Love is Dead

A Rusted Barrier

               The rusted gate was heavier than I expected. My fingers slipped against the cold iron as I fought to pry it open. Rust flaked off in jagged chunks, biting into my hands. Every desperate tug sent a screeching protest into the air, as if announcing our location to the world.

"Hurry!" Logan rasped behind me, his voice tight with strain. His form was hunched, his decaying hands trembling around the grip of an old crowbar he'd scavenged earlier. The sound of gunfire cracked the air again, closer this time.

"I'm trying!" I shot back, sweat stinging my scraped and rust filled hands. Gosh, when did I last get a tetanus shot? I hope it still helped me at this point. My heart pounded so hard it drowned out everything else—except for the approaching footsteps.

A shout barked from behind us, sharp and cruel. "There they are! Don't let them get inside!"

The survivors. A pack of them. In this world, survivors could be as dangerous as the undead—maybe worse. Desperation made monsters out of all of us, but some leaned into it harder than others. Some didn't give a damn as long as you weren't with them.  Zombie or not.

"Carmen, move!" Logan's voice was urgent now, the faint wheeze in his breath breaking through his usual calm.

I gave one final heave, and the gate wrenched open just wide enough for us to squeeze through. I stumbled forward, grabbing Logan's arm to pull him along, but he staggered. A crack like thunder rang out, and I saw him flinch—then collapse. "Logan!" I screamed.

Blood, dark and sluggish, oozed from his knee. The gunshot had torn through the joint, leaving his leg at an unnatural angle. His lips curled back in a grimace, but there was no scream of pain, no cry for help. He just stared at me, his mismatched eyes burning with something like defiance.

"Go," he growled. "Get inside."

"No!" I snapped, dropping to my knees beside him. "I'm not leaving you!"

The footsteps were closing in fast now, accompanied by shouted curses. Shadows danced in the pale morning light as figures emerged from the trees, their weapons glinting.

I slipped my arm under Logan's shoulder, ignoring his protests, and hauled him up. His weight was awkward, heavier than it looked, but adrenaline surged through me. Step by agonizing step, I dragged him through the gate.

"Cover me!" I hissed, grabbing my rusty pipe and shoving it into his hands.

Logan swung the weapon weakly, forcing the nearest pursuer to hesitate just long enough for me to shove him behind the gate. My muscles burned as I pushed the rusted barrier closed, the grating sound mingling with the survivors' angry shouts.

But they weren't backing off so easily.

"Don't think you're safe in there!" one of them sneered, his scarred face twisting into a smirk as he aimed his rifle. "We'll find a way in."

I slammed the gate shut panicking and locked it with the heavy chain dangling from the bars, praying it would hold. The scarred man raised his weapon again, but Logan hurled the pipe at him. It struck the rifle barrel, throwing off his aim as the shot rang out harmlessly.

"Nice throw," I muttered breathlessly, gripping Logan's arm as we staggered further into the greenhouse grounds.

Logan let out a dry chuckle, though his body trembled with exhaustion. 

"Don't expect it twice."

Inside the gate, the greenhouse was a sprawling wreck. Overgrown plants spilled out of cracked glass walls, their vines curling around rusted support beams. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and decay. But we had no time to rest.

"They'll try to climb the fence," I said, scanning the area for anything we could use to reinforce the gate. "We need to—"

A low growl cut me off.

Logan stiffened beside me, his head snapping toward the sound. From the shadows of the greenhouse, a figure emerged. At first glance, it looked human—until it didn't. Its limbs were too long, its movements jerky and unnatural, staggering as its fungal spores burst from its brain.

"Not now," I muttered, backing away.

Logan's hand shot out, gripping my wrist. "Stay behind me," he said, his voice a low snarl.

"Your leg—"

"Forget my leg," he barked. "That thing's worse than any bullet."

The creature let out a guttural screech and charged, its skeletal frame hobbled faster than seemed possible. Logan shoved me back, planting himself between me and the monster. For a moment, everything slowed. I saw the determination in Logan's eyes, the way he gritted his teeth as he braced himself. 

Screech!!