When I got diagnosed with cancer, my classmates laughed like I was already dead. When I got bit by a zombie, they grabbed makeshift weapons and told me to get lost. When I turned out to be the only person bitten who didn't turn, suddenly they were all on their knees, begging me— Begging me to save their lives. 01 My name is Sarah. I’m 20. Just your average, unremarkable college sophomore. Except I just found out I have cancer. Stage four. About a month after my diagnosis, the zombie virus hit campus like a bomb. One minute, it was your typical sunny, energetic college green; the next, everyone was scrambling, desperate to escape the walking dead. Me? The sick girl? I basically just gave up, letting the panicked crowd shove me along until I ended up crammed into a storage room. There were already a bunch of people hiding inside. Before I could even get my bearings, someone shrieked: "Sarah! She's been bitten!" Instantly, every eye in the room locked onto me. I glanced down. Sure enough, a clear bite mark on my wrist. Oh yeah, I remembered now. In the chaos outside, I saw Jessica, a girl from my class, about to get dragged away by a zombie. I yanked her back, out of stupid instinct, and got chomped in the process. And the person screaming about me being bitten? Jessica, of course. "Sarah, you're bitten. Just get out of here," Tiffany, the campus queen bee who always hated me for beating her in academics, stepped up, acting like she was in charge of who lived and died. The ridiculous part? No one disagreed. All fifteen or so of them just stared at me, pure terror in their eyes, like I was about to foam at the mouth and take a chunk out of them. Then the fear turned to anger. Jessica piled on, "Sarah, you've got cancer anyway, you're gonna die soon. Don't drag us down with you." Tiffany added, her voice dripping venom, "Yeah, just get lost." Suddenly, the whole storage room was echoing the same sentiment. "Get out!" It felt just like after my diagnosis. Tiffany, still bitter I'd won first place in the talent show she thought was hers, cornered me with her little clique. She'd sneered, "Sarah, what did you do to deserve this? Getting a death sentence so young? Serves you right!" Her followers chorused: "Serves you right!" Then, like now, I felt… nothing. Calm. I grew up an orphan, no parents. Always been quiet, maybe a little aloof. "Offending" the popular girl meant I got shoved around a lot. Facing actual death now, their petty high school drama meant absolutely nothing. I looked one last time at Jessica. My voice was steady. "I got bitten saving you." Jessica rolled her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean, Sarah? Guilt trip me? I didn't ask you to save me." "Fine," I said. With that, I turned sharply and walked out. As the door slammed behind me, I heard the distinct click of a lock. I let out a small, cold chuckle. "Serves them right." The next second, Jessica’s bloodcurdling scream ripped through the air, followed by a chorus of horrifying shrieks from inside the storage room. Jessica noticed my bite, sure. But I guess she didn't notice someone else in that room had been bitten too. 02 The storage room door was rattling like crazy. I just pursed my lips, feeling zero sympathy, and turned down a side path. I made my way to the campus convenience store. Figured I should load up on real food before I turned, instead of craving… well, you know. I grabbed a double chocolate muffin and was about to take a bite when the world spun, and everything went black. When I came to, maybe half an hour had passed. Using a metal shelf as a makeshift mirror, I checked myself out. Didn't look like I'd turned. Weird. Just then, a zombie, smeared head-to-toe in blood, lurched around the end of the aisle. It spotted me, let out a guttural roar, and charged. Its roar attracted others. Suddenly, the store was filling up. The first one was almost on me. Even though I was dying anyway, I didn't fancy getting torn apart by zombies. Instinctively, I kicked out. The next thing I knew, the zombie flew backward like a broken kite, crashing into a display rack. More growls behind me. I spun, tried a few more kicks. In seconds, a whole group of them were embedded in the drywall, twitching uselessly. Okay, so maybe I had changed. Where else would I get the power to take down zombies bare-handed like some kind of superhero?! The dead bodies were kind of ruining my appetite, though. I dragged them outside and tossed them near the dumpsters. Just as I was about to head back in for my muffin, I heard a desperate yell for help from down the street. I squinted. A familiar figure sprinted into view. He was wearing track pants, four or five zombies clawing at his back, his incredibly handsome face pale with terror. My brow furrowed hard. Jake? What was he doing here? He was in my classes, but he’d dropped out right after I got my diagnosis. Why was he back on campus? While I was spacing out, he let out a yelp and tripped, face-planting onto the pavement. Jake! That was my crush! I was obsessed with his perfect face. A surge of protective anger shot through me. I moved faster than I ever thought possible, launching myself forward. A flurry of kicks sent the zombies daring to mess with my crush's face flying. Then, I hauled Jake up and booked it. Yeah, hauled him. Like a sack of potatoes over my shoulder. I don't know if zombies have a thing for good looks, or maybe they were after Jake’s brain—all the professors raved about how smart he was. More and more zombies were heading our way, drawn to Jake—or maybe me carrying him. I wasn't worried about getting bitten again, but Jake couldn't get hurt. Panicked, I somehow managed to sprint all the way back to the convenience store carrying him. I set him down gently. My heart was hammering, totally embarrassed and flustered, but I couldn't let him see that. Play it cool. I calmly handed him a bottle of water. He seemed shell-shocked, probably hadn't even registered that I'd just carried him like some kind of cavewoman. He took the water silently, unscrewed the cap, and gulped down half the bottle. Jake was my ultimate crush, the guy I'd been secretly obsessed with forever. People say when you're dying, you make a bucket list. Mine basically had one item: Spend time with Jake before I die. And here we were. Apocalypse. Convenience store. Me and Jake. Thump-thump-thump— My heart was going crazy. Trying to cover my excitement, I asked, "Jake, didn't you drop out? What are you doing back here?" He choked on his water, coughed a few times, then explained, "Yeah, I dropped out. Got chased back onto campus by accident." He looked up, his eyes full of gratitude. "Sarah, thanks for saving me." He’d been running for a while when I found him. I felt a flicker of worry. "Are you okay? Did they get you? Did you get bitten?" He thought for a second. Just as my anxiety spiked, he said, "No. I'm okay." I breathed a sigh of relief. I turned to grab him some food from the shelves. He followed right behind me, practically stepping on my heels, like he was terrified I'd abandon him. I stopped in front of a rack of chips. Facing away from him, I said quietly, "Don't worry. I won't ditch you." Couldn't even if I wanted to, I thought. I've been crushing on you since freshman orientation. The words felt like a confession. My face flushed. I thought I heard him murmur behind me, "Good. I owe you one. I'll pay you back." 03 The convenience store had a small employee break room in the back. Jake used the sink to wash his face and came out, hair still damp. I turned my head and froze. He was standing in the doorway, shirtless. Perfect V-taper, clearly defined abs, smooth lines… A few drops of water trickled enticingly down his neck, tracing a path over his muscles and disappearing below the waistband of his track pants… My face instantly felt like it was on fire. I whipped my head away. My voice came out huskier than I intended. "Put a shirt on." I heard a hint of disappointment in Jake’s voice from the doorway. "Aw, and here I thought you might like the view. Did it just for you, you know." "..." This was how he planned to "pay me back"? Giving me a free show?! Despite myself, my heart hammered, and my cheeks burned. I muttered something about needing to change too and ducked into the break room. Hauling Jake around earlier had made me sweat buckets, and my bite wound seemed to be throbbing more. As I peeled off my shirt, I winced. Pain shot up my arm. I reached for the gauze I’d wrapped around it earlier and accidentally knocked over a glass tumbler. The shattering sound was deafening in the quiet room. Almost instantly, the door flew open. I stared, shocked, at Jake standing there, his face etched with worry. It took me a half-second to remember I was standing there in just my bra. "Get out!" Mortified and furious, I spun around, hugging myself, feeling like a boiled lobster. "Didn't see anything! Sorry, sorry!" Jake stammered apologies, backing out clumsily and kicking over a mop bucket in the process. The door clicked shut. I glanced back to make sure it was closed before finally letting out a shaky breath. When I finished changing and opened the door, I stopped dead. He was still standing right there. "Why are you still here?" Remembering the shirtless incident, my face started heating up again. Jake looked at me, his expression serious. He reached a hand toward my left arm. I instinctively covered my sleeve, wary. "What are you doing?" "You're hurt. Let me see." I tried to pull my arm back, narrowing my eyes. "You just said you didn't see anything." Jake’s hand froze for a second, guilt flashing across his face. But even so, he persisted, determined to see my arm. I couldn't fight him off; he managed to grab my wrist. "Ow!" The struggle jostled my freshly bandaged wound, and I sucked in a sharp breath. Jake's expression darkened. He shot me a glare, then carefully, gently rolled up my sleeve. "How did this happen? Does it hurt?" His eyes fixed on the messy bandage job, his tone low and serious. His hand held mine firmly; I couldn't pull away. "Just scratched myself, it's nothing." "Nothing? It's bleeding through the gauze, Sarah! That's not 'nothing'!" "Jake! Let go of me! I told you, I'm fine!" He started pulling me back toward the break room. It was ironic. He was the one terrified of zombies, chased across campus. I was the one who could kick them through walls. Yet, he dragged me along, and I couldn't seem to resist at all. He found a first-aid kit under the sink and, without another word, grabbed scissors to cut off my makeshift bandage. I didn't want him to see the actual bite mark. I struggled desperately. "Don't move!" Jake barked, looking up, his deep eyes filled with frustration. The bandage came away, bit by bit. I watched him nervously, my fingers curling slightly. When the wound was fully exposed, his expression changed, just as I'd feared. I pressed my lips together, about to yank my hand back, but instead, he picked up tweezers, dabbed cotton with antiseptic, and started cleaning the wound. His movements were efficient, precise. He even tied the new bandage with a surprisingly cute little bow. Jake stood up, looking down at me intently. "A zombie bite. Why didn't you tell me?" "It happened a while ago. I'm fine." My heart was pounding. I was terrified he’d react like the others – yell at me, run away. I started to explain, that I was bitten but didn't turn, that I somehow got powers instead. But his expression held no fear, no disgust. Just concern. He asked softly, "Does it hurt?" After everything – the near-death, the honesty – The distance between people seemed to shrink. A warmth spread through my chest. "Doesn't hurt."
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