Now what?
That's what I thought as I sat there with a belly full of cold rations—beef jerky, beans, and lukewarm water that still tasted like rust and chlorine. I wasn't complaining. It beat starvation.
I looked at the pack of cigarettes I'd stolen from the guards earlier. I'd been tempted—God, had I been tempted—but after the noise I made at the water tower, lighting up seemed like begging for a bullet. I tucked them away. For emergencies, I told myself. Like when I decide I don't want to live anymore.
I was up in the trees. Yeah, the trees. Why? Because height gives you a line of sight and time to think. Also, because I no longer trusted the ground. The disadvantage, of course, was that if I got discovered, there was nowhere to run except straight down.
Still, for now, it worked.
I strapped myself in with what used to be a seatbelt, checked the branches for snakes, and tried to rest. My body was exhausted; my mind wouldn't shut up. I must've dozed, because when I woke, the sun was gone, and the forest had changed.
Something was wrong.
The air buzzed—low, steady. Like insects humming, only deeper. I froze, eyes scanning the darkness below. Shapes moved through the trees, flickers of light—torches? No. Too wild. Too fast.
Voices carried—angry, loud, human.
They were hunting me.
The bastards from the camp. I counted at least five, their flashlight beams slicing through the underbrush. They were cursing, arguing, kicking through the dirt. I caught my name once—no, not my name. Lily's.
"She took the map!"
"She took the water!"
"She killed Ben, that crazy bitch!"
I pressed my back against the trunk, forcing my breathing to slow.
They were pissed. And armed.
But then something else moved behind them—silent, wrong. The forest shifted.
A hiss cut through the night. One of the men stopped, looked around.
"What was that?"
"Probably her," someone muttered.
No. Not me.
The sound came again, closer this time. A dragging step, a wet gurgle. My stomach dropped.
I knew that noise.
The inhuman things—zombies, mutants, infected, take your pick, whatever they were—had found new prey.
The first scream split the dark like lightning.
I flinched, fingers digging into the branch's rough bark. Below, chaos erupted—flashlights slicing through the dark, beams colliding. One man went down hard, his shout strangled into a gurgle. Gunfire cracked, wild and panicked, before cutting off with a sickening crunch.
Shit.
A bullet screamed past my ear. I flattened against the trunk, heart slamming—so much for safety in the trees.
I could smell it: blood and rot.
The forest came alive with snarls and thrashing.
I should've felt relief. They'd been after me. Let the monsters have them.
And for a moment, I did.
Until I saw the kid.
The same one from the camp—the one I'd spared. He stumbled into the clearing, his face pale, his eyes wide. He was screaming for someone, running from everything.
One of the creatures burst out of the dark behind him.
"Damn it," I whispered.
Why couldn't I stay out of it?
I shifted my weight, pulled the pistol from my thigh holster, and aimed down. The first shot hit the creature's shoulder. It staggered but kept coming. I fired again. The second one caught it clean through the skull. It dropped.
The kid froze, staring up at me.
"Climb!" I hissed.
He didn't move. Shock had him. I swung down, branches scraping my arms, hit the ground harder than I meant to, and grabbed him by the collar.
"Move!"
We dove behind a fallen log as two more of the things stumbled into the clearing, sniffing, twitching. The kid whimpered.
I pulled the machete from my pack. My body—Lily's body—knew exactly how to handle it. Quick, precise, brutal.
The first creature lunged. I sidestepped and slashed low, catching its knee. It dropped, still clawing, and I finished it with a downward swing. The second rushed from the side. I grabbed its wrist, twisted, heard the bone snap, then buried the blade in its chest.
It went still.
When the last echoes faded, I looked around. The camp hunters were gone—what was left of them scattered in bloody heaps.
The clearing was quiet again, except for the kid sobbing and my own ragged breathing.
Something in me felt bad for them. Briefly, then it passed.
In this world, it's every soul for themselves.
Yeah, keep telling yourself that, I thought—the same person who saved a family yesterday.
I sighed, glancing at the boy. "You hurt?"
He shook his head. Dirt streaked his cheeks. "They… they said you were a monster."
"Maybe I am." I wiped the machete clean on the grass. "But I'm not the kind that eats people."
He stared like he didn't know whether to believe me.
"Where were you headed?" I asked.
"Home," he whispered. "Or what's left of it."
"Yeah," I said. "Ain't that the story for all of us?"
He didn't have a pack: just a threadbare jacket and fear in his eyes. I rummaged through the dead hunters' supplies—grabbed ammo, canned goods, and another canteen. Their crew would come soon; I didn't want to be here when they did.
I handed the kid a half-empty water bottle. "Drink slow."
He obeyed, trembling.
"You got a name?"
"Eli."
"Well, Eli, you're in luck. I was just about to move out."
He looked up at me, desperate. "Can I come with you?"
I hesitated.
In my old body, I would've said no. Too risky. Too much responsibility. But Lily's voice—or something like it—stirred in the back of my head.
Please don't leave him.
I sighed. "Fine. But keep up. And if you slow me down—"
He nodded fast. "I won't."
I gave him one of the smaller knives from my belt. "Use it if you have to. Don't hesitate."
His hands shook as he took it.
We left the clearing quietly. The moon was climbing higher, silvering the trees and the corpses we left behind. Somewhere in the distance, a gunshot cracked. Maybe the rest of the camp had found what was left of their people.
I didn't care. I had my pack, my gun, a half-feral kid, and a hundred questions about the sister whose body I was now walking around in.
"Maybe that's why I'm here, inside your body, Lily—to find what's left of my humanity, and remember how it feels to be human again."
As we made our way north, I glanced once more at the sky—dark and endless.
The wind answered with a whisper that could've been agreement—or warning.
Either way, I kept walking.