The Thread of Me

The scent of them. That’s the first thing I notice.

Sweet and sour, warm and sharp. It invades my senses like a swarm of bees, buzzing and constant. I don’t know how I know it’s them, but I do. The scent is irresistible, a beacon that pulls me forward, though my body protests with aching joints and slow, jerky movements.

My mind... is it still mine? I think so, though it feels distant, buried beneath layers of instinct that weren’t there before. I cling to fleeting memories, a thread of humanity fraying in my hands. The ache in my chest feels more than physical, but I can’t dwell on it for long. The scent distracts me.

I wasn’t always like this. I was... someone else. A person. I had a name. What was it?

I stop, pressing my back against the cold, slick wall of the parking garage. The quiet here is immense, broken only by the faint drip of water somewhere in the shadows. I force myself to think, to push through the haze, clawing at a memory like an animal digging for scraps.

Flashes of something surface:

A city street. The sun too bright overhead.

People running, screaming.

A fire hydrant spraying water into the air, glittering like shattered glass.

And him.

I remember him. A man with blood streaking his face, his eyes hollow as he stumbled toward me. His teeth — wrong, jagged. Too much blood.

Then pain. Pain so blinding it swallowed everything, dragged me into a cold, endless dark.

I squeeze my eyes shut. The memory fades, but the weight of it lingers. My breath — or what’s left of it — shudders. I touch my chest, seeking some familiar rhythm, but my heart is still. Quiet.

The others shuffle in the distance, their moans muted but persistent, like the tide advancing on a shore. I don’t look at them. If I see them, I’ll know.

I don’t want to know.

The scent grows stronger, dragging me back to the present. My feet move unbidden, bare skin slapping against the concrete floor. Hunger coils in my gut, sharp and hollow, twisting me from the inside.

Ahead, fluorescent light spills through a broken doorway. The harsh glare stabs at my eyes, and I pause, gripping the edge of a pillar for balance. My limbs jerk with spasms, and I bite down — on what, I don’t know — to keep myself steady.

Shapes move in the light. Human shapes.

My breath catches — or it should. There’s no air left to trap, no pulse to quicken, but the instinct is still there. I freeze, watching. A boy, barely fifteen, peers from behind the doorframe. His face is pale, his eyes wide with fear. He looks right at me.

Something about his expression feels like a knife sliding into my gut. I don’t know why.

“Shh! Keep it down!”

“Do you think they heard us?”

The older one — a woman — yanks him back into the shadows. My legs tremble, torn between stopping and surging forward.

They’re afraid of me. They should be.

I press myself against the wall, forcing stillness. My muscles scream, every fiber of my being demanding I move closer. The scent is maddening, a thick, intoxicating fog of life and warmth and blood.

The boy bolts. His name — “Alan!” — pierces the air as the woman lunges after him, too slow.

My body snaps into motion, a puppet pulled by strings I can’t control. I catch his arm, my grip ironclad. He screams, raw and piercing, and the woman swings a crowbar at my head.

The impact sends me stumbling. Pain blooms — sharp and electric — then fades, replaced by cold detachment. My gaze locks onto hers.

Her chest heaves. Her eyes glisten, wide with fear and something else.

“Please,” she whispers.

The word cuts through me, slicing deeper than the crowbar ever could. I don’t know her, yet her plea feels like a tether yanking me back from the abyss.

The boy writhes in my grip. His heartbeat pounds against my fingers, the rhythm intoxicating, deafening.

I loosen my hold.

He drops to the floor, scrambling to his feet. The woman grabs him, pulling him behind her like a shield. She doesn’t run.

Why doesn’t she run?

Hunger claws at me, relentless and unyielding, but I stay rooted. My limbs shake, my vision blurs, but I don’t move.

She takes a step closer, her voice trembling. “You’re still in there, aren’t you?”

The question burns. I search for an answer, for a shred of clarity in the fog, but all I find is silence.

“My name,” I rasp. Or try to. The sound is a guttural growl, monstrous and foreign. She flinches, and shame floods me.

She doesn’t wait. She drags the boy away, retreating into the shadows.

I let them go.

When they vanish, the scent fades, leaving only the damp chill of the parking garage. My legs give out, and I collapse to the floor.

For the first time since waking in this body, the hunger dulls, replaced by something colder.

Grief.

It presses against my chest, unfamiliar and suffocating. For them? For myself? For the person I used to be?

The shuffling grows louder. The others are coming. I know they won’t hesitate the way I did.

But for now, I’m still here.

And that has to be enough.

The shuffling grows louder. Wet, uneven footfalls echo through the parking garage, a disjointed rhythm that makes my skin crawl — or it would, if I could feel it.

The others are closing in.

I push myself upright, my movements jerky and unnatural. My legs tremble, barely holding me, and my head lolls to one side. The hunger hasn’t left, not really. It lingers, a constant ache, but the grief… the grief is worse. It presses against me, heavy and suffocating, demanding to be felt.

I don’t have long.

The fluorescent light from the broken doorway flickers, casting distorted shadows across the walls. Shapes emerge from the darkness — figures like me. Their movements are uncoordinated, limbs twitching as they shuffle forward, drawn by the same instinct that led me here.

I know what they’ll do if they find me. Or if they find anyone else.

My gaze shifts to where the boy and the woman disappeared. They’re gone, the doorway dark and empty, but I can still hear her voice in my head.

You’re still in there, aren’t you?

Am I?

The question lingers, gnawing at the edges of my mind as I take a hesitant step backward, away from the approaching figures. My bare feet scrape against the concrete, the sound jarring in the silence.

One of them — a man with a twisted, broken neck — pauses. His head jerks toward me, his milky eyes locking onto mine. His jaw hangs open, a low moan escaping his throat.

I freeze, instinctively holding my breath even though I don’t need to.

He takes a step closer, his movements sluggish but deliberate. Behind him, the others follow, their moans growing louder, more insistent.

Panic surges through me. I don’t want to be like them. I don’t want to lose whatever shred of myself is still left.

I stumble backward, colliding with a rusted car. The sound reverberates through the garage, a metallic clang that sends the figures into a frenzy. Their heads snap toward me in unison, and they lurch forward, their movements more urgent now.

I need to move.

My body protests as I force it into motion, muscles twitching and spasming as I half-run, half-stumble toward the far end of the garage. My feet slap against the damp concrete, the sound echoing in time with their shuffling pursuit.

There’s a door ahead, barely visible in the dim light. I focus on it, willing my uncooperative limbs to carry me faster. The moans grow louder, closer, and I don’t dare look back.

I reach the door and shove it open, the rusted hinges screaming in protest. The air outside is sharp and cold, stinging what little sensation I have left.

The city is silent, eerily so. Skyscrapers loom above me, their windows shattered, their once-bustling streets deserted. The world feels dead, but not in the same way I am.

I stumble into the open, collapsing against a crumbling wall. My chest heaves, though no air fills my lungs, and my hands scrape against the rough surface of the bricks.

Behind me, the shuffling grows fainter. The others haven’t followed.

For now, I’m alone.

The hunger stirs, a quiet reminder of what I am. My fingers twitch, curling into fists as I fight the instinct to turn back, to find the boy and the woman and finish what I started.

I sink to the ground, pressing my back against the wall. The cold seeps into me, a numbing embrace that feels almost… comforting.

My mind drifts. Memories surface again, fleeting and fragile. A name hovers at the edge of my thoughts, just out of reach. It feels important, vital, but every time I try to grasp it, it slips away.

I close my eyes.

The scent of them lingers in my memory, sweet and sharp, but it’s fading now. In its place is something else- a faint, flickering ember of something I thought I’d lost.

Hope.

It’s small, almost imperceptible, but it’s there.

For now, I cling to it.

The city stretches out before me, a maze of empty streets and decaying buildings. Somewhere out there, the boy and the woman are still alive. I don’t know why it matters, but it does.

I push myself to my feet, unsteady but determined.

I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what I’ve become.

But maybe… just maybe… I can find a way back.