01

The silent scream escaped my lips as the blinding light hit me like a powerful gust of wind, slamming me against the wall. I heard someone scream, but I was so stunned that all I could do was wait for the world to stop spinning violently and come back into focus.

Okay, maybe shooting the car's gas tank wasn't the brightest idea I've ever had, but it certainly wasn't the worst.

I lifted my head, noticing my body lying on the floor in such a strange position that it startled me. With a swift movement, I dislocated my toe and freed myself from the binding that had been holding me without much effort. It wasn't the first—or even the second—time I'd done this. By now, I barely felt the pain anymore.

I heard shouting in the distance and knew my commander must be absolutely livid. Great. Just imagine the paperwork this is going to create!

I tried to get up, but I couldn't. Now free from the restraints, I glanced down again, this time with a clearer view thanks to my new position. The moment I got a better look at my body, the breath was knocked out of me. I didn't fully understand what was happening—what had happened—but there was so much blood, spreading further and further with each passing second.

The movies lied. Shooting at a car's gas tank doesn't work...

My body was riddled with shrapnel from the explosion. A humorless laugh escaped me. I was dying. I knew I hadn't had many choices—either shoot at the car or shoot myself in the head—but now the two decisions felt equally pointless. At least I'd managed to take down more than fifteen with my suicidal act.

The movies lied. Oh, how disappointing.

At least I don't feel pain, just sleep. I'd like to at least win a medal for this.

Charlotte E. H.

Maybe it was the sun on my face, the sand stinging my body, or the stench of rot invading my nostrils and churning my stomach with unsettling ease. Perhaps it was all of these things conspiring together that woke me up.

Which was odd, considering I was supposed to be dead. I mean, I'm no expert on dying, but I always assumed it would involve more fire and the smell of sulfur.

Ignoring the putrid stench and the sun blinding my vision, I pressed my hands against the hot asphalt and pushed myself upright with some difficulty. My head throbbed, and darkness flickered at the edges of my vision before everything came into focus—a woman stumbling toward me, dragging one of her feet and letting out guttural grunts.

But that wasn't what froze me in place.

What caught my attention was the blood soaking her clothes, the grayish tint to her skin, and the unmistakable source of that horrific smell.

My mind snapped to high alert.

What was this woman trying to pull? Was she seriously pretending to be a zombie to scare me?

 — Cool cosplay, — I said, but the words didn't come out in my usual hoarse voice. Instead, they came in a thin, strangely childish tone—a voice that couldn't possibly belong to a woman already approaching the second half of her life.

I looked around, expecting to see a kid nearby, but there was no one else. My gaze returned to the blonde woman, who was still shuffling toward me.

What the fuck?!

Why was she so much taller than me? I cursed under my breath, taking a cautious step back. Something was off—not just about her, but about me. My stomach churned as I instinctively reached for my waist where my gun should have been, only to come up empty-handed.

 — Ma'am? I don't have time for jokes, — I snapped irritably, but the only response I got was a grotesque, guttural growl.

That was all I needed to turn around and start walking—no, stumbling—away from her as quickly as I could manage.

What the hell.

What the hell.

What the hell.

My head screamed in confusion as I took in my surroundings—a deserted road stretching endlessly into the middle of nowhere, with dense forest on either side. Was this hell?

My body felt heavy, weighed down by an unfamiliar weakness. I was disturbingly close to the ground, and all the strength I'd built from years of training seemed to have vanished.

In the distance, I spotted a house nestled in the middle of the wilderness. Taking a deep breath, I tried to quicken my pace, but my strangely short legs weren't cooperating. The sun burned my skin mercilessly, and blonde strands of hair kept falling into my face. Which was odd, considering I wasn't blonde.

By the time my feet hit the house's porch, a relieved sigh escaped me, mingling with my ragged breathing. I wiped the sweat from my forehead and hurried to the door, grasping the handle. Locked. Of course.

Frustration bubbled inside me as I tried again, but the lack of strength in this small, unfamiliar body was a cruel reminder of my predicament. Running a hand desperately through my blonde hair, I realized there was no hairpin to pick the lock. Groaning, I started circling the house, the sound of dragging feet and guttural groans from the — zombie — growing closer behind me.

This had to be a joke. I died and woke up being chased by a zombie. What was this—schizophrenia?

As I rounded the house, my eyes caught on a tiny window, practically level with the ground. Desperation kicked in, and I scrambled to open it. My oddly small body would have no trouble squeezing through the narrow opening, so I didn't hesitate.

In one swift motion, I slid inside, narrowly escaping my pursuer.

I fell to the floor like a ripe jackfruit, groaning in pain as I looked at my scraped knee, next to a pink skirt I hadn't even realized I was wearing. I quickly raised my head, trying to get my bearings before forcing myself to stand up.

I was in a basement, lit only by the faint glow of an open hatch, which illuminated the wooden staircase and part of the seemingly empty basement, filled with dusty shelves.

Shit. If this was hell, I think Lucifer's got some serious problems.

I took a deep breath and made my way toward the wooden stairs ahead. They creaked with each step I climbed, making me grip the handrail tighter as I continued upward, finally reaching the kitchen.

This had to be some crazy hallucination.

Flies swarmed over the dishes in the sink, and the flowers in the vase were wilting, giving me a grim clue as to how long it had been since anyone had been in this house. I searched for a cellphone, but something told me I wouldn't be able to call the police—maybe because this was all just a damn hallucination, probably caused by some powerful sedative.

The TV was on, but out of tune, emitting an irritating hiss as the gray screen flickered, adding to the macabre atmosphere that seemed to consume the house.

I didn't pay much attention to the room. The moment I saw another staircase, I didn't think twice and headed for it, driven by some idiotic hope of finding someone who could explain what the hell was happening.

I climbed the stairs, which led to a corridor with three closed doors. The first door, which I had to stand on tiptoe to reach, opened into a child's room. There, I saw a mirror, and almost immediately, I caught a glimpse of my reflection.

A blonde child with blue eyes and plump pink cheeks stared back at me, her tiny hands clutching the door handle above her head. She couldn't have been more than three or four years old, dressed in a light pink dress covered in ruffles and matching pink sneakers.

I mumbled some words of disgust. I was drugged, or maybe I was dead. In a fit of frustration, I pinched myself, desperate to wake up. But all I felt was pain—too much pain for this to be a dream.

I released the doorknob and stumbled toward the mirror, my fingers trembling as they touched the unfamiliar face. The innocent gaze that stared back at me was that of someone far too young, and the sight of it froze me in place for several long seconds.

I stared, wide-eyed, at the unknown face.

 — What the fuck... — I murmured in disbelief. That couldn't be real. It wasn't real.

Damn it! Have I turned into a child?

I scanned the child's room, trying to make sense of the situation I found myself in. It was unmistakably a girl's room—judging by the bright pink walls and the pile of stuffed bears scattered across the bed.

I moved toward the window, hearing the all-too-familiar roar of that 'thing' outside. Even though my new height barely allowed me to stick my head out, I could see the zombie slamming against the front door, eventually breaking through.

If I was — real, —

Was that thing too?

My heart began to race. As a fan of every zombie franchise out there, I should've felt a strange thrill, but the body of a child left me with a cold, sinking feeling—an almost certain death.

I grunted, glancing around the room. Alright, Charlotte. It's your time to shine. I reminded myself, trying to gather everything I'd learned over the years—from The Walking Dead, movies, and comics, of course. The military training I'd done also helped... well, not much, considering I'd basically killed myself.

A grimace of disgust twisted my face in response to my own thoughts.

Can someone who kills themselves be reincarnated? Well, it didn't technically count as suicide, since I hadn't exactly planned on dying.

I saw a children's backpack in a bright pink like the rest of the room and I picked it up, I wasn't strong enough to go looking for a huge backpack, I climbed on a stool and started looking through the clothes there, only taking two changes of clothes. they would be loose, I didn't waste much more time in the room and went around the house looking for anything that seemed useful. a, food I needed food and water, those were the priorities.

I searched the kitchen and cupboards, finding two cans of soup which I knew I was unable to open due to lack of strength, a small bag of dog food and another of cereal, and considerably small bottles of water.I cursed under my breath at the size of the backpack, realizing it was already full and heavy. I scanned the kitchen again, my eyes landing on a dirty knife in the sink. It wasn't like I was tall enough to land a good hit on a zombie's head, but it was something.

Still, I kept searching, moving through the house, looking for anything useful—like a small pocket knife I had hidden in my frilly dress. The knife I found was medium-sized, and I knew it would look strange for a child—what? Three years old?—to be carrying it. I could barely walk without tripping over myself!

If I found an 'adult,' they'd take it from me. Worse, I was an easy target for 'bad people.'

If only I had a gun.

Amidst some muttered curses, I returned to the room, and it was as if a light bulb went off in my head.

Who would steal a teddy bear from an adorable three-year-old girl?

I rushed toward the pile of bears, my eyes scanning for one that was the right size to hide the knife. It wasn't huge, so it wouldn't get in my way. My gaze settled on a dark gray bear with glass eyes. It even had its own little yellow backpack and was dressed as a sailor, complete with a hat.

I laughed softly, shaking my head.

I cut a small hole in the bear, slipping the knife inside before attaching it to my backpack. The backpack was so large compared to my new small frame that it nearly concealed the entire bear—and almost hid me as well.

I smacked my hand against my head, realizing I hadn't searched the bathroom, let alone the other room. What an idiot I was.

I opened the bathroom door and began rifling through the things inside. There were some medicines tucked behind the mirror—just like Americans tend to do—and a first aid kit under the sink. I still didn't think that was a great place to store them, but who was I to judge?

I packed the kit and the medicines into my backpack, though I now had no more space to carry anything else.

My steps were taken with difficulty due to the weight of the backpack on my small body, so much so that I fell on my butt when I lost my balance and uttered a few swear words before pretending that nothing had happened.

As soon as I opened the door I immediately regretted it, a zombie hanging right in the middle of the room just by a rope that was around its neck. It wasn't the first time I'd seen a scene like that, but it was the first time the suicide bomber stared back at me, screaming and trying to catch me.

The putrid smell mixed with the stench of feces that I knew were there. I never understood how TV shows make it look clean—this was far from an honorable death.

But hey, coming from a former soldier who died in the dumbest way possible, aiming for something out of a movie scene, who was I to talk about an — honorable — death?

I let out a humorless laugh as I hesitated, torn between entering the room or not.

A shiver ran down my spine, a warning of something evil, but I ignored it and stepped inside. On the bed lay something completely unexpected: a revolver.

Did she want to suffer? I frowned as I hid the revolver among the trinkets on my dress. There wasn't much useful in the room, aside from a half-eaten chocolate bar.

It's probably damaged.

No, Charlotte, don't do that...

I bit into the chocolate bar, grimacing at the strange taste. In the middle of my search for something edible, I heard a loud thump—the sound of something hitting the floor. I jumped in fright. The zombie had fallen.

I ran for the door, but my tiny legs didn't help much. I could hear the zombie crawling, followed by the sound of it tumbling down the stairs as I paused in the room. The door was locked, but there was a key. The problem was, I knew another zombie was waiting for me outside.

Fucked.

I grunted in desperation. I didn't have the strength to shoot anything. The recoil of the gun would be too much for these nonexistent child muscles.

I flung the door open and ran, with no time to think or I'd be caught. I dodged the zombie's grip and sprinted down the road, both zombies crawling and grunting in pursuit. It wouldn't be hard to lose them if my legs were longer and I had more stamina.

I whimpered as I ran, trying to recall everything I knew about zombies. There were so many different variations across realities. In some movies, like Zombieland, they ran. In TWD, they dragged their feet on the ground, just like the ones following me. I could try testing them, but with my tiny size, there was no way to deal with zombies like this.

It all happened so quickly. I was already exhausted from running, constantly glancing over my shoulder. Only then did I realize something.

I was spinning in the air.

At first, I didn't feel any pain, just the shock. So many places I could have gotten run over, and I get run over in the middle of a zombie apocalypse, right after being reincarnated? Luck really wasn't on my side.

 — Shit, MERLE, WHAT DID YOU DO?