Sisters of the Shadows

Sweat dripped from every pore, though it did little to wash the filth caked onto my skin. I backed away from the horde, my eyes darting between the dead-heads. Everything I owned was left behind in a tent a mile or so away, most likely trampled beneath the shambling feet of the herd.

There were too many of them, far too many for our small group. Then small gave way to few, and few diminished further until I stood alone, cornered in this abandoned building.

“Come on, you motherfuckers,” I spat out through gritted teeth. I would not survive this, but I would take out as many as I could before their teeth could sink into my flesh.

I lunged forward, stabbing one in the eye. Then I pulled out and stabbed his neighbor in the ear. That was harder to pull out of; the serrated blade resisted against flesh and bone, and I had to brace against her head with my left while my right gripped the handle and gave it one good tug.

My blade was free, but my arms were exposed.

The horde descended on me, clawing at my body, biting into my skin. You ever been bitten by a dog? If so, you know just how easily sharp teeth can pierce flesh. Afterwards, you’re bleeding and your wound is throbbing from the pain. Zombies, however, don’t have sharpened teeth—their teeth are square or rounded, not dissimilar to a normal human’s. These fuckers require more force to actually bite down and draw blood, which is exactly what they did.

One bit into my left forearm before I could stab him. I raised my knife, but a second took hold of my right arm and bit into my bicep. Held in place by those two, more surrounded me on all sides, eager for a taste. Just as another one bit into my shoulder, I began to scream, and everything faded to black.

“Wake up!”

I was shaken violently, forced to awaken. Sunlight poured through the window above my bed; I blinked several times as I stirred, trying to make sense of my surroundings.

At my bedside was a woman dressed for battle. A gun and a blade on her holster, fingerless gloves, her fiery curls pulled into a messy bun atop her head. She watched me as if I were a fascinating discovery, a never before seen species. Behind her stood a man in army camo, staring ahead at nothing in particular with his hands behind his back.

“Good morning—or should I say, ‘good afternoon’?” she teased.

I sat up but said nothing. My eyes trailed down to my bare arms. No bite marks.

“What made you sleep in?” she asked. “We could’ve used your help this morning. A small group of dead-heads were spotted nearby.”

I reached over to the glass of water on my bedside, thankful to find the glass cool to the touch, and drank a few gulps. I was stalling—I obviously experienced a nightmare, but why couldn’t I recognize the people in front of me?

There was only one explanation I could think of, and the very thought of it made me shudder.

“Well, you’re up now, and that’s what matters,” Redhead sighed. “Get dressed and pick up some weapons from the armory. We’re heading out in fifteen, with or without you.”

I bobbed my head, nodding along. The only way out is through.

Once my uninvited guests left me alone, I swiftly changed out of my pajamas and into whatever clothes I could find. I didn’t find any army camo, so I wasn’t one of them, of that I was certain. Then I found the armory with no trouble and found my knife—the knife. The serrated hunting knife I was wielding in my dream.

The only way out is through.

I claimed the knife and joined the team. We left the compound on foot, headed to a nearby shopping mall we had yet to clear. I took a couple of volunteers with me into an office, where we found a lonesome decomposer. With a swipe, I aimed for his head—

His teeth grazed my arm as my blade sunk into his skull.

“Holy shit!” One of the guys on my team flipped his lid. “Bit—y-you’ve been bit!”

“It’s just a scratch, Bailey,” I told him. “Chill the fuck out.”

But Bailey was far from chill. He had his gun aimed at me. The asshole was taller than me and had the audacity to be afraid. Even our other companion was telling him to calm down.

“Bailey,” I said. “Give me the gun. Please?”

Maybe it was something about the way I asked, or the expression on my face. Maybe Bailey knew me better than I knew myself, because he complied. He handed over his weapon, his face filled with shame and something else I couldn’t place.

“Thanks,” I sighed. I longed for a cigarette as I pressed the barrel against my temple. “It should be me.”

Bang!

I woke in a cold sweat, my chest heaving. I was back in my bedroom, safe from the world of the reanimated dead.

I knew it was another dream in a dream, I grumbled. The only way out is through.

With a hefty sigh, I dragged myself out of bed and out to the living room. I plucked the remote off the coffee table and clicked on the TV, eager to drown out the memory of my nightmare. The news was on, so I turned up the volume and tossed the remote on the couch before disappearing into the kitchen.

“Breaking news: the virus that has been plaguing the masses has taken more lives. The death toll is now said to be in the tens of thousands. For your safety, viewers, we ask that you stay home and lock your doors.”

I frowned and gazed around. I was in an apartment by myself. No kids, no pets, nothing.

Another sigh left me as I headed for the balcony. Oh, well.

The only way out is through.

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