As the door creaked wider, Asharab's breath caught in his throat. The dim interior flickered with faint candlelight, shadows dancing against walls scarred by time and terror. But it wasn't just the sight inside that stunned him—something else was waiting, something he hadn't prepared for.
In that moment, the weight of every sacrifice, every loss, and every desperate hope pressed down harder than ever before. The fight was far from over. In fact, it was only just beginning.
The old wooden door creaked open with a long, haunting groan. Dust floated in the air as Asharab stepped in beside his brother. What they saw made their blood run cold.
His little cousin… tied.
Ropes and chains wrapped around the boy's frail body like a cruel web. His skin was flushed a deep red, not from fever, but from something more unnatural—patches turning ash-gray, veins pulsing like they were filled with embers instead of blood. His eyes, once bright and curious, flickered with something feral. Something wrong.
Asharab froze. His brother muttered under his breath, "What the hell..."
The boy's mother, standing in the corner of the room with her hands shaking, whispered with tear-streaked cheeks, "He was… bitten. By two of them. Somehow… he made it home before changing. We tied him up."
The air was heavy. No one spoke. Asharab could feel the dread swelling inside his chest.
"We need weapons," he said finally, voice low and urgent. "Now."
"The ones in the trunk," his brother added, eyes narrowing.
Asharab paused, then frowned. "Wait… We changed the car. Dammit!"
"Oh… crap, I forgot," his brother muttered, slapping his forehead.
Just then, a weak voice came from behind them.
"When… when you were coming here," said the little cousin, his voice a faint rasp, "going through the bumps… I heard clinks. Like… metal… underneath…"
Asharab and his brother exchanged a look. Hope sparked.
Moments later, they were at the new car's trunk. With a click and a push, the trunk lifted open—revealing a golden sight. Pistols. Rifles. Shotguns. Boxes of ammo. Knives. A couple of pipe bombs they'd rigged days ago.
"Oh… jackpot," the brothers whispered in unison.
They gathered what they could and returned to the house, locking every entrance. It was nearly midnight. The silence outside was eerie, but their exhaustion caught up to them. After a tense hour, most of them collapsed into uneasy rest.
The quiet didn't last long.
A faint thump. Then another.
Asharab's aunt sat up suddenly. Her heart pounded. She could hear something—like breathing mixed with snarls. She rushed to Asharab's side and shook him.
"There's something… wrong," she whispered.
Asharab bolted upright and ran to the room where his cousin was restrained. What he saw made his stomach churn.
The child was no longer human.
His skin had turned dark red, blotches bubbling and splitting. Steam rose from his skin, and his body jerked as if muscles were tearing and rebuilding themselves. His mouth stretched unnaturally, teeth growing longer. His eyes rolled back, then opened fully black.
The boy arched his back—and then—
A scream ripped through the house. So loud it felt like it shook the walls. An inhuman, horrifying, soul-piercing scream.
Everyone in the house jumped awake.
"Get the weapons!" Asharab yelled.
His brother, aunt, and the rest ran for the guns. Asharab hesitated for a moment. That was still his cousin.
Still the kid he'd watched grow up… laugh… cry.
But that thing on the floor wasn't him anymore.
Asharab raised his pistol.
"I'm sorry, little man…"
He pulled the trigger.
BANG!
The body slumped. Blood splattered across the wall. His aunt screamed, dropped to her knees—but nothing could be changed.
Asharab took a breath. Then another.
Then… they heard it.
Moaning.
Snarling.
Scratches on the front door. Clawing at the windows.
He ran to the window and looked outside. Shadows… dozens of them. Maybe more. Crawling out from the darkness. Hungry. Eyes glowing faintly in the night.
"They're coming from all sides!" Asharab yelled. "We have to go! NOW!"
They rushed to the back of the house. The garage creaked open slowly. The vehicle inside was ready, engine cold but the keys already in. Asharab turned to his family.
"Take the car. Go! Drive to the road and wait somewhere safe. I'll meet you there."
"No—" his aunt began, but Asharab cut her off.
"I promise. Just go!"
His brother hesitated, then nodded. "You better not die on us, man."
Asharab gave a tight smile. "Never planned on it."
With that, they loaded into the car and peeled out of the garage, disappearing into the night.
Asharab turned, gripping his shotgun tight.
The front door burst open.
The first zombie lunged through. Asharab fired—its head exploded, splashing gore across the walls. Another came from the side window. He ducked, rolled, and shot again. He was moving like a shadow, adrenaline making him faster, stronger.
More poured in. They were climbing over each other to get to him.
He kicked over a shelf, blocking part of the hallway. He sprinted to the stairs, pulling a pipe bomb from his vest. He lit the fuse, whispered a prayer, and tossed it down.
BOOM!
The explosion shattered half the living room. Limbs flew. Fire licked the furniture.
Asharab coughed, eyes burning, but he didn't stop. He knew he had to make it out—to them. His family. His brother. His aunt.
And Habiba.
His mind flicked to her face. Her tearful smile. Her hand in his back at the colony.
"I'll survive for her."
He pushed through the smoke and opened the back door. The night air hit his face like ice. The sound of the undead still echoed from inside.
But he was alive.
For now.
And he had a promise to keep.