Horrific Shorts: Zombie Edition

They stumbled into the chapel at sunset, bloodied, breathless, and barely standing.

It wasn't part of the plan. None of this was.

The mission had been simple: get in, grab the generator, get out. But the mall was overrun—more than they'd ever seen. A swarm like a living storm. They barely escaped through a broken delivery shaft, Ryder carrying Milo with a gashed leg, Lara dragging the gear, and Tess shielding them with a stolen riot shield.

By the time they found the chapel on the hill—half-collapsed, windows shattered, cross still clinging crooked to its steeple—they weren't looking for God.

Just a place to breathe.

Inside, candles still burned.

Someone had lit them. Recently.

Rows of pews stood like weary soldiers. The altar was dusty but untouched. Vines wrapped around the pillars like wedding ribbons from another world.

"It's beautiful," Tess said softly, blood trickling from her forehead.

"No such thing left," Ryder muttered, setting Milo down on a padded bench.

Lara found the side room. A vestry. Shelves lined with old wine bottles, holy books, and—miraculously—a first aid kit.

She cleaned Milo's wound. Wrapped it tight. He groaned, then passed out.

Ryder stared at the stained glass. One panel showed a wedding—bride and groom beneath golden light, hands intertwined.

He didn't speak, but Tess sat beside him, silent.

After a while, Lara returned, dirt on her hands, and tossed something into his lap.

A faded white cloth.

A veil.

"Thought you'd want it," she said.

He blinked. "Why?"

She smiled—tired, small. "Because this chapel's about to host a wedding."

Tess laughed. "You serious?"

Lara nodded. "We've lived through fire, flood, and fury. We've watched people rot, burn, lie, and leave. But somehow, we're still here."

She looked at Ryder. "You still believe in her, don't you?"

He swallowed. "Every minute."

"Then say it out loud," Lara said. "Let this broken world hear you."

And so they did.

Tess tied a scarf around Ryder's neck like a makeshift collar. Milo, still half-dazed, acted as best man from the bench.

The altar became a sacred stage.

Lara officiated, voice quiet but steady.

"Ryder Elias. Do you take the memory of Lia—your strength, your softness, your survivor—to be your anchor in chaos, your vow in violence, your heart in mayhem?"

He looked up at the shattered ceiling, sunlight bleeding through the broken cross.

"I do."

He tied the veil around his arm.

"For her."

They stood in silence.

No rings.

No audience.

Only the wind and the flicker of forgotten candles.

Then, as they stepped away from the altar, the infected screamed in the distance.

Ryder didn't flinch.

He smiled.

Because even if this world tore everything apart—one thing stayed whole for him.

His love. His vow.

Married in mayhem.

And mayhem would never undo it.