Horrific Shorts: Zombie Edition

The scream rattled every rib in Mira's chest. It wasn't sound—it was pressure, heat, and the weight of something impossibly vast forcing its way into the world.

Floodlights exploded outward from the tower, no longer pale white but molten orange, slicing through the ashstorm like blazing swords. Each beam was thick, almost solid, carrying with it motes of burning light that seared holes through the falling flakes. The ash didn't just recoil—it evaporated, curling into thin, black smoke that spiraled upward toward the clouds.

Mira stumbled back against the railing, shielding her eyes. The generator wasn't just running—it was feeding. Thick cords of organic cable snaked out of the control room, slithering up the stairwell like arteries seeking the heart of the structure. The heartbeat glow pulsed faster now, and with each throb, the wind outside grew hotter.

Below, Elena had made it over the fence. She froze in place, staring up at the blazing tower. Her lips moved, but the roar drowned her words. Then she ran—not away from the danger, but toward it.

"Mira!" she screamed, her voice breaking through just enough to carry. "Shut it down! It's burning everything!"

Mira looked through the grated floor. Far beneath, the streets glimmered with reflection—puddles turning to steam, asphalt warping in waves. Shadows moved in the firelight: half-melted zombies stumbling blindly, their skin cracking and sloughing off in the heat. Some dropped instantly, burning to ash mid-step. Others screamed—a hideous, inhuman pitch—before collapsing.

The tower liked this.

Feed me more, the voice murmured, silk over razors. I will drink the sky until no rot remains.

Mira's breath came fast. She thought of the camp—the children in the basement, the old water tanks, the brittle roofs. A few seconds of this could cleanse the ash for miles… or turn the entire block into a molten grave.

Elena was inside the tower now, climbing the lower stairs two at a time.

"Mira, it's not helping—it's changing the air!"

Mira turned toward the nearest window slit. She saw it too. The air around the lights shimmered unnaturally, bending like heat haze, but threaded through with black veins of smoke that didn't disperse. It was falling slower than ash, heavier, and when it touched a still-living tree by the street, the leaves curled in on themselves and dripped black sap.

The tower's cables thickened, a forest of living wires twisting around Mira, some coiling protectively between her and Elena's approach.

Do not listen to the small one, it whispered. You came for power. I am power.

The metal under Mira's boots was growing hot enough to burn through her soles.

Elena reached her, eyes wild, face slick with sweat. "You flip that switch again, and we're done. All of us."

Mira's hand lingered on the lever. The ashstorm outside was breaking. She could see the city skyline for the first time in weeks… glowing faintly under the unnatural light.

But at the base of the streets, something else was waking—shapes rising, drawn to the tower's fire like moths to a wound in the sky.

She didn't move the lever.

The tower did it for her.

And the world turned orange.