The Savior

[Shizu]

Shizu sat in the dimly lit house, the flickering flame of a solitary candle casting eerie shadows on the walls. She couldn't help but feel a mix of gratitude and apprehension.

The worn-out furniture and tattered curtains spoke of a time long gone, while the makeshift barricades on the windows and the carefully rationed supplies reflected the grim reality they now faced.

Yet, despite the palpable fear that clung to the air, there was a glimmer of hope, a stubborn resilience that refused to be extinguished.

The air was heavy with the scent of dampness, hinting at the lingering fear and heat that surrounded them. Imelda, her benefactor, sat across from her, her eyes weary but resolute.

The sound of footsteps outside momentarily stole their attention, freezing them in place. Imelda and Shizu exchanged a quick glance, their eyes silently communicating their unspoken fear.

The house suddenly felt smaller, the walls closing in around her. But as the footsteps faded into the distance, Shizu released the breath she had been holding.

Imelda handed her a can of beans and a slice of bread, the meager supper they had managed to scrounge up. Shizu looked at the simple meal, a reminder of the scarcity that now defined their existence.

With a serious face, Imelda said, "We may not have much, but we have to make do. The days ahead will be tough, especially with the zombie apocalypse raging outside."

Shizu could only nod, her gaze fixed on the cracked and peeling wallpaper that adorned the room. The house held an eerie stillness.

Outside, the occasional moans and shuffling sounds of the undead reminded her of the constant danger lurking just beyond the door. But within the confines of this fragile sanctuary, she found solace and a semblance of safety.

Shizu cautiously opened the can of beans with a rusty old can opener; Imelda's voice broke the silence once again. "You know, Shizu, we're lucky that we have a place and food. Most people out there don't stand a chance. We'll have to be resourceful and make the most of what we have."

She looked up at her, the candlelight casting a soft glow on her lined face. There was an undeniable strength in her eyes, a resolve that inspired her. "I . . . yes," she meekly replied, voice timid tinged with a mix of uncertainty.

"We'll find a way to survive, to outlast this nightmare. We'll fight for our lives, for a chance at a future."

There was desperation in her voice as well as hope. Shizu couldn't fathom where she got the courage to remain strong.

Was it because she was older?

Maybe.

Imelda had gone through life more than she was, and she was sure that she had her share of experiences that hardened her and made her the person she had become.

Shizu could only hope that she wouldn't be a burden to her.

"If you want to go home and return to your parents, then you have to be brave."

Shizu's fingers tightened around her spoon. "How . . ." she found herself saying.

"What did you say?"

Shizu shifted uncomfortably in her seat as Imelda's stern gaze bore into her. The weight of her disappointment was palpable, making her words stumble out of her mouth. "I . . . I . . . I don't know how to be brave," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Imelda sighed, her expression softening for a moment before resuming its severity. "Not stuttering and looking at me in the eyes while I'm talking to you is one way," she replied firmly, her voice tinged with a mix of frustration and concern.

Shizu bit her lip, her gaze fixated on the worn-out tablecloth. She knew she was right, but the fear that gripped her was like an invisible barrier, preventing her from meeting her eyes. She feared that if she did, she would crumble under the weight of her expectations.

Imelda's voice softened as she continued, "Let me tell you about my daughter," she said, her voice catching slightly. "She took her own life because she was bullied relentlessly. She didn't know how to be brave either."

Shizu's heart sank, the heaviness of her words settling upon her. She dared to glance up, meeting Imelda's eyes for the briefest of moments. The depth of sorrow and longing she saw there made her throat tighten. How could she compare her own fears to the tragedy she had endured?

Imelda's voice trembled slightly as she continued, her words carefully chosen. "I don't want you to suffer the same fate, Shizu. You have to find the strength within you, even when it feels impossible."

It was made clear. The reason why she had saved her was because she must have mistaken her for her daughter.

Tears welled in her eyes as she listened to Imelda's painful confession. The weight of her daughter's struggle hung in the air, casting a shadow over the room.

"Being brave isn't about eradicating fear entirely, but rather finding the courage to face it head-on, even when every fiber of your being resisted."

Imelda reached across the table, placing a weathered hand on top of her. Her touch was both comforting and grounding, a silent reassurance that she wasn't alone in this struggle.

"W-what . . . happened to?"

"The father?" Imelda snatched her hand back lightning fast, and her face hardened. "Don't ask. He's either dead or a hundred feet under the dirt."

". . ." Shizu pursed her lips.

"Ah. Just in time," Imelda said when her phone charged alive. Her happiness was short-lived, however, when she spoke next, "Damn. No signal."

Her words were like a boulder smashing Shizu's hope to pieces. She couldn't help but ask, "What are we going to do now?"

"There might be no signal, but we can use the phone with other things," Imelda said and handed her phone to her.

With trembling hands, Shizu accepted it, grateful for the opportunity to use it despite the lack of a signal. She navigated to the map application, her fingers tracing the familiar digital streets in search of her own residence. It didn't take long before she pinpointed her house on the screen.

"Here," Shizu whispered, her voice barely audible, as she handed the phone back to Imelda. She watched as the older woman's expression transformed into one of grim concern, lines etching deeper into her face.

Shizu's voice quivered with worry as she asked, "What is it? Is something wrong?"

"It's far," Imelda admitted. "The journey will be full of danger. Do you really want to go back home?"

Shizu's heart sank as she realized the weight of her answer. Taking a deep breath, she summoned her resolve and met Imelda's gaze.

Imelda searched her face for any signs of hesitation, any inkling that she might reconsider. But Shizu held her ground, her resolve unwavering.

"Shizu," Imelda began, her voice filled with motherly concern, "it won't be easy. The journey back will be dangerous, and we can't predict what you might encounter."

Shizu nodded, acknowledging the risks ahead. Fear gnawed at her insides, but her determination burned brighter. "I know," she replied, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. "But I have to try. I need to see my parents. Be with them. As you said . . . I need to be brave . . ."

Imelda's eyes softened with understanding, a mix of admiration and concern shining through. She reached out, her weathered hand finding Shizu's, offering a reassuring squeeze. "If this is what you truly want, I won't stand in your way. But promise me you'll be careful, and if things become too dangerous, you'll find a way back to safety."

Shizu nodded, grateful for Imelda's support. She was glad that she met her and that she was the one she was with at this moment.

The gravity of the situation settled upon her shoulders, but Shizu knew that turning back wasn't an option. She had to face the unknown, confront the dangers that awaited, and search for a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos.

The sudden knock on the door sent a jolt of adrenaline through Shizu's spine. Their conversation came to an abrupt halt as Imelda swiftly switched off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

Imelda gestured for Shizu to remain silent, her finger pressed to her lips.

Peering cautiously through a crack in the window's makeshift barricade, they saw a disheveled woman standing outside, tears streaming down her face. Her desperate pleas for help were muffled by the thickness of the door, but her distress was palpable.

Imelda's eyes hardened with a mixture of concern and caution. She shook her head, her voice low but resolute. "We can't let her in. She might be bitten, and bringing her inside would put all of us at risk."

Shizu's heart ached at the woman's cries, but she understood the weight of Imelda's words. They had to prioritize their own safety in this unforgiving world overrun by zombies. Still, the desperation in the woman's voice tugged at Shizu's conscience.

As the woman continued to make noise, the sound growing more frantic, the unthinkable occurred. The shrill shrieks of approaching zombies cut through the night, their guttural moans growing closer with every passing moment.

The woman's pleas turned into screams of terror as the undead closed in on her. Shizu's eyes widened with a mix of horror and helplessness. The sight was both chilling and tragic, a reminder of the harsh reality they faced.

Imelda's grip tightened on Shizu's arm, urging her to stay silent and motionless. They watched, frozen, as the woman's cries were abruptly silenced, replaced by the gruesome sounds of a struggle. The zombies, drawn by the noise, had found their prey.

Tears welled in Shizu's eyes as she forced herself to look away, unable to witness the grisly fate that awaited the woman. The room was filled with an oppressive silence, broken only by the sounds of feeding outside.

"Let's go. Let's rest early. There's no use in beating ourselves over it."

Shizu nodded her throat tight with a mix of grief and fear.

As the echoes of the woman's cries faded into the night, Shizu took a deep breath, steeling herself against the horrors that lay beyond the door.

She had been reminded once again that compassion could come at a great cost, and her journey ahead would demand unwavering resolve and constant vigilance – if she wanted to survive.