Page 17 of Her Shadow

As they entered the building, the stench of decay hit Sam like a wave. The air was thick with the smell of rot and mildew, the floor slick with what looked like dried blood. It never got any easier to smell the undead. She fought back the urge to gag, focusing instead on the task at hand.

“Stay close. I want you right here next to me,” Kara said. Her command was unmistakable, and Sam couldn’t help but feel slightly annoyed by it.

Sam nodded despite herself. It felt as though the air itself was resisting her lungs. For the first time in a long while, fear gnawed at the edges of her composure. It wasn’t fear of the infected. She’d grown used to them over time. It was something far more complicated. It was the fear of being inadequate, of making the wrong decision…and of Riley thinking he was right about her. And the fear of her feelings towards another human. Life was easier when others meant less. Her body felt taut, every muscle alert as she anticipated what would come next.

“How many people do you think died here?” Sam muttered, though her voice was so small it almost didn’t sound like her own.

Kara’s eyes flicked briefly toward her, scanning her face before returning to the darkened corridors ahead. “Too many,”she replied, the weight of past deaths echoing in her words. The sound of it settled like a cold hand against Sam’s spine.

The silence between them stretched out, punctuated only by the soft pats of their footsteps on the hard concrete floor. Sam’s heart was a drumbeat in her ears, loud and relentless, like a countdown she couldn’t stop. She wanted desperately to run out of there, to turn back, but couldn’t let herself. They needed the supplies. She knew Fort Haven depended on these runs, and more than that, Kara depended on her.

This place isn’t right. Something’s up.

A faint, almost imperceptible noise echoed from somewhere down the hall, pulling Sam from her spiraling thoughts. She came to an immediate standstill, the sound threading through the stale air—soft shuffling, the kind only human feet could make.

“What was that? I heard something,” Sam whispered, her entire body tensing up as she crouched down to the floor, trying to make herself smaller.

Kara’s jaw clenched. She nodded once, her hand instinctively moving toward her machete. “Get up. Stay sharp.”

The hallway seemed to grow narrower, the shadows deeper as they inched forward. The cold that permeated the building was different now—it wasn’t just the absence of warmth—it was the presence of death. Sam’s skin prickled.

When they reached the double doors at the end of the hall, Sam’s hand trembled slightly as she gripped the handle. The metal felt like ice. Her breath caught in her throat as the door creaked open, the sound seeming too loud in this place of ghosts.

Her eyes adjusted to the dim light, and there, huddled in the corner under a blanket, was the source of the sound. A person. Alive, barely, but alive.

Sam’s heart thudded louder. Her fear flipped her stomach, the jolting sensation almost causing her to gag. The woman’sragged breathing was the only thing filling the silence, each wheeze like a plea for help. As Sam took in the sight of her—the gaunt, hollow-eyed face, the skin stretched tightly over brittle bones.

Is she still alive?

She looked to Kara, who was rushing toward the woman, her face a mask of concern. The woman’s lips parted, a cracked whisper escaping them: “Help…me.”

Kara’s hand moved forward to help her. “We need to get her out of here,” she said, turning back with a confused look on her face as she spotted Sam, who had failed to make her way fully into the room.

Sam’s pulse thudded in her neck. It was getting faster. Faster. Her instincts screamed at her that this wasn’t a good idea. Her mind raced. What were their options here?

None. There are no options.

The woman was too weak, too far gone. And there, at the base of her neck, hidden beneath the layers of grime and blood, Sam noticed it—the unmistakable bruise-like streak of infection.

We’re too late. She’s infected.

Kara hadn’t seen it yet, but Sam knew there was no time to explain and certainly no time for debate. She stepped forward and strode toward the frail form of a woman. The infected blinked up at her, eyes filled with desperation, a faint flicker of hope in their hollow depths.

Sam’s chest constricted. She deeply felt the burden of what she was about to do. She was angry that the decision she was about to make fell heavily onto her shoulders alone. But she couldn’t have the luxury of anger. Not here. Not now.

“Sam, help her up. What are you doing?” But Sam barely registered what Kara was asking of her.

Without a word, Sam pulled out her knife. The weight of it in her hand felt good. She was momentarily in total control. Kara’shead snapped toward her, eyes wide with confusion, but Sam was already in motion.

The woman’s gaze shifted to the blade, and in that split second, it was clear that she understood her fate. She let out a strangled gasp, but it was too late.

Sam’s hand moved swiftly, the blade pushing into the woman’s throat, allowing her to drop unconscious before pushing the blade into the side of her head.

The world around Sam seemed to slow. Kara’s voice broke through Sam’s mental fog. “What the hell?”

“She was infected,” Sam said, her voice hoarse as she held back her tears. She kept her gaze steady as she spoke. “I saw the signs. It was so obvious.”

For a moment, Kara just stared at her in disbelief. Sam could feel the intensity of her gaze burning into her, but she didn’t flinch. She couldn’t. She’d done what had to be done.

---