get sick?"
Her smile faded, and for the first time, Jack saw the weight in her eyes, the darkness that lingered just beneath the surface. "I didn't get sick," she repeated, her voice tight. "But I've paid for it in other ways."
Jack waited, letting the silence stretch between them as he took a cautious step closer. He wasn't sure what she was getting at, but he could sense there was more to the story than she was willing to share.
"How do you know you won't change?" he asked softly. "What if it's just taking longer? What if one day it'll hit you all at once?"
"I don't know," Zara said, her voice low and raw. "But I do know that whatever it is, it's not the same as the rest of them. I still feel... human."
The sound of distant moans reached their ears, a reminder that they weren't alone. The dead were out there, constantly searching, constantly hungry.
Jack sighed and wiped a hand over his face. "This place won't hold them off forever."
Zara glanced up at him, her eyes calculating. "Yeah. But it's better than being out there with the others. You didn't exactly have a welcoming party when you showed up."
"No," Jack agreed, "but I can handle myself. I've made it this far, haven't I?"
She nodded, her gaze flickering to the shadows at the edge of the room. "If you want to make it any further, you're going to need allies. It's just a matter of time before they find us. And once they do, it's game over."
Jack's eyes narrowed. "Allies?"
Zara tilted her head, considering. "You think you can do it alone? No one survives long by themselves, not in this world. You can fight and kill all you want, but eventually, you'll need someone to watch your back."
Jack's instincts screamed at him to pull away, to keep his distance. But the truth was, he was tired—tired of being alone, tired of running. And Zara, whatever her story was, had the same fire in her eyes. The same determination to survive. Maybe she was right.
"Fine," Jack muttered, rubbing his neck. "But I'm not promising anything."
"Good enough," Zara replied, her tone softening just slightly. "For now, we stick together. Deal?"
He hesitated, then nodded. The sound of moaning in the distance grew louder, closer, and Jack couldn't ignore the feeling gnawing at him. This wasn't over. It never was.
But maybe, just maybe, he didn't have to do it alone anymore.