CHAPTER 60: WHAT THE DEAD OBEY

The creak of the couch had woken him.

It wasn’t loud—barely the shift of weight and warmth—but it was enough. Lachlan had trained himself to sleep light, and in a world like this one, it had become instinct. His eyes opened just in time to see the faintest slip of Sera’s body sliding from the couch. She moved like liquid—silent, careful, composed.

She didn’t grab a weapon.

Didn’t throw on shoes.

Didn’t even look back.

Lachlan didn’t move, not at first. He slowed his breathing, muscles slack, eyes open to slits as he watched her pass through the hallway and pause by the window.

She froze.

And then so did he.

A pulse ran up his spine, not from fear—but from something else. Something deeper. Something feral.

He didn’t have to see what she saw to know it was bad. The air in the cabin changed. Heavy. Static. The warmth from the fireplace didn’t reach his skin the same way anymore. Goosebumps rose along his arms. He sat up slowly, silently, and moved across the room in bare feet to the side window.

What he saw knocked the air from his chest.

A horde. At least a hundred of them.

Just at the edge of the trees, where the dark began. Swaying like sea kelp in deep water.

They were... different.

Their skin had gone blue. Not rotting, but cold. Inflated heads. Gaping mouths that stretched too wide, too high, too far around—revealing three full rows of sharp, serrated teeth.

Their eyes were the worst part.

Completely black. Not cloudy. Not dead. Reflective. Alert. As if they saw everything. Understood everything. And didn’t care.

The clothes hung off them like paper bags. Torn winter coats. Oversized jeans. Flannel and wool that no longer fit their skeletal frames.

Lachlan felt bile rise in his throat. These were Lake E survivors. Or they had been.

And now they were something else.

He watched as Sera reached for the small table beside the window and plucked out her contact lenses—one after the other—like it was a ritual. Her pitch black eyes caught the moonlight in a way that looked almost inhuman. Then she stripped off her hoodie, folding it and let it drop to the floor before stepping into the cold night in only a tank top and leggings.

Barefoot. Calm.

She didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t flinch.

She closed the door behind her with a whisper of a click.

And then the real shift began.

Lachlan stepped closer to the window, careful not to wake Noah, who was still snoring quietly in the corner chair. He pressed his fingertips to the windowpane, his breath catching in his throat as he watched her.

Her shoulders rolled back. Her spine lengthened. Her arms stayed loose at her sides, but he could see the tension in the way her fingers curled—like claws preparing to strike.

And then she snarled.

It wasn’t a scream.

It wasn’t a shout.

It was something feral. Something that belonged to wolves or things that hunted wolves. Her entire jaw shifted—he saw it, saw the angle of her skull move as her mouth opened wider than it should have, filled with three jagged rows of teeth.

His blood turned to ice.

She wasn’t like the others. She wasn’t like anything.

But the monsters—those things outside—recognized her.

They didn’t charge.

They didn’t growl.

They just... trembled.

They shifted faster now, moving from side to side in that same slow dance, as if waiting. As if... swaying to her.

Then she stepped forward.

Lachlan’s body jolted, every nerve on fire. His feet itched to move. His hand slapped against the window without thinking. Not hard—but enough to stop himself.

Something inside him screamed at him to go after her.

Protect her.

Run to her.

Get her away from them.

His chest constricted as she took another step toward the line of blue flesh and black eyes. The creatures pulsed in sync, and then one lunged.

Sera moved like smoke.

One swipe of her claws—and its head flew clean off its shoulders, sailing into the air like a broken doll.

But the body didn’t fall.

Instead, where its head had been, something began to shift. Grow. Stretch.

Lachlan’s stomach flipped.

Within seconds, a new head had formed. The creature opened its mouth—and a second version of itself began to rise from the severed piece of flesh nearby, pulling itself up from the dirt with identical teeth and identical clothes.

"What the fuck..." Lachlan whispered.

He pressed his palm harder against the window.

The creatures weren’t dying.

They were multiplying.

Every slash she made—every severed limb—created more.

And she didn’t stop.

Sera danced through them like a shadow with claws. Her body bent, ducked, leapt—never letting the horde close in. She was poetry. Brutal and fluid, every movement designed to maim. But the more she killed, the larger the horde grew.

A hundred became one-fifty.

One-fifty became two hundred.

Still, she fought.

Still, she moved.

Lachlan’s breath came faster. Too fast. His chest heaved.

Then she got hit.

It wasn’t much—a claw across the thigh. A gash that opened up and spilled thick purple blood.

And something inside him snapped.

His jaw clenched so hard he thought his teeth would break. Except—they didn’t. They were changing.

His gums ached.

His molars shifted, pressing forward, the tips of his front teeth sharpening into points. He shoved a hand into his mouth, trying to stop the transformation—but the second he touched his own teeth, he knew.

They weren’t his teeth anymore. They were the same as hers.

Three rows of serrated triangles, perfect for ripping things apart.

His other hand curled into a fist.

And he felt it—wetness.

He looked down.

Blue.

His blood was glowing blue.

Not red.

Not human.

"What the fuck," he mouthed again, this time with shaking hands.

He opened his palm.

The nails had lengthened—just barely. Not like hers. Not yet. But they were sharper. Stronger. His fingertips itched. His legs twitched like they were preparing to leap.

He was turning into one of them.

He stumbled back from the window, nearly tripping over the edge of the rug, one hand still in his mouth, the other clenched tight.

Why wasn’t he mindless?

Why wasn’t he swaying at the tree line?

Why wasn’t he one of them?

His body throbbed.

His mind burned.

But his eyes—his eyes never left her.

Sera pinned one of the zombies down—her claws buried deep in its chest—and the moment she did...

The rest of the horde froze.

Every single one.

There was no swaying.

No twitching.

Nothing.

They simply dropped to their knees.

One after the other.

Rows of teeth gleaming in the moonlight.

Necks bared.

Lachlan stared, heart pounding, blood racing with a rhythm not entirely his own.

Because he knew what this was.

He knew what he was watching.

And for the first time since the world ended...

He wasn’t sure who the monsters really were.

"Sera..." he whispered, his voice catching as the first zombie lifted its chin higher—offering itself completely to her mercy.