"Watch out!"

  Bang!

  A deafening gunshot tore through the chaos.

  The bullet struck the corpse square between its vacant, milky eyes, sending it crumpling lifelessly to the ground.

  Cenilera gasped, her lungs seizing as she jolted backward. Her pulse pounded against her skull, a frenzied drumbeat that refused to slow.

  She turned toward the source of the shot—a wounded guard, barely clinging to life. His hands trembled around the grip of his gun, his breaths shallow, rasping. Blood seeped from the gashes in his side, pooling beneath him, a dark stain spreading across the cracked pavement.

  He saved me.

  The thought barely settled before she was kneeling beside him, her fingers pressing urgently against his throat. A faint, unsteady pulse throbbed beneath his clammy skin.

  "Thank you," she breathed, her voice shaking.

  "You saved my life."

  The guard gave a weak nod, his hollow eyes barely meeting hers. His lips were dry, split, as if he had already accepted what was coming.

  Cenilera pressed down on his wounds, trying to slow the bleeding. Three deep gashes, jagged and raw, tore through his side. A single glance told her what she already knew-his body was losing the fight.

  He knew it, too.

  A bitter chuckle rattled from his throat. "Be real with me, doc..." His breath hitched. "How bad is it?" A shudder ran through him. "Am I going to make it?"

  She hesitated. Her fingers twitched against his skin. She could lie, tell him he'd pull through, that help was coming, that he just had to hold on.

  But she saw the truth written in his eyes—he didn't want sweet lies. Yet her role as a doctor was to save lives, so even if there was a slim chance. She would hold onto the bad news.

  "You'll be just fine," she murmured instead, her tone gentler than the words themselves. "Just hang in there. Help will be here soon."

  The guard exhaled sharply, his expression unreadable. "Tch... it'll be too late by then," he muttered, a tired smirk ghosting over his lips.

  A shiver slithered down Cenilera's spine.

  Something was wrong.

  The air shifted, thick with a presence that sent dread curling in her gut. The cold clung to her skin like phantom fingers, an all-too-familiar sensation she had learned to recognize long ago. The creeping omen of Death itself.

  She had felt it before, lingering in the infirmary's corridors as patients exhaled their final breaths.

  Hovering in operating rooms when a heartbeat faded to nothing beneath her trembling hands.

  And now... it surrounded her again.

  Then she heard it.

  The wet, grotesque squelch of shifting bodies.

  The dragging scrape of flesh against pavement.

  The rising, inhuman moans.

  More dead were waking.

  Cenilera's breath hitched, her blood running ice cold. Her hand darted to the injured guard's shoulder, gripping it tight.

  "We need to move," she whispered, voice taut with urgency.

  The guard gave her a knowing look, a tired smile barely forming. "You should run, doc."

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  Another corpse lurched up behind them.

  Gaaaaarg!

  A chorus of guttural howls erupted as the fresh dead surged forward, their movements unnaturally quick, ravenous with new life. They bolted upright in a frenzy, their decayed limbs jerking as they locked onto their prey.

  James and Robert stood in the center of the chaos, backs pressed together, weapons raised.

  But they were surrounded.

  Cenilera lurched forward, a strangled cry forming in her throat—

  A firm grip yanked her back.

  "No, you won't," the guard hissed, his breath hot and ragged against her ear. His fingers dug into her wrist. "You'll draw them here."

  Her breath came in shallow gasps. "I can't leave them!" she pleaded, voice raw, trembling with desperation.

  The guard's empty gaze met hers, hollow yet resolute. Blood dribbled from his lips, his skin paling with every passing second. He was dying.

  He knew it. She knew it.

  "Walk away," he commanded, his voice strained but steady. "Slowly. And don't look back."

  A part of her wanted to fight, to stay, to do something-anything. But her feet obeyed before her mind could argue. She took a step back. Then another.with each step back, it became harder to even fathom moving forward.

  Time warped, stretching each moment into eternity.

  Her heart thundered as she watched the dying man shift his grip on his gun. His fingers trembled, but his aim remained true. A slow, rattling breath left his lips—

  BANG!

  The gunshot tore through the night, ringing in her ears. Loud and piercing, it ripped through the air. The bullet found its mark. A zombie's head snapped back, brain matter splattering against the pavement.

  The horde froze.

  Then, as if puppets pulled by invisible strings, they turned toward the source of the sound.

  A weak, defiant grin twisted the guard's lips. He dragged in one last breath, lungs rattling.

  "Come and get me, you ugly fucks!" he bellowed.

  His legs buckled. He collapsed to his knees.

  The dead swarmed him.

  They crashed into him like a living tide, clawing, biting, ripping. He screamed, tearing through the air.

  Munch-! Munch-! Munch-!

  Flesh ripped. Bones snapped. His ribs were yanked from his chest, his intestines unspooling onto the pavement.

  Munch-! Munch-! Munch-!

  The sickening sounds of tearing flesh and gnashing teeth filled the air, drowning out everything else.

  They shredded him apart.

  Robert let out a sharp breath, his fists clenching at his sides. "Goddamnit.." His voice was raw, barely above a whisper. "Why'd you have to play hero, Sanchez?"

  James staggered back, his body stiff with fury.

  His breathing was ragged, shoulders heaving with the weight of it all. Just like Jason... Just like every damn time before. He had seen too many men make this choice, had felt their absence like an open wound that never healed. And yet, in a world like this, that kind of sacrifice was the only thing that kept anyone alive.

  It didn't make it any easier.

  James' grip tightened around his gun, the metal searing into his palm. He had to do something.

  He had to make them pay. He raised the barrel, his heart hammering, vision sharpening—

  A firm hand clamped down on his wrist.

  Robert.

  Munch-! Munch-! Munch-!

  His grip was unyielding, his gaze like iron, devoid of the usual fire. It was something heavier.

  Something final.

  "Not now," Robert said, voice low, steady.

  James' pulse pounded against his skull. He wanted to fight, to lash out, to tear those monsters apart until nothing remained— a wave of rage fueled his beating heart. Just like Jason, Sanchez sacrificed himself for them. It was a protocol to save the most lives but the execution of action was heavy on anyone. We all want to grasp at life and never let go. Yet in the world they live in, that mindset got more individuals hurt than saved. He knew deep down Sanchez did the right thing, it just didn’t make it any easier. Being saved yet again.

  Slowly, James exhaled through gritted teeth and lowered the gun.

  Then his eyes drifted to Cenilera.

  She hadn't moved. Hadn't spoken. Hadn't even blinked.

  She stood paralyzed, staring at the grotesque feast before her, as if her mind refused to process the horror unraveling before her. The firelight flickered against her face, highlighting the sheen of sweat on her brow, the tremble in her fingers.

  "Cenilera," James called softly, waving a hand in front of her face. Nothing.

  Robert took a cautious step forward, reaching out. "Lilith-"

  Still nothing.

  She was locked in place, drowning in the moment.

  James' gut twisted. She's seen death before. We all have. But this... this was different.

  He moved closer, lowering his voice to something barely above a breath. "Cenilera."

  No response.

  The weight of her silence pressed down on James heavily like a truck.

  He knew that feeling. That numb, sinking void that threatened to pull you under, where the world faded into nothing but the echoes of what you'd lost. The memories you tried to bury-the screams, the blood, the ones you couldn't save-resurfacing all at once, digging their claws into your mind, forcing you to relive your trauma over and over—again and again.

  James had been there. He still was.

  And now, Cenilera was drowning in it.

  Her breath was shallow, her pupils blown wide as she stared through him, through Robert, through everything. The distant crackling of fire reflected in her eyes, the grotesque sound of flesh being torn from bone playing like a sick melody in the background.

  She wasn't here.

  She was somewhere else-locked in a past she couldn't escape.

  He turned to Robert, voice barely above a whisper. "On the count of three, we're snapping her out of it with an applied shock."

  Robert shot him a look. "What do you mean shock?"

  James exhaled sharply. "We're gonna scream.

  Loud. Shake her out of it."

  "That's your genius plan?"

  "1-"

  The sound of gnashing teeth grew louder.

  “Are you sure this will work?”

  "2-"

  Shadows flickered as the fire burned lower.

  Something moved behind them.

  Robert was about to spring into action and yell but James didn't wait for three.

  "CENILERA!" he roared, his voice cutting through the air like a gunshot.

  Then-

  All the zombies turned, facing them with a feral hunger.