Kacy's Confession

The rain had finally stopped, leaving the world dripping and grey. Mud clung to everything—the tents, the faded asphalt of the parking lot, the haggard faces of the survivors. Chris stood near the overturned bus that served as their eastern wall, running a hand over the fresh scratches in the metal. Zombie claws. They’d come close last night. Too close.

He turned at the sound of soft footsteps behind him. Kacy stood a few feet away, wringing her hands. Her dark hair was plastered to her scalp, and dark circles ringed her eyes. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days.

“Chris,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I need to talk to you. Alone.”