Katherin Hassan-Clarke and Esther Quinn, young lovers living on the coast of Riga, Latvia, face the terrifying realisation that their home is no longer safe when a deadly zombie pathogen ravages Eastern Europe. Fleeing their home before they are for...
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"What about the others? They won't know where we've gone," Ivory spoke softly to Lyria as they ran down the stairs.
They'd packed their bags quickly, prioritising food and weapons over sanitary items and clothing. Lyria had stood by the door, checking down the hall every so often, ordering Rosabelle to keep an eye on the incoming horde. Rosabelle had complied; her gaze fixated on the creatures slowly surrounding their shelter.
"We'll head to the pharmacy. It'll be safer there," Lyria responded. "Rosabelle, grab a sharpie and write a note on the door."
Rosabelle nodded, dashing back inside to grab a sharpie.
There was a soft growl in the distance. The horde was edging closer.
Lyria gripped her weapon tighter, a baseball bat she'd found underneath the bed in her apartment. She needed to brave for her friends. They were terrified of the outside world, paralysed by fear after Rebeka's death.
Lyria had witnessed her family being torn apart by the zombies. She hadn't known what they were then, thinking them desperate human beings that were starving, willing to do anything to eat.
The reality was far worse. These zombies had been human once. They'd been changed, turned into famished beasts, with no memory of their past lives.
Rebeka had been slaughtered by her brother. Katherin had told her.
If they came across someone that they knew, there had to be no hesitation. They needed to end that person's life, no matter who they were.
"I've got it. Here," Rosabelle spoke through the silence.
Rosabelle's cheeks were flushed, her pupils dilated from searching through the darkness. She'd had trouble finding a sharpie and had panicked, afraid that she would take too long and be the reason her friends were slaughtered.
Rosabelle scrawled the address of the pharmacy on the wooden door, stepping back momentarily to see whether it was legible against the dark wood.
It was, but barely.
There was the soft thud of footsteps.
Rosabelle slipped the sharpie in her pocket. It would have to do.
They needed to leave now.
"This way. Hurry!" Lyria whispered.
She tugged Esther behind her, running down to the edge of the docks. The others followed, constantly looking over their shoulders in fear that they would be pursued. None followed; that they knew of.
The docks were quiet and dangerously open. There was rope strewn over the ground, a sombre reminder that there had been boats moored once.
Ivory looked down at her feet. There was glow-in-the-dark paint splattered along the wooden panels. A legacy left by Morgana and Ttod.
