"Run! We're almost there—just a little bit more!" he shouted, gripping my hand as we sprinted toward the car.
I still wondered how I got here. How did this even happen? Why now? Why today?
But then again… It's not like I was mad about it. Actually, I was happy it happened. Call me crazy, evil, or whatever makes you feel better—I didn't care. Because right now, I was in heaven.
Oh, wait—I forgot to introduce myself and explain what's going on.
My name is Sara Harper, I'm twenty-four years old, and I work as a cashier at a store called Cash Out. It was a sunny Monday morning, the kind where the air felt heavy with heat, and I was getting ready for work when my phone rang.
It was one of my old friends, Trina.
In a rush, I picked up and greeted her with a casual, "Yo."
"Hey, babe. How are you? How's everything going?" she asked in the most tired voice imaginable.
"I'm doing good, thanks for asking," I replied, frowning as I tucked the phone between my shoulder and ear. I already knew why she was calling. Trina only called when she needed money.
I sighed and glanced at the time glowing on the clock beside my mirror. "I'd love to keep talking, but I'm about to be late for work, so I'll call you later, okay?"
"Wait—before you go," she said quickly. "Can you lend me twenty thousand, please? I need to fix my computer for school and buy a new screen for my phone. I would ask my mom, but she already has a lot on her plate, and my boyfriend's busy paying tuition. My dad's helping me buy a new phone as well."
She said it so casually, like she expected me to hand over the money just because we'd been friends for years.
I snapped. "Hah—am I a bank? Or do I have a money tree growing in my backyard?" I shouted. "You talk about your parents having problems, but what about me? I live alone. I pay my own bills. I'm struggling too! And you're asking me for twenty thousand? I gave you fifteen last month to help with school, but you never see my struggles—just your own. At least you have parents. I have no one!"
Before she could respond, I hung up. The sharp click of the call ending echoed in my small apartment.
By the time I got to work, sweat was clinging to my back from the long walk in the morning sun.
"Miss Harper, you're forty-five minutes late," said Manager Kim sternly as soon as I walked through the door. His cologne mixed with the scent of cleaning supplies and stale air. "This is the third time. If you're late again, there will be consequences."
"I'm sorry, Manager Kim," I said quickly, my voice low. "Something came up."
"Save it," he cut in. "Go upstairs, grab your things, and start cashing."
I sighed, my sneakers squeaking softly on the tiled floor as I headed upstairs. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly above me, the hum of the store sounding louder than usual.
As Kim began calling me down again
"Miss Harper, it's time for..."
A scream tore through the air. It came from outside. High-pitched. Terrified. Then another followed. Everyone froze.
The customers near the entrance turned toward the glass doors. One woman dropped her shopping basket. A little boy started crying.
"What was that?" someone whispered.
Then people came running. They slammed against the doors, pounding on the glass.
"Lock the doors!"
"Close them!"
"Don't let them in!"
Fear spread through the store like wildfire. No one understood what was happening. Then a man stumbled through the entrance. His shirt was covered in blood. For a brief second, everyone thought he was injured.
Then he lunged.
His teeth sank into another man's neck.
A wet, tearing sound echoed through the store. Blood sprayed across the floor. The victim screamed. People screamed with him.
Chaos exploded.
Customers shoved each other. Shelves crashed to the ground. Someone knocked over an entire display of snacks. My heart slammed against my ribs. My hands trembled. What the hell was happening? The bitten man suddenly collapsed. Then, seconds later, he got back up. His eyes looked wrong.
Empty.
Hungry.
And then he attacked someone else. That's when I knew.
Something was terribly wrong.
And I was not going to die here.
I abandoned my register and ran.
Customers shoved past me in every direction. Shopping carts crashed together. Someone knocked over a display of canned goods, sending metal cans rolling across the floor.
The screams grew louder.
People were crying.
Begging for help.
And beneath it all came those horrifying growls.
I pushed through the employee-only door behind the registers and sprinted toward the locker room.
My lungs burned.
My heart pounded against my ribs.
The locker room.
It was small, hidden, and, most importantly, it had a lock.
Perfect.
I reached the door and yanked it open.
Just as I was about to slam it shut, a voice shouted
"Wait!"
I turned.
A tall man was running toward me.
Dark hair.
Broad shoulders.
A blood-smeared baseball bat gripped tightly in his hand.
"Lock the door before those things get in!" Manager Kim yelled from somewhere behind me. I grabbed the handle. The stranger reached the door at the last second and shoved it open. He slipped inside.
BANG!
The door slammed shut.
Silence.
The two of us stood there, breathing heavily. His clothes were stained with blood. His knuckles were scraped raw. The baseball bat hung loosely in his hand.
"Thanks, hon," he said between breaths.
I stared at him.
Not because he was handsome.
Not because of his deep voice.
But because he looked like he'd already survived a war. The metallic smell of blood filled the room. Outside, distant screams echoed through the building. And for the first time since everything went to hell, a single thought crossed my mind.
Who was this man?