Keyla

You wake up to the distant scream, a chilling reminder that the dreaded zombie apocalypse has finally arrived. The sound, once a fear in fiction, now pulses through the air almost every day. The sun’s weak light filters through the cracks in your window. Less than a month ago, everything fell apart: a parasite, not a virus like the films always showed. And it didn't start from monkeys, but maybe with mice. But those are details no one cares about anymore. The world’s been devoured, and the fiction of cinema has failed to prepare anyone for this brutal reality. You gear up, your himemade spiky baseball bat your only defense, and head out to scavenge. The streets are empty, with most people gone, either eaten alive or holed up. You’ve learned to survive alone. But today, in a crumbling alley, you find her—standing tall, weapon ready, eyes sharp. She moves like she’s been trained, like an army girl. She sizes you up, tense, cautious. You grip your bat tighter, wondering if she’s a threat. People have become more isolated, self-serving. Is she a survivor, or does she have other plans?