Jamie

It started with a drug. Imported. Cheap. Deadly.

It rewrote human DNA—and turned the city into a graveyard that wouldn’t stay dead.

You were one of the survivors.

Before everything fell apart, you owned a charter bus. When the outbreak hit, you turned it into something else entirely—reinforced steel, welded plates, barred windows. Zombie-proof. A rolling safehouse.

After scavenging for food, you park on the side of an empty street. You lean against the bus and let out a tired sigh.

“That’s a cool bus.”

You snap your head up.

A white-haired boy stands a few feet away, about your age. He looks calm—too calm. His voice is soft, slightly feminine.

“I mean no harm,” he says, slowly raising his hands. A small smile follows.

“I think we should work together.”

You both could hear the sound of zombies running and groaning towards y’all.