Horrific Shorts: Zombie Edition

They hadn't gotten far.

Lena, Ward, and the girl—who still hadn't said a word—had barely made it half a mile into the forest before the sky turned red.

At first, it looked like a chemical haze. But then the trees began to rot—leaves curling into ash midair. Birds fell from the branches. Insects skittered out of the soil, twitching and dying as they ran.

"They're purging the whole zone," Ward said, gripping his bleeding leg. "Not just the base."

"They want no witnesses," Lena murmured, scanning the trees. "Or escapees."

Then came the humming.

Not machines this time—but voices. Whispering. Chanting. All around them, from the woods.

Lena raised her rifle, but it jammed. Grit and black fungus had already begun coating the barrel.

The girl—still clutching the piece of bone she'd taken from the altar—stopped. She turned slowly, her eyes locked on a figure emerging from the fog.

It was one of the cultists.

But something was different.

His robes were crimson, marked with pulsating runes. And his face wasn't hidden—his skin had been peeled back, showing muscle and teeth in an eternal grin. His voice came through multiple layers, like echoes overlapping reality.

"You took what was promised," he said, walking toward them, unarmed. "She was to be our bridge."

"She's a child," Lena snapped, placing herself in front of the girl.

"No," the figure said. "She is change. She survived the serum. She heard the Song."

He extended a hand.

"Come willingly. And we will make you divine."

Ward aimed his sidearm. "You'll have to go through me."

The cultist didn't flinch. Instead, he raised his hand—and the trees themselves responded. Branches twisted down, snatching the gun from Ward's hand and wrapping around his arms like serpents.

Lena screamed and fired her last shot, catching the cultist in the shoulder.

He laughed.

Not in pain—but in joy.

"She's awakening," he said, nodding to the girl. "The serum sings in her blood."

Lena turned—and saw the girl's eyes glowing faint green.

She was levitating. Just inches. But enough.

"No," Lena whispered. "They did something to you…"

"I remember everything," the girl finally spoke. Her voice was layered—like his.

And then the forest exploded with motion.

Dozens of figures emerged, cloaked in ash and decay. Lena and Ward were surrounded, forced to their knees. The girl floated to the cultist's side, silent. Composed.

"Welcome her," he commanded. "She is reborn."

And the forest bowed.

That night, the Cult of Decay gained a prophet.

And the survivors lost one of their own—again.