CHAPTER LXXIV
The Burning End
When I hurled Amayra's father away to save Mon, I didn't even feel the sharp sting at first—just the heat of panic, the weight of urgency. But when I looked down, I saw the torn flesh on my shoulder. His teeth had sunk into me.
He bit me.
A zombie had bitten me.
I killed him instantly, rage and terror clouding my mind, but it was too late. The infection had already begun to course through my veins.
I was infected.
And I knew… I couldn't go with Mon anymore.
As the truth settled over me like a shroud, Mon looked at me, her eyes wide and disbelieving. "Sam... no, this can't be real," she whispered, shaking her head furiously. "You're coming with me. I won't leave you behind."
I stepped back slowly, pain beginning to creep through my limbs like fire licking at dry leaves. I could feel it—my body betraying me. "Mon…" I said softly, the words trembling in my throat. "Goodbye."
But Mon wasn't ready to say goodbye. She lunged forward, grabbing me tightly and trying to drag me with her. "No! No, you don't get to do this again!" she shouted through tears. "You don't get to push me away every time things get hard!"
My skin was beginning to burn—literally. It felt like acid beneath the surface, a thousand needles piercing me from within. My vision blurred as my blood screamed beneath my skin. "Mon…" I choked, throwing my gun toward her feet, my hands now trembling violently. "Before I turn… kill me. Please."
But Mon stared at me in horror, shaking her head. "No. No, Sam. I won't. You think this is noble? You think pushing me away, dying alone, is brave?"
My voice was changing—rougher, raspier. It felt foreign, monstrous. I could smell her now—not her perfume or sweat, but the scent of her blood pulsing beneath her skin. My instincts were changing. I was becoming something else.
"Mon… please," I begged, falling to my knees. "I can smell you… your blood. I'm not safe anymore."
Mon's voice cracked as she cried, "You've always been like this… so goddamn selfish. Always pretending like dying is some kind of gift you're giving the world. But you don't see the wreckage you leave behind."
Tears streamed down her face as she knelt beside me, gripping my hands. "I've loved you, Sam. My whole life, I've loved you. And every time I thought maybe—just maybe—we could finally have something… you ran. You vanished. And now, when you finally let me in, you want to disappear forever?"
And in that moment—amidst the pain and the fear and the blood—I saw it in her eyes.
The pain. The anger. The love.
The love I'd been too blind, too scared, to see.
I always believed she didn't love me. I convinced myself that she was better off without me, that I was saving her by staying away. But here she was, breaking in front of me, refusing to let go.
And for the first time in forever, I realized…
She had loved me all along.
And now, watching her cry for me—watching her hold on when I was ready to let go—broke something inside me that the infection couldn't touch.
Not even death hurts like this.
The Last Countdown
One of my eyes—it felt like it burst open, the pain sharp, blinding. The transformation had begun. The hunger inside me, the thirst for blood, was no longer something I could ignore. I could feel it crawling up my spine, twisting my thoughts, darkening everything I had once held onto. I wasn't me anymore. I was losing myself.
My body acted on instinct—I grabbed Mon.
But then, I paused.
I didn't hurt her. I couldn't.
Instead, I pulled her into an embrace. One final time. One last memory of warmth before the cold took over. Her arms wrapped tightly around me, trembling, refusing to let go. But I knew I had to.
With every ounce of strength I had left, I broke the embrace… and opened the gate.
And then—I stepped out.
I didn't look back. I couldn't.
I shut the gate behind me, sealing her in, away from the monster I was about to become. My heart pounded like it was saying goodbye too. Just outside, I glanced down at my wristwatch—the digital numbers flickered.
23:24.
That was the moment everything changed.
My eyes clouded over with the darkness of infection. Fire erupted all around me—chaos ignited in every corner. Explosions, burning metal, the crackle of destruction surrounded me. The world had caught fire… and so had I.
And yet…
In the middle of that raging storm of flame and blood, all I could see was her—Mon.
Her smiling face.
The warmth of her hand in mine.
The memory was so vivid, so alive, that for a second… I thought it was real. I thought she was standing beside me again, holding me like nothing had changed. Like we had escaped the fire. Like we had found peace. Like we had found us.
It was beautiful.
For a moment, the world wasn't burning. It was blooming. My mind painted a world where she and I were free, walking under a sky that wasn't painted in ash and flame, where I wasn't dying, and she wasn't crying.
But that was only a dream.
And then—darkness.
Thick, endless darkness.
That was how it ended. That was how I ended.
And when the first morning light of that zombie night finally rose… it did so without me.
But maybe, just maybe—because of me.
After I Was Gone...
After I was gone, the world slowly began to heal.
The zombie virus—the very nightmare that had devoured so many lives—was finally brought under control. Humanity rose from the ashes, bloodstained but not broken. People began to live again, to smile again, to believe again.
Mahi and Aarvi—those two found their peace amidst the wreckage. They started building a life filled with laughter, warmth, and quiet joy. A life I had always wanted for them.
Alex and Aliyana announced their wedding date. The love that once bloomed quietly during the darkest days was now ready to shine in the light. Aliyana even found her mother's letters—those long-lost words wrapped in hope, pain, and purpose. And in those letters, she discovered the pieces of herself she thought were lost forever.
Evelyn, strong and steady, returned to her calling. She picked up her stethoscope again, this time not just as a doctor but as a healer—someone who knew the weight of loss and still chose to fight for life. Her hands saved lives… the same hands that had once trembled holding mine in fear and friendship.
Back home, my mother still sits in her old chair—gazing into the distance, softly speaking to my dad, as if I'm still just upstairs, ready to come down at any moment. They talk about me like I'm part of the wind, the walls, the silence.
And my little brother and sister—they gather together once a month. Just the two of them, a candle lit near my favorite photo. They sit, remembering our childhood… the giggles, the mischief, the warmth of days long gone. Sometimes they laugh, sometimes they cry. But they remember me, always.
And then there's Mon.
My Mon.
She still waits for me.
Even now.
In every breeze that brushes her hair, in every shadow that dances across the floor, in the hush of night when the world is still—she feels me. She closes her eyes, and I am there. A ghost not of death, but of love.
Ours wasn't the perfect love story. We weren't flawless people. We didn't get our forever.
But we had a story.
A real one.
With heartbreak and hope, scars and softness, silence and soul.
And stories like that… don't ever really end.
Even when one of us is no longer there to turn the page, the ink remains. The memories breathe. The love lingers.
And in that lingering…
We live on.