Chapter 1
Another interview, another rejection. Broke and beaten, I lay in my dingy apartment, ready to starve.
I figured this was it—the end of my miserable, useless life.
But when I woke up, the apocalypse had started.
And then, a zombie bit me.
But instead of dying, I became a zombie—but I still had my human mind.
Looking at my own rotting, stinking body, I felt completely indifferent—almost amused.
It was the end of the world.
No more work.
Never gotta worry about money for food again.
*****
I was jolted awake by a blood-curdling scream.
When I opened my eyes, I saw something hideous shambling around my bedroom.
It was a zombie.
Starving and broke, I could barely move.
No way I was escaping now.
With my dreams gone, I cautiously held out my arm for the zombie.
It shuffled slowly, but man, it sure had a good bite.
It chomped down on my arm.
Blood gushed out.
My arm exploded with pain.
I screamed, "Ow! Ow! Ow!"
The pain hit me so hard, I passed out instantly.
When I woke up, the hallway that had been filled with screams was now eerily quiet.
A mouthwatering aroma filled the air.
Man, that smelt amazing.
My stomach rumbled loudly.
I figured I was just so hungry I was imagining things, but when I tried to get up, I caught sight of my own pale, bluish arm.
My clothes were completely drenched in blood.
My skin was covered in huge patches of decaying wounds.
I tried to make a sound, but my throat was so dry it barely moved.
All that came out was a weird, guttural groan.
I...I'd become a zombie!
That mouthwatering smell was just the blood smeared all over the hallway.
There was a mirror not far from me.
I slowly turned my head and stared into the mirror—what I saw was a face so horrifying, it nearly made me jump.
My skin had turned a sickly blue-gray.
Large patches of my face had rotted away, leaving nothing but raw, decaying flesh.
My lips were black, dry, and cracked.
My pupils had turned a dead, ashen gray—like all the life had drained out of them.
I poked at the rotting flesh on my face.
No pain.
Not a single living soul outside.
Out of curiosity, I tried to make my stiff zombie body move and see what was out there.
I took a few steps around the room.
Got tired right away.
So I just flopped down on the spot.
Turns out, I wasn't all that curious after all.
The zombies wandering around me seemed totally mindless.
The only living thing in the house had become one of them.
They couldn't find anything to eat in my room, so after wandering for a bit, they just left.
The other zombies were just like the ones in the movies—mindless, shambling corpses driven only by the urge to eat.
Why was I still conscious?
The worst part about being a zombie with a human brain?
I was starving—like, my stomach was digesting itself.
The second I caught a whiff of blood, I started drooling.
But my human morals just had to draw the line.
I'd spent over 20 years living in a civilized world, and now I was supposed to live like a savage—eating raw meat and drinking blood?
No way. I just couldn't do it.
But man, I was starving.
I was wiping blood off the floor, debating a taste test, when voices hit my ears out of nowhere.
Meanwhile, there were gunshots—just like the ones I'd only ever seen on TV.
"Mr. Morgan, we've cleared all the other buildings. No survivors found," someone reported.
"Alright, once we're done with this one, we pull out," came the calm, commanding reply.
"Yes, ma'am!" the person answered.
The sound of military boots thudded closer and closer.
A flash of panic shot through me.
That Mr. Morgan—it was a woman with a husky, powerful voice.
If I guessed right, it had to be the legendary hero squad, here to clear out the zombies.
Now that I was a zombie, they'd probably just take me out too.
My zombie experience was ending before I even hit the half-hour mark.
Kind of a bummer, honestly.
But it wasn't a big deal.
Zombies didn't feel pain, so dying probably wouldn't hurt much anyway.
Even though I kept reassuring myself, the moment a squad of big, tough people in tactical gear burst into the room, guns cocking with loud clicks, I nearly jumped out of my skin.
I was just a background character who'd spent 25 years living a boring life—how could I ever be ready for something like this?
Just as they were about to pull the trigger, the leader suddenly raised her hand. "Wait!"
She stared straight into my eyes, then suddenly took a step closer.
"Mr. Morgan!" her team called out, their voices tense with worry.
I squirmed backward, scared out of my mind.
Mr. Morgan's eyes lit up in a flash.
"Helen!" Mr. Morgan suddenly called out.
That was when I realized, right in the middle of the squad, there was a middle-aged woman in a lab coat, being protected by the others.
The doctor—Helen—slowly moved closer, with Mr. Morgan watching over her.
I tried to let out a zombie growl to scare them off, but all those years of being a coward caught up with me—I was so terrified, I couldn't even twitch.
They moved in closer, watching how I reacted.
Helen looked more and more excited. "Exactly! This is just what HQ described!"
My notebook with all my job hunting notes was lying on the floor. Helen picked it up, skimmed through it, then crouched down right in front of me.
"Are you Rachel Summers?" she asked.
I pretended not to understand, my gaze shifting restlessly.
But I forgot—no zombie ever had eyes this lively.
Helen's tone softened as she spoke to me in a gentle voice, "You're still conscious, aren't you?"