I tossed the box of cereal into the cart harder than necessary, my irritation getting to me. Five days. Five whole days I’ve been waiting for my sister to call me after seeing her blast herself out of the ground and climb free of the Institute of the Undead, dragging a half-dead hunk behind her. But has she called me? No. Has she returned any of my hundreds of text messages? No. I pushed my cart further down the breakfast aisle, grabbing the kind Penelope liked too. Something responsible with zero flavor. No thanks. I grabbed a package of my fruity, multicolored goodness for myself. I could almost hear her voice, “That’s straight sugar, Ivy.” She’d say, her pert nose wrinkling. Um, yeah. That’s why your girl likes it. Need something to rev these engines in the morning and coffee is gross. I threw some oatmeal in too, considering buying the one with dinosaur eggs before compromising on a multipack.I knew what this was. How couldn’t I with how many times I’d listened to Penelope tell me about her job? Or when she’d dragged me to the museum one Saturday, and I’d learned the Stages of Infection while hiding my eyes as she showed me her favorite specimens. The Infected, Screamers, Climbers, Stags and Stickers. I shuddered, huddling in the bathroom, holding the container of her medication tight to my chest as I sank between the wall and the toilet, tears streaming down my face. The undead fungus, Ophiocordyceps, had reached the mainland once again.

Pen would want options when she came home. Because she was coming home. It didn’t matter if I had to steal a boat and drive out there myself, I’d be finding my sister. I didn’t fly halfway around the world to come back to Washington, just to sit on my hands and watch the news 24/7. Calling the police hadn’t helped. I kept being redirected to the army reserve, only to be told, “She’s in observation.” They don’t have fucking phones in observation? I turned at the end of the aisle, making my way to the meat section, and looked over the selection. Hmm, maybe I could make burgers? Penelope was the one who cooked, but I thought I could handle tossing stuff into a pan. That’s all it took, right?

The tv over the end-cap switched from a store ad to the news. A newscaster spoke over drone footage of Fortress Island, the enormous crater sealed with some type of hard plastic, like they had for the last week. It was how the world had watched Penelope climb out of a hole blown in the ground, followed by a huge blond guy. My horror had matched my relief at seeing her alive when I comprehended the amount of blood covering her. Only the aggressive and competent way she’d held the gun and forced the soldiers away from her made me believe she was ok. I tried not to think about the creature that had tried to follow them, only to be shot and kicked back into the darkness.

My stomach twisted, the familiar fear hitting me again as it had constantly for the last week. She was ok. She’d come home, and we’d be alright. Penelope was the strongest person I knew. Of course she’d gotten out and of course she’d come home. My big sister was unfailing. I repeated it as a mantra, praying that it was the truth. 

My phone went off, and I scrambled to check it, only to sigh. I shot off a text telling my mom not to drive out. Again. She’d been asking for updates hourly since I’d flown in. My parents had been calling in every favor they could, trying to get information on Penelope. Nothing had come from it yet, and I knew it frustrated them too. 

My phone rang, and I looked at it, ready to calm my parents down again, when I saw the name on the screen and my jaw dropped.

I answered on the second ring. “Penelope?”

“Ivy,” she choked out, bursting into tears. I wept too, trying to yell at her for not texting me and telling her how scared I was, but all that came out was an incoherent mess. My big sister was back and I could stop being strong and let her take care of me again. I cried so hard I didn’t notice the commotion in the store until her voice broke through my sobs.

“Ivy, what’s wrong? What’s going on?” She asked.

I turned in a circle, whipping my cart around. A group of people shouted in front of the seafood counter, and a tall man slammed another into the glass case. “I’m at the grocery store and someone just got attacked.” The attacker screamed, a hair-raising wail before sinking his teeth into the pinned man’s shoulder. “Oh god, Penelope, he’s biting—”

Another patron tried to pull the man off, a strip of skin and fabric caught in the assailant’s jaws as they pulled him off, only for him to scream and turn on the rescuer. Screams echoed in the store’s front, the sound of running feet approaching from the bakery section. Half the other shoppers stood frozen, watching in horror as a dozen men and women ran toward them. I stumbled off, still pushing my cart. “There’s more of them. What should I do?” I yelled into the phone.

“Run,” she shouted. “Get home and barricade yourself in our apartment.”

I shrieked, spinning away from grabbing hands. A woman sprinted at me, her face bloodied and contorted with rage as she screamed. I rammed her with the cart into the bread aisle, loaves falling down around her as I dashed into the street. “I’m out.”

The street was pandemonium; car horns blared as people swerved around abandoned cars. Crowds of people ran down the road, and I flinched as a truck hit an attacking man. A woman crouched on the sidewalk, covering her head and crying, a bagful of groceries spilled on the ground next to her. My sister was still talking, and I had to strain to hear her over the noise.

“Get back to the apartment. I have anti-fungals in the medicine cabinet. Take one immediately, then cover all the windows and doors. I’m coming for you. I’m coming.” Her voice sounded tinny, cutting in and out.

“Penelope, I’m scared—.” Someone knocked my phone out of my grip, sending it spinning until it slammed into the ground, the screen splitting. I stared at it in shock, stopping on the sidewalk. How would I call Penelope? Or my parents? Another person bashed into me, sending me sprawling into the street. I huddled there, scooping up the pieces of my phone and shoving them into the pocket of my billowing skirt next to my keys. My purse was still in the store, abandoned with my cart, but that was a worry for later. I doubted anyone would swipe my credit cards right now. A man moving too fast didn’t see me crouched down and tripped over me. He sprawled on the ground and I hurried to stand and help him up. I reached my hand out to him, only to draw back in horror when I saw half his cheek missing, his teeth gnashing. A gurgling scream began in his throat and I kicked, my sandaled foot connecting with his chin.

I joined the crowd, racing toward our apartment building. I felt like a gazelle fleeing a pack of lions, watching as they pounced on members of the herd as we tried to escape them. They were faster than us; their screams the only warning as they approached, louder and louder, until the person next to you was snatched away. A stitch began in my side and I clutched it, still running despite the pain. I couldn’t stop. If I stopped, I’d die.

A Hispanic woman jogging beside me slowed, and I gripped her forearm, trying to urge her on.

“Keep going!” I shouted. 

A sob ripped from her throat and she stumbled, her arm tearing from my grip. Her scream rang out behind me, but I didn’t dare look back. My heart shattered as I called myself every name in the book for being such a coward. The door to my apartment building was closed, and I fumbled with my keys for the fob to get inside. A group of screaming people chasing the others ran past me, following the crowd, but some peeled to the side, racing toward me. I dropped my keys, cursing before grabbing them and getting the fob on the sensor, ripping the door open and throwing myself in just as the runners hit the entrance. The door locked as they fought to break in, their fists bloodying the window as their eyes rolled. I backed away from the glass, the stitch in my side bending me over as I gasped for breath. The apartments were quiet. Most of the residents were at work in the middle of a Friday. I limped to the stairwell, some remembered instinct telling me not to use the elevator in an emergency.

Dragging myself up the stairs, I hobbled up to the third floor. There were five floors in total in the building, with only six apartments per level. I’d insisted on this complex since it was cozy, despite it not being the most luxurious. Now, I was thankful. Thirty apartments filled with younger professionals meant not too many people here. I slid into the hallway, my keys clenched in my fist like brass knuckles. The door next to ours opened, and I screamed, jumping back as Doris, the crazy cat lady, peeked out, one of her calicos twisting around her feet.

“Ivy, what’s happening out there?”

I pressed a hand to my chest, covering my pounding heart.

“You scared me.” I blurted before registering her question. “There’s a bunch of zombies. It’s like the Collapse all over again.” Tears ran down my face, mixing with my sweat. 

She eyed me, her glower lingering on my exposed stomach from my crochet top with a look of distaste. Doris loved Penelope, despite my sister’s propensity for black clothing, but she always sniffed at me like I was some sort of hussy. She’d called me a hippy more than once, and never as 

a compliment. But she was old enough to have lived through the first Collapse and the steely expression that filled her eyes told me she believed me.

“Get inside. It’s not safe.” She said finally, and I nodded, hiding my keyed fist behind my back.

She sniffed, dabbing her nose with a handkerchief before scooting her cat away with her foot and closing her door. I could hear its plaintive meow even through the wall and assumed it must be close to the cat’s meal time. When her door closed, I dashed past, running to our apartment and unlocking our door. The moment I was inside, I relocked it and then dragged one of Penelope’s heavy Victorian-style black velvet armchairs in front of it. I’d loved the windows when we first moved here, but now I hated them. How would I be able to cover these when those things started to climb? Penelope told me to wait here for her. Fuck. I’d have to worry about that later. I stood, stumbling to the bathroom before yanking open the mirrored door to reach the cabinet.

Where was her medicine? I tossed the old, half-filled bottles in the sink until I found the right one with her name on it. Flucofulvin. I opened the bottle, shaking one pill into my palm before tossing it onto my tongue and sticking my mouth under the faucet, twisting it on and drinking. The bottle was almost full, a whole thirty day supply. I squeezed it tight, carefully putting the lid back on. This medication would save my life. My desperate run home played in my mind and the screams of the woman next to me as she’d been taken down. She was dead. Or turning. And I was out there, with all those people. I could be infected right now. Would I know it? I shivered, looking at myself in the mirror as I imagined the tiny snow-like spores burrowing into my brain. My blue eyes were wild, purple eyeliner smeared, and my shoulder-length platinum blond hair was a mess. I adjusted my septum piercing, some weird part of me needing to straighten it, and I burst into tears again, my hand clutching my face instead as I collapsed to the bathroom floor.