“Doctor! Thank God you’re here. Please tell me this isn’t my fault…” I walked into the middle of the room to where Dr. Cadore was seated. In his right arm he was holding the infant child born from his zombie-patient, “Emma.” He didn’t look up.

I called out to him again, but he didn’t answer.

There was a carpet of blood surrounding his chair, his left arm dangling at his side – the source. “Oh my god, what have you done?” I demanded. He sat there still. A scalpel and six empty syringes lay by his feet.

The body of the infant was purple and gray. She was panting deeply – she was still alive! I knelt down in the blood and reached out to the baby. “It’s going to be ok,” I whispered.

Her head snapped towards me and I could see her eyes – red and black. I fell backwards and looked up at the two of them in horror.

Cadore was dead. With the scalpel he’d carved X’s into his eye sockets before taking his life. Blood and tears soaked his beard and the front of his lab jacket. And the baby.

She had needle marks all down her arm – all the way to her blood covered hands which she sucked at as she grunted at me from Cadore’s cold dead arm.

I shuffled backwards until I hit the wall with my head, my legs leaving a trail of blood mapping my retreat.

“You…you…coward,” I mumbled at the dead doctor. “How could you fucking turn your back on us?”

The infant – did she even have a name? – rocked back and forth, panting and grunting more heavily…as she stared at me. She couldn’t have been more than a few months old. But it was painfully clear that she was no longer human.

Cadore’s arm gave way and the infant fell to the floor. She slapped her hands down into the thickened blood, as if to play, before focusing back in on me.

Covered in red, this baby crawled towards me. Over the scalpel. Over the syringes she crawled. Towards me.

I stood up fast against the wall and looked toward the door. Why did I look to the door? She snarled at me, reaching out as she came closer. She stopped, then stood up.

I grabbed the nearest thing I could – an Erlenmeyer flask from the lab bench – and threw it at the child. It grazed her head, but missed and it shattered on the blood soaked floor.

“Fuck I hate kids!” I yelled. I turned to run from the zombie infant, but stopped in the doorway. Halfway down the hall there was a fire extinguisher hanging from the wall. I walked towards it, took it down, and turned back to the infant.

She was in the doorway, stumbling slowly towards me. I held the extinguisher from the handle and raised it high.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “I’m sorry that you were born, because now I have to kill you.”

Every ounce of my soul told me not to do it. There has to be another way, right? I turned and looked over my shoulder, hoping that somehow a rescue team had arrived and would take it from here. But I was alone. There’s only one way to do this.

Still, the infant walked towards me, just three feet away. I stood there with the extinguisher raised by my head, paralyzed. She lunged, and I did nothing. She grabbed at my pant legs and tried to bite.

She had no teeth. She was defenseless. I stood there and tears streamed from my eyes.


I made it back to the containment site and the officer came to meet me at the truck. We stood there among the dead bodies. On the other side of the fence stood the living dead.

“What did he say? Is he coming? We need the Dr. now!” the officer interrogated me. As I got out of the truck he took a step back. I stared at him blankly, my hands and legs still covered in red.

“We’re on our own now,” I said to him.