Whispers From The Void

The hunger never sleeps. It writhes inside me like a living thing, gnawing at whatever remnants of consciousness still flicker in my decaying mind. Sometimes I forget I was ever anything else—anything but this insatiable void wearing rotting flesh. But then the memories come, bright and sharp as broken glass, cutting through the haze of endless hunger.

My name is—was—Zed. At least, that's what I choose to remember. Strange how names become anchors in this new existence, when most of us forget everything else. The others, they're lost completely. I hear their thoughts sometimes, an endless cacophony of primal needs and base instincts. Hunger. Hunt. Feed. Nothing more. Their minds are radio static tuned to a single frequency of destruction.

I stand in what used to be Downtown, though the city bears little resemblance to my fragments of before. Abandoned cars rust in eternal gridlock, their windows shattered like teeth in rotting mouths. The wind carries the sweet-sick smell of decay, and somewhere in the distance, I hear the shuffling of my kind, their moans echoing off empty buildings. Newspapers tumble down the street like urban tumbleweeds, their headlines screaming of a catastrophe no one is left to read about.

A memory flashes: Sunday dinners, the smell of pot roast, my mother's laugh. The way she'd always save the best pieces for everyone else, taking the dried ends for herself. The contrast makes me want to scream, but my throat only manages a rattling groan. These moments of clarity are both blessing and curse. They remind me of what I've lost while forcing me to witness what I've become.

The others are moving with purpose today, drawn by something I can't yet sense. Their thoughts buzz against my consciousness like angry wasps: Fresh meat. Warm blood. Close. I follow, partially out of habit, partially because I've learned that resistance to these base urges only brings pain. My legs move with the jerky uncertainty of a broken marionette, each step a reminder of my body's gradual betrayal. But as we round the corner of what used to be the public library, I catch it too—the unmistakable scent of the living.

Hide better, I think desperately, knowing they can't hear me. Run. The thought echoes uselessly in my fractured mind.

They don't. Through the library's broken windows, I catch glimpses of movement. Five survivors, maybe six. One of them is small—a child. The sight sends another memory crashing through me: my niece's birthday party, pink frosting and paper crowns, the weight of her in my arms as she fell asleep during the movie. How long ago was that? Time means nothing now, measured only in the endless cycles of hunger and brief satiation.

The others surge forward, their excitement a fever in my mind. I follow, my own hunger rising traitorously even as my consciousness rebels. Inside, the library is a maze of toppled shelves and scattered books. Pages crunch beneath our feet like autumn leaves, stories scattered and forgotten. The survivors have barricaded themselves behind a makeshift wall of furniture in the children's section. Smart, but not smart enough. Bright murals of storybook characters look down on us, their cheerful faces a mockery of our grim reality.

That's when I see her.

She's small, maybe seven or eight, with dark braids and eyes too old for her face. She stands slightly apart from the others, and when our eyes meet, something impossible happens. A connection sparks across the void between life and death.

She tilts her head, studying me with more curiosity than fear. Hello? The thought comes not from the chaos of infected minds around me, but clear and pure as a bell.

I stagger back, shocked. My decaying legs nearly give way beneath me. You... hear me?

Her eyes widen. You're different from the others, she thinks. I'm Lily.

The others are closing in. I can feel their hunger reaching a frenzy, their thoughts becoming a roaring tsunami threatening to drown out everything else. One of the adults, presumably Lily's protector, pulls her back behind their barricade. They have guns, I realize, but not enough ammunition to handle the horde descending upon them. The metal glints dully in the filtered sunlight streaming through the dusty windows.

Run, I think desperately at Lily. There's a service exit through the basement. I'll... I'll help. The promise costs me, each word a battle against the hunger that tries to overwhelm my thoughts.

I don't know if I can. The hunger is screaming now, demanding I join the feast. But Lily's presence in my mind is like a lifeline to my humanity. She reminds me of before, of who I was, of things more important than this endless hunger. Her innocence cuts through the haze like a beam of sunlight through storm clouds.

The first of my kind reaches the barricade. Gunshots ring out, deafening in the enclosed space. The sound rips through the air like thunder, sending books tumbling from their shelves. I see Lily flinch, her fear sharp in my mind. Acting on instinct I didn't know I still possessed, I lurch forward and grab the infected nearest to me, pulling it back. Its confusion joins the chorus in my head, but there's no real thought there, just thwarted hunger.

Now! I project to Lily. The basement. Go! The effort of maintaining coherent thought feels like pushing through thick mud, but her presence gives me strength.

She tugs on the sleeve of the woman beside her, pointing. Understanding dawns on the adult's face, and she begins ushering the group toward the stairs while two men provide covering fire. Each gunshot illuminates the scene in stark flashes, like a strobe light in a nightmare.

The infected I'm grappling with twists in my grip, snapping at my face with broken teeth. I let it go, but only to grab another, creating chaos in their single-minded attack. Their thoughts are a storm of confusion and frustrated hunger. I've never fought against my kind before, never knew I could. The pain of resisting their shared purpose is excruciating, like being torn apart from the inside.

I catch glimpses of the survivors disappearing down the basement stairs. Lily lingers last, her mind reaching for mine. Thank you, she thinks. What's your name?

Zed, I respond, though the effort of maintaining coherent thought while fighting my instincts is almost too much. Go, please go. Live for those who can't.

She disappears down the stairs just as my grip on the last infected slips. They surge forward, but the survivors have bought enough time. The basement door slams shut, and I know there's a service tunnel down there that leads to the street behind the library. They'll make it. In this world of endings, they'll find a new beginning.

The horde howls in frustration, their disappointment a physical pain in my head. I sink to my knees among the scattered books, my own hunger still raging but overshadowed by something else—satisfaction, perhaps. Pride. Emotions I thought lost to me forever. Around me, pages flutter like wounded birds, stories of heroes and monsters mixing together on the floor.

I feel Lily's mind touching mine one last time, growing fainter with distance. I won't forget you, Zed. You're not like them. You're still human inside.

Live, I think back. Live and remember there was once humanity, even in monsters. That's all any of us can hope for now—to be remembered as we were, not what we became.

Her presence fades entirely, leaving me alone with the endless chorus of hunger. But something has changed. In saving her, I've recovered a piece of myself I thought lost forever. The hunger still gnaws, it always will, but now I know it doesn't define me completely. Even in this decaying shell, something of my soul remains.

I am Zed. I remember. And sometimes, remembering is enough to keep the darkness at bay, if only for a little while.