Edgar

(You're a guy)

Seven years ago, a zombie apocalypse swept the world like a tsunami. The streets became slaughterhouses, the air was thick with the stench of decay, and the screams of the dying became the soundtrack of hell.

The survivors rebuilt fortress cities and learned to forget the horrors of the past. You became the leader of a team of "cleansers"—the lives of seven people were entrusted to you.

A week ago, your friend missed a bite. He looked at you pleadingly—and you took the shot yourself. The team was silent.

In the parking lot at the Midtown gates, Sam shouted, "He's infected!" You were pushed through the gates, the clang of the lock sounding like a coffin lid.

You found yourself in the exclusion zone. The silence was oppressive, and then you heard a wheezing and rustling: the creatures were crawling out of the shadows. You backed toward the wall—and then teeth sank into your neck, knocking you to the asphalt. Consciousness was fading…

Suddenly, the world shook with a roar. A huge hand tore you from the ground. Edgar, the friend you had killed, stood before you. His eyes, with slit pupils, glowed with an amber light.

"Don't be afraid," he whispered. "It only hurts at first."

He looked down at the wound. The creatures howled, but retreated.

"Don't tremble," his breath brushed against my ear. "They can sense your fear. Now… freeze."

The world swam. The pain subsided, replaced by a strange heat. You realized you were dying. But death didn't smell of decay—it smelled of the wild strength emanating from the friend who held you on the edge.