_ Where is Lucas?

Right now, it's not the zombies I'm worried about. They're predictable—slow-moving, mindless. They don't come for me. I'm undead, sure, but I'm not like them. 

I'm still… me. And that makes all the difference.

I see a few of them lurking in the distance. The zombie's hideous bodies twitch, some dragging limbs like they're still trying to figure out what they were supposed to be doing. 

As I approach, they glance up, but there's no reaction. No hunger in their eyes for me. I keep walking, ignoring them as they ignore me. 

I can splutters of Black worms here and there. 

The sight isn't new, but it still makes my stomach churn. I see the worms slithering in and out of the rotten flesh of a few zombies. They're vile little creatures, and the source of this entire nightmare.

 Every zombie in this world is infected with them. The worms enter through any open wound or from a zombie's bite, and turn the host into the ravenous, lifeless monster we all know. 

It's almost poetic, in a monstrous way. Death within death. 

I glance at a few more fallen bodies, noting how lifeless they are—no struggle, no fight. Just another victim of the plague that swept through the world, another casualty of the worms. 

I keep moving, my eyes scanning the ground for any sign of them. Pretty Boy, Captain Authority, and Lucas. 

They were here. They had to be. I need to be among humans. Being around that old woman who feels so personal made me feel human again. 

Hence, maybe if I make peace with those three, if we form a friendship or partnership—sorta… I might be able to hold onto my humanity further.

Then, a glimpse or a flash of something that makes my blood run cold comes to my field of vision. 

A leg. 

It's a leg sticking out from behind a pile of broken concrete. I can already tell who it belongs to. The boots, the uniform, the stance. 

Captain Authority. 

It's like a punch to the gut. I should've expected it, but it hits harder than I thought. My hands tremble as I walk closer. I want to look away, but I can't. 

It's him. 

A leg without the rest of him. 

I want to scream. I want to rage. But I just stand there, numb. 

This is it. He's gone. There's nothing left of him. Not even a chance. He's been torn apart, and now, he's just another pile of meat for the zombies. 

I'm about to turn away when I hear something; something small and faint. A crackle. A shuffle. A moan. I freeze, my heart stopping for a split second.

Is it…?

I round the corner quickly, pushing aside a pile of rubble and debris. What I see next almost makes me lose my breath. 

Captain Authority; his body is half-eaten with his face barely recognizable. His uniform is torn and his chest is exposed to the elements. The smell of decay assaults my nostrils.

 But the most terrifying part? He's not dead. He's one of them now. One of the mindless, hungry monsters. A zombie. 

I stare at him, my brain struggling to process the sight. It's not possible. It's not possible.

I approach cautiously him, keeping my distance. 

"Where… where are they?" I murmur, but I already know the answer. 

There's no response. His empty, bloodshot eyes gaze at nothing. It just glazes over in that familiar vacant stare. 

I don't expect an answer. 

I don't expect anything. 

I step back and turn away, breathing heavily. My thoughts run to me in quick succession; what if I lose control again? What if I eat someone again?

I can't waste time here. I can't fall apart. No… There's still hope. 

I continue my search, walking further into the streets, scanning every shadow, every abandoned corner for the others. 

My heart aches the more I search. Where are they? Lucas. Pretty Boy. 

Just then, a pained wince draws to my ear. It's subtle at first, but I hear it. 

I halt. It's not a zombie sound. It's human.

I rush towards the noise, my feet hitting the pavement faster now. The sound is coming from an alleyway just ahead. 

As I round the corner, I spot the zombies hovering over something. The creatures are circling, their groans and snarls in the air, but the figure in the middle is still moving.

I can't waste time. I need to act.

I step forward, staying out of their sight. I've got to do this right. I've got to save him.

I rush toward the zombies, pushing them aside with a forceful shove. Their rotting bodies fall back with a sickening squelch, but I don't care. 

I grab the first one by the throat, twisting it until its head snaps clean off. The others stagger back, confused, but I don't stop. I keep moving, pulling them away swiftly while hot sweat prickles my forehead. 

Finally, I reach him. It's Pretty Boy, not Lucas and he is in a pretty bad situation. Pun intended. 

His face is pale and his eyes are thin. His body is half-hidden beneath a pile of trash. It's like they dropped a grenade that came with a price.

Perhaps, they had sacrificed themselves for Lucas? Lucas is fine, right? I will not be able to forgive myself if he's dead.

He's just a fucking teenager! I could have helped. 

Pretty Boy's clothes are torn, blood seeping from a wound on his leg. 

He looks up at me, confusion in his eyes. "W-who…" 

I don't give him a chance to finish. Without thinking, I drop to my knees beside him, pushing his body further into the shade and out of the zombies' reach.

 I look at his leg and see it—just as I feared. A black worm with its slippery body is wriggling its way into his wound.

"No," I mutter under my breath. 

Gasping in horror, I pull it out, my fingers shaky as I squish the worm in my palm, feeling its life drain away in the same instant its zombie juice squelches onto the ground. 

Pretty Boy winces as I remove the creature, his body jerking with pain. He can barely keep his eyes open, his breaths shallow and quick. 

But he's alive. Thank God. 

I groan, gently shaking him. "Where's Lucas?" I ask. "Where is he?"

But he doesn't answer. His head slumps back, and his body goes limp in my arms. 

"Shit."

I look down at him, frustration boiling in my veins. He's passed out, and I can't do anything about it. 

I glance over my shoulder. The zombies are starting to stir again, drawn by the scent of fresh blood. 

I don't have a choice. 

I pull him up into my arms, cradling him against my chest. I've got to get him out of here, get him to safety. But I'm not sure how much time we have. 

As I run, I hear the zombies' groans growing louder, their footsteps quickening. They're following us. I can hear them, feel them closing in. 

I move faster, pushing myself harder. The air is cold against my skin, but I don't care. My only focus is Pretty Boy and getting him to shelter.

I can hear the zombies gaining on us, but I don't look back. I can't. I just need to keep moving. Keep running. Keep fighting.

And I can't help but wonder—where the hell is Lucas?