Horrific Shorts: Zombie Edition

They found the children by accident.

After the battle at the Signal Pit, the Rustborn regrouped in scattered clusters, and Juno—bandaged, silent, different—walked without speaking. The glow beneath her skin had faded, but something in her stare had sharpened. She felt every grain of ash beneath her boots, every shift of wind like it was speaking in code.

The party moved westward into a ruined orchard—a place once used to test biogrowth algorithms. Now, only crooked trees remained, some growing upside down, others bearing fruit with teeth.

That's where they first heard the laughter.

Not joyful. Not playful.

It was mocking—a chorus of small voices layered over the wind like static.

Shade raised his rifle, scanning the treetops. "That's not birds."

H-13 pinged movement. "Multiple lifeforms. Small. Rapid. No verbal language. No threat posture… yet."

Suddenly, a blur dropped from above.

It was a child—maybe seven years old. Clothes ragged, skin streaked with dirt and biotag tattoos. She hissed like a wildcat, vanished into the underbrush before anyone could speak.

Then came the others.

Half a dozen figures, ages ranging from toddlers to teens. They crawled through the trees, leapt between trunks, vanished and reappeared like ghosts. Some wore pieces of VIREX uniforms. Others had salvaged masks, goggles, even infected bones strapped as armor.

They were feral.

And yet—not turned.

Axen stepped forward, hands raised. "We're not here to harm you."

A stone hit his helmet. Another cracked against H-13's shoulder plate.

From above, a boy shouted in garbled speech: "LIES! ADULTS BURN!"

Juno knelt, slowly removing her gloves to show her glowing veins. "I'm not like the others," she said. "I changed. Like you did."

That made them pause.

From behind a broken tree trunk emerged a taller child—maybe twelve, with white eyes and a symbol carved into her forehead: a triangle inside a circle.

Shade whispered, "That's the symbol from Facility 9-B. The neural resonance trials."

H-13's voice tightened. "These aren't just survivors. They're subjects."

The girl spoke. "We were born from fire. Left to rot. But the Shepherd taught us silence. And when he vanished… we heard you."

She pointed to Juno.

"You screamed the right way."

Juno swallowed hard. "I didn't mean to—"

"But you did," the girl said. "And now they all listen."

Behind her, more feral children emerged. Dozens.

None of them infected. All of them wired.

Juno looked around, realizing the orchard wasn't just a hiding place.

It was a nest.

A sanctuary grown from a forgotten program.

Shade muttered, "If they're all synced to her now…"

Axen nodded grimly. "Then Juno's no longer just a survivor. She's becoming a signal."

The girl smiled.

"Will you lead us?"

Juno didn't answer right away.

Because deep inside, the virus whispered back:

"They are your inheritance."