Page 4 of Burning Love

She crawled over a collapsed shelf, feeling the cold tile beneath her fingers. This place—what was left of it—reminded her of a graveyard. But she was determined not to be buried here. Her senses were on high alert. They always were. She visualized the ghosts of families that once filled these aisles: parents with screaming toddlers, couples deciding on that evening’s dinner, and the familiar, almost comforting chaos of a ton of people being in the same space together.

Suppose I had just one person here with me—just one person to talk to.

It was strange to miss those mundane things in life, but she did. She missed the faces of strangers on the Tube, even the briefest eye contact with someone unknown, someone who wasn’t a threat. Such small, meaningless actions were pieces of humanity she had always taken for granted. And now they were gone.

She looked over her shoulder and decided the coast was clear. She needed food. She had gone four days with barely a scrap to eat. She felt so frail and knew she couldn’t afford to lose any more weight. What had her last meal been? Some stale crackers she’d found in a garbage can. She hated how hunger had become a constant companion. Her only companion. It gnawed at her inside like a parasite. Her movements felt slower and less coordinated than usual. And in this world, every second counted. Every step had to be deliberate.

In the dim light, she finally spotted what looked like a couple of cans on a shelf. They were partially hidden by debris and must have been overlooked by previous looters. She approached slowly. Her senses heightened because a part of her suspected that it could be a trap. She had seen it happen before. People, living people rather than those infected by the virus, left seemingly untouched food to lure in the desperate. They would then attack them, steal any supplies or equipment, and leave them for dead. Or just dead. Fully dead.

I’d rather go that way than the other, though. Anything but become one of those monsters.

But she didn’t have a choice. As she neared the shelf, she scanned her surroundings, flicking her gaze to the darkened storefront windows where the shattered pane allowed a gentle draft to seep through, carrying with it the unmistakable stench of rot from outside. Sophia knew what this meant. There must have been a corpse nearby. Or an infected person.

Her fingers brushed against one of the cans. The cool, metallic feel jolted her heart in hope, but it was empty.

Bollocks.

She grabbed the other can. This one was full. But of what? She squinted at the label. It was barely visible in the waning light. Green beans in a bearnaise sauce. Wow. What a luxury. She tucked it carefully into her pack, aware of how something as small as a single can of food could mean the difference between life and death. She would guard it with her life.

Okay, I need to get somewhere safe. Hide. Eat these beans. Oh, God. I’m so happy. I don’t think anyone’s ever been this happy about green beans!

Sophia let out a slow, controlled breath. She couldn’t believe just how satisfied she felt. But just as quickly, the moment was gone. A faint shuffle sounded from just a few feet away. It was an uneven, dragging gait. She knew exactly what that meant. She froze in position. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled.

Zombies. But how many? Please let it just be one.

Her heart slowed as she felt her instincts begin to take over, quieting her breath and steadying her pulse. She pressed herself into the shadows beside the shelf, willing her body to become as invisible as possible.

“Jesus. Please, oh, please….” she whispered to herself, unable to stop the words springing from her lips.

Sophia gathered her thoughts. Her heartbeat was now barely a murmur, her breaths shallow and controlled, each one precise.

Stop talking, stop talking. Absolute silence.

She believed that the zombies, for want of a better word, relied on scent and sound more than sight. And she had just exposed herself. Why had she spoken out loud like that? They would be drawn to her now. The creatures were slower than she was, but that didn’t make them any less deadly. One wrong step, one trip, one stumble, and they would be on her. She knew this. She’d seen it.

The footsteps grew louder and closer, shuffling in a disjointed rhythm. Sophia pressed herself down, curling into herself, her muscles tightening. She couldn’t see them yet, but she could picture them—decayed, gray, animated by nothing but an insatiable, mindless hunger. She forced herself to stay calm.

You can do this, Sophia.

This was survival: becoming as small and quiet as the shadows that shielded her. She fought the instinct to run. She had learned the hard way that running was a last resort; it would be too risky a gamble. Memories of a couple of recent close calls flooded her mind—moments when she’d almost been caught, barely escaping with her life. She could still feel the bruises.

The zombie’s shuffling stopped. It was near. She held her breath. Her skin prickled, every nerve on edge, her mind a silent chant of,Don’t move, don’t cough, don’t sneeze.

She thought back to when the outbreak had first begun. How long had it been now? Weeks? Months? She’d lost count of the days. Panic had rippled through the world like wildfire. Contagion. What city had they been in? Somewhere south? She couldn’t remember. The city had fallen pretty fast. The dense population meant it was overwhelmed in days, leaving nowhere safe.

Sophia had been halfway through a ballet tour in the U.S. when it happened, performing in one city after another. The rhythm of rehearsals, curtain calls, and sleeping on the company bus had left her feeling gradually more and more exhausted by the day. News had started filtering in—first, just reports of strange sicknesses in scattered towns, but then it came—people falling ill and not getting back up, people attacking each other.

She had been in Boston when the first actual reports broke on the news, but the company insisted on continuing the tour. They went on to the next city, where she and the other dancers stayed in a hotel just a stone’s throw away from the theater. That was when Sophia saw the first signs of chaos.

One night, their director called everyone into the hotel ballroom, pale-faced and shaking. She spoke in hurried tones, explaining how they’d have to cancel the rest of the tour—something about the police ordering people into quarantine zones. The company made plans to charter flights back to the UK, just in case. But it was already too late. Within hours, the entire city was filled with panicked crowds, lines of cars snaking in every direction as military roadblocks went up. Sophia felt like she’d fallen into a surreal nightmare.

Sophia and her fellow dancers felt safe for a couple of days in the hotel, but the infected eventually made their way in. One of the stagehands fell sick first. Then the lead male dancer collapsed, convulsing in front of her before his eyes went hollow and something monstrous looked out through his face.

Sophia ran, slipping away from her friends and colleagues and hiding out in a tiny janitor’s closet on the third floor. She remembered pressing her hands over her ears, blocking out the sounds echoing through the hallway, the guttural groans, and the occasional, sharp cry that pierced her to her very core.

When the noise finally died down, Sophia emerged. She must have spent two whole days in that closet. Her ballet company was gone. The corridors were littered with signs of a violent struggle, but no one was left. She moved in a daze from room to room, gathering food and bottled water from minibars—anything that could keep her alive.

And that was how she had survived in that place for over a week, wandering between floors, hiding in empty rooms. When she dared to look out the window, the city’s skyline seemed almost peaceful. The bustling metropolis had turned into a ghost town. But she knew better. She didn’t want to believe it, but she realized what had become of her friends, her fellow dancers, the people she’d spent so many months with. They were gone, swallowed by the outbreak. They had turned. And she was all on her own.

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