You Said Safe House, But You Led Yourselves to Hell

I was the bait for our apocalypse survival squad.

My brother had awakened a lightning ability, and my sister possessed a pocket dimension.

I alone was powerless, my only talent being that I could outrun a zombie, if only by a fraction.

Before the next horde of the undead arrived, I pleaded with Mom and Dad, begging them not to send me out to lure them this time.

Mom and Dad pointed to the "safe house" they'd marked on the map, reassuring me.

But when we reached the spot, my brother and sister cheered at the sight of the horde swirling around the house.

I hid in the barren basement, shivering uncontrollably.

When hunger finally made my head spin, I pushed open the cellar door, only to find no living breath outside.

I picked up the walkie-talkie, and a voice crackled through: "Decoy deployed successfully, main team has withdrawn." Only then did I realize I was nothing but a living shield of flesh.

Static.

The crackle on the walkie-talkie hadn't ceased.

That chilling phrase, "Decoy deployed successfully," hit me like a physical slap, stinging my face.

The cellar was pitch black, truly, utterly dark.

I felt my stomach; it was hollow.

Three days.

I'd survived on moldy potato skins for three days.

Outside, guttural moans filled the air, punctuated by the scrape of nails on wood C a sound that grated like chalk on a blackboard, setting my teeth on edge.

My name is Laila.

Just as my old name suggested, I was soft-hearted, and my life, worthless.

Three months into the apocalypse, I had become the family's "full-time decoy."

My brother, Quinn, with his lightning ability, was the family's bedrock.

My sister, Rowan, with her spatial power, was our mobile storage unit.

Mom and Dad handled logistics.

And I? I was just the live target, the one who could "run a little faster."

"Laila, darling," my mother used to say, "your brother is your only protector, and your sister manages our food supply. For the good of this family, what's a little run?"

This time, the horde was unprecedented in scale.

They told me there was a safe house ahead. If I could just draw the bulk of the horde away, they could get inside, set up traps, and be secure for good.

I believed them.

Instead, I found myself locked in this basement, where only rats found refuge.

They, however, drove off in their modified SUV, foot to the floor, speeding towards a true sanctuary.

Leaving every single undead monster to me.

The doorboards began to give.

The stench of decay seeped through the cracks.

I didn't cry.

Tears were water, and in this hellhole, every drop of water was life itself.

I tightened my grip on the rusted steel pipe.

It was my only weapon.

BANG!

A gap splintered open in the cellar door.

A pale, grey hand snaked through, its nails like daggers.

I didn't scream.

In the grip of absolute terror, a person often finds their voice seized.

My mind echoed only one phrase: "Main team has withdrawn."

Withdrawn?

Where to?

That "Paradise Sanctuary" marked in red on the map?

Two hundred miles from here.

I laughed.

The laugh tore at my chapped lips, drawing tiny beads of blood.

The scent of blood seemed to excite whatever was outside.

With a splintering CRACK.

The flimsy wooden door shattered completely.

A dozen pairs of sickly green eyes squeezed into the doorway.

I should have died.

By all rights, a pushover like me should have been ripped to shreds in a second.

But just as the first zombie lunged.

My world slowed.

Not metaphorically.

It truly, literally slowed.

The grotesque fangs, the spraying saliva, even the dust motes dancing in the air.

Everything moved at half-speed.

Instinctively, I dodged sideways.

The sure-kill lunge brushed past my clothes, missing entirely.

The zombie slammed into the wall, its skull rupturing.

I froze.

I stared at my hands.

A strange heat pulsed through my limbs, tingling everywhere.

Hunger.

Not the hunger in my stomach.

It was my cells roaring, craving energy.

I looked at the dead zombie. Inside its ruptured skull was a small, glittering object.

A core.

My brother always forbade me from touching these when he killed zombies, claiming a normal person like me would explode if I did.

Driven by an impulse I couldn't explain, I picked it up.

Wiped it clean, then swallowed it.

BOOM!

Something erupted inside my head.

The warm current transformed into a raging hurricane.

I heard it.

The SUV's engine, two hundred miles away.

I smelled it.

The savory aroma of stewed meat from my sister's pocket dimension.

And my parents' false laughter.

"Finally rid of that dead weight," that was Mom's voice. "The extra rations will last us days."

"She only survived this long because she could run fast," my brother added. "Good riddance. A waste, but at least we got some use out of her."

I closed my eyes, then opened them again.

Darkness, to me, was now as bright as day.

I stepped over the corpses on the ground and walked out of the cellar.

The horde outside instantly turned their heads toward me.

Hundreds of them.

A squirming mass.

If this were before, I would have wet myself.

But now, looking at them, I just felt

They were too slow.

Slow as snails.

I stretched my neck, my bones crackling with sharp pops.

"Decoy deployed successfully?"

I murmured to the empty street.

"Then are you ready to face the hunter?"

I sprinted across the desolate wilderness.

The wind, once a biting whip, now felt like a gentle caress on my face.

Two hundred miles.

Four hours by car, given the rough roads.

I made it in a single night.

My shoe soles were shredded, yet my feet were without a single blister.

Dawn was just breaking.

I spotted the familiar SUV.

It was parked beside a dilapidated roadside diner and rest stop.

Sprayed across its side was my brother's obnoxious team name: "The Stormbringers."

A perimeter of zombie repellent powder had been liberally scattered around them.

Such luxury.

I'd risked my life to snatch that from a pharmacy, nearly losing my throat to a Licker in the process.

Now, they used it like mosquito coils.

I didn't charge in directly.

Though my speed was immense, I still wasn't sure of the full extent of my newfound "ability."

My brother's lightning, my sister's stocked dimension, and my parents' silver tongues that could twist black into white.

I had to be cautious.

I climbed a withered, skeletal tree.

My vision was unnaturally sharp; through the tinted windows, I could make out every detail inside.

They were eating breakfast.

A self-heating meal.

Steaming hot, the rich sauce bubbling.

Rowan picked up a piece of processed meat, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "More lunch meat? I crave fresh vegetables."

Mom quickly soothed her, "Be a good girl, Rowan. Once we reach Paradise Sanctuary, I'll grow you all the vegetables you want. Your space keeps things fresh, doesn't it? Just save some for later."

Dad picked at his teeth, "Good thing we didn't bring Laila. Otherwise, we'd have to share a sip of this soup with her."

My brother scoffed, "Give her soup? A waste. Her scrawny frame could survive on water alone."

I sat on the tree branch, listening without a flicker of expression.

That gnawing hunger surged within me again.

Not for their meal.

No I craved flesh.

Living flesh.

The thought startled even me the moment it surfaced.

I touched my canine teeth.

They seemed sharper, longer?

Just then, commotion stirred at the other end of the rest stop.

A lone zombie shuffled, swaying, towards them.

Drawn by the scent of their meal.

Quinn frowned, setting down his fork.

"How irritating."

He raised his hand, a violet arc of electricity crackling in his palm.

ZZZZT!

The zombie hadn't even gotten close before it was incinerated into charcoal.

"My boy is amazing!" Mom clapped. "Your ability is getting so powerful!"

Quinn proudly blew on his fingertips. "Of course. I'm a Level Two ability user now."

Level Two?

I narrowed my eyes.

The zombie's core hadn't been extracted yet.

I moved.

Like a whisper of wind.

Before they could even react, I had already swept past the charred corpse.

With a flick of my fingers, the dull grey core landed in my palm.

Then, I was back in the shadows behind the tree.

The entire sequence took less than two seconds.

"Huh?"

Quinn rubbed his eyes. "Did something just pass by?"

"What are you talking about?" Rowan rolled her eyes. "It was just the wind. Are you seeing things, Quinn? You must be exhausted."

Dad cautiously scanned our surroundings. "Stop being paranoid. Eat quickly, then we hit the road."

Hidden behind the tree, I popped the still-warm core into my mouth.

It crunched.

Like a candy drop.

Another wave of warmth flooded through my body.

I felt my hearing sharpen even further.

I could even discern the rhythm of Rowan's heartbeat.

And in her pocket dimension the rustling of stacked supplies.

So, it wasn't just speed.

I could "sense" things.

My gaze fixed on the pendant around Rowan's neck.

The conduit for her spatial ability.

And one of my targets.

Since you called me dead weight, I'll show you what true "heavy lifting" looks like.

I picked up a pebble from the ground.

Aiming for the SUV's rear tire.

With a powerful flick of my finger.

PHUT

A muffled thud.

The SUV lurched violently downwards.

"Damn it! A flat tire?!"

Quinn swore, scrambling out of the vehicle.

The show had begun.

"What the hell happened? These are run-flat tires!"

Quinn crouched by the wheel, staring at the finger-sized hole, utterly bewildered.

"Did you run over a nail?" Mom fretted, wringing her hands. "Out here in the middle of nowhere, how are we supposed to change a tire?"

"Where's the spare?" Dad demanded.

Rowan's face went pale. "The spare I tossed it out to make room for those designer bags."

The air hung heavy, thick with silence for three excruciating seconds.

"You threw out the spare for bags?!" Quinn roared, his voice cracking. "What time do you think it is? Can those bags feed us? Can they get us out of here?"

Rowan's eyes welled up with tears of indignation. "But they were limited edition! I could never get them before! Besides, who knew a run-flat tire could burst anyway?"

"Alright, alright, stop fighting!" Dad intervened, trying to be the peacemaker. "Rowan just wants us to live comfortably later. Quinn, you're an ability user, surely you can figure something out."

"What am I supposed to do? I control lightning, not wrenches!"

Quinn, frustrated, kicked the car door.

Watching from the tree, I almost burst out laughing.

So much for the "elite squad."

No spare tire meant they either abandoned the SUV or tried to patch it up, desperate.

But this was a rest stop.

A favorite gathering spot for the undead.

The muffled pop of the tire, though not loud, would carry far in the silent wasteland.

In the distance, faint yet distinct, came the sound of many footsteps.

"Damn it, a horde!"

Quinn's face tightened, his ears twitching.

"Quick! Grab what you can and run!"

Rowan frantically began stuffing things into her pocket dimension.

The car, the tent, the half-eaten self-heating meal

"Stop grabbing junk! Get the weapons! The water!" Quinn roared.

It was then that I struck again.

I aimed for Rowan's wrist.

WHIZZ!

A pebble shot forth.

Striking her nerve point dead on.

"Agh!"

Rowan shrieked, her hand spasming.

The several cases of bottled water she was trying to store vanished from her grip, clattering to the ground and rolling everywhere.

"My hand! My hand is numb!"

She clutched her wrist, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Stop wailing! They're here!"

Dozens of zombies burst forth from the rest stop buildings.

Clad in tattered uniforms, their faces dripping with decaying flesh.

"Quinn! Hold them off!" Dad pushed my brother forward, while pulling Mom back.

Quinn gritted his teeth, unleashing lightning from both hands.

"Lightning Net!"

Several bolts of electricity arced out, felling the first few zombies.

But the ones behind simply trampled over their fallen comrades, surging forward.

And among them, this time, was one that was different.

It crawled on all fours, its tongue disturbingly long, dragging on the ground.

A Licker.

The very kind that had almost ripped out my throat.

It fixed its gaze on Rowan, seemingly sensing the vibrant warmth of her living flesh.

ROAR!

The Licker lunged.

Blindingly fast, a crimson blur.

Quinn's lightning missed.

"Rowan! Watch out!" Mom shrieked.

Rowan froze, petrified, even forgetting to retreat into her dimension.

Just as that long, horrid tongue was about to coil around Rowan's neck.

I dropped from the tree.

Not to save her.

But to steal her kill.

This Licker's core looked promising.

I descended like a hawk, plummeting from the sky.

My steel pipe, fueled by the force of my descent, plunged with chilling precision into the Licker's hind brain.

SPLAT.

Black blood sprayed.

The Licker didn't even manage a whimper, nailed dead to the ground.

I planted one foot on its head, yanked out the pipe, and swiftly dug out the core.

My movements were fluid, seamless, too quick for the eye to follow.

The air around us fell silent, instantly.

The lightning in Quinn's hands sputtered out.

Rowan's mouth hung open, tears still streaking her face.

Mom and Dad stared, eyes wide, as if they'd seen a ghost.

I slowly lifted my head, shaking the blood from the steel pipe.

And offered them a radiant smile.

"Hello, family."

"Surprised? Unexpected?"

"A ghost a ghost!"

Mom was the first to react, her eyes rolling back as she swayed, about to faint.

Dad fumbled to steady her, his whole body trembling. "La Laila? You're not"

"Dead?" I finished for him, toying with the blood-slicked core in my hand. "Disappointing, isn't it? The Grim Reaper apparently found me too fast to catch."