Horrific Shorts: Zombie Edition

The wind howled off the sea cliffs, carrying with it a bitter, metallic scent. Somewhere in the distance, the muffled echo of an old train horn drifted through the air like a warning long forgotten.

Juno stood on the edge of the overgrown embankment, the others resting behind her. The figure she'd seen in the tunnel—the other her—was gone. But the feeling hadn't faded. Part of her was still down there. Trapped, or worse—split.

Below the cliffside, an abandoned railway snaked across the coastline, half-swallowed by earth and fog. This was their next path. The old VIREX emergency rail line, codenamed: Line M-0: Madness Route.

H-13 frowned at the rusted tracks.

"This line was shut before the outbreak even began. Not because it was unstable—but because test subjects who used it either vanished… or returned screaming."

Shade reloaded his rifle. "Screaming I can handle. Vanishing, not so much."

They descended toward the tracks.

The station was a skeleton of bent steel and shattered windows, haunted by time. Vines clawed through broken benches. Timetables still blinked, frozen on one word:

ARRIVAL: DELAYED.

A single train car remained on the line—black, sleek, and humming faintly, as if still breathing.

Juno stepped inside.

Everything was too pristine. Polished. Cushioned seats, glowing ceiling panels, no dust.

"Something's keeping this intact," she muttered.

The doors slammed shut behind them.

The train moved.

No engine, no conductor—just acceleration.

Outside, the landscape blurred—twisting, folding, becoming impossible. Hills curled upward. Trees grew backward. The sky turned purple, then glassy black.

Inside the car, things changed.

Juno's reflection shifted.

Shade saw a child version of himself playing alone in an empty house.

H-13 gripped the seat, sweating. "It's using our memories again—forcing a shared hallucination."

"No," Juno said, touching the wall. "It's worse. The train isn't showing the past. It's building from it. Creating future trauma—preloading fear into our minds before we even live it."

Suddenly, the lights dimmed.

In the aisle stood a conductor—faceless, dressed in moldy VIREX blues, ticket puncher in hand.

He whispered without a mouth:

"Ticket, please."

No one moved.

"Payment is memory," the conductor hissed. "Fare is sanity."

Juno stepped forward and held out her hand.

The conductor took it—and drained a piece of her past.

She staggered as a specific moment vanished: her mother singing during blackouts. Gone. A void.

The train screeched.

It derailed—violently, yet silently—sliding across a bed of bones, crashing into an unseen wall of static.

Then—

Stillness.

The doors opened to a station lit only by candlelight.

Dozens of passengers stood silently—identical to the team.

All clones. All reflections. All possible selves.

One stepped forward, identical to Juno—but her eyes burned blue.

"You shouldn't be here yet," the clone said. "This stop isn't for escape. It's for exchange."