Do Not Let Them See You Stir

No one could say who organized the garden party.

Which, in hindsight, felt less like an oversight and more like the opening move of a very specific kind of disaster.

It sprawled across a manicured lawn that looked like it had been Photoshopped into existence. String lights hung overhead like they were auditioning for sincerity. Drinks had herbs floating in them like garnish was a personality. There were folding chairs, but no one sat. There was music, but no one remembered choosing it.

There were too many people and not enough context.

Everyone acted like they belonged.

No one could explain why.

Marla clocked it immediately.

“Something’s off,” she muttered, watching a man laugh half a second too late at a joke no one had finished telling.

Before she could unpack that thought, two people came sprinting toward her like panic had just been invented.

“You look like someone who reads things,” one of them said, shoving a crumpled note into her hand.

“That’s a weird opener, but go on,” Marla said.

“It’s a warning,” the other added. “Or instructions. Or… a recipe?”

Marla unfolded it.

Whisk eggs until compliant. Add red beets to the omelet and mix well. Do not let them see you stir.

She stared at it.

Then back at them.

“This is either a code,” she said, “or someone is about to ruin brunch in a deeply symbolic way.”

“We tried showing people,” one said. “They laughed.”

“Of course they laughed,” Marla said. “If the apocalypse starts with a beet omelet, I’m not emotionally prepared for that level of irony.”

Still… something about it itched. Not the words. The feeling behind them. Like whoever wrote it had been in a hurry. Or bleeding. Or both.

“We find the person in charge,” she said.

“Who is that?”

“Exactly.”

After some deeply unhelpful pointing—and one woman insisting “the vibe itself is in charge”—they got a direction: a massive building on a hill, looming like it knew something everyone else didn’t.

They crossed the field.

Halfway there, the air shifted.

People wandered nearby, but wrong. One woman stood perfectly still, staring at nothing, her jaw working slowly like she was chewing a thought she couldn’t swallow. A man blinked in long, deliberate intervals, as if reloading his personality.

“Okay,” one of the strangers whispered. “I hate this.”

“Great,” Marla said. “Hold onto that. It’s about to get worse.”

They reached the steps.

And saw the body.

Or what used to qualify as one before it had been aggressively renegotiated.

It wasn’t so much a person anymore as a… situation. Limbs bent in ways that suggested disagreement. Something soft and red pooled beneath it, still deciding where to go. The only identifiable detail was a pair of boots.

Practical. Familiar.

“That’s her,” someone said.

Marla nodded once.

Because behind them, something wet and urgent split the air.

They turned.

And saw it.

At the edge of the party, a man was being pulled down by three… things. Not quite people anymore. Their mouths worked like they’d just remembered eating existed and got very excited about it. One of them tore into his shoulder with the enthusiasm of someone opening a bag of chips they’d been thinking about all day.

There was a sound.

Not a scream.

More like something being unzipped that had never been meant to open.

“Run,” Marla said.

The party didn’t collapse.

It came apart.

People scattered. Tables overturned. Someone tried to politely excuse themselves while being tackled, which felt optimistic but not effective.

The things were getting faster. Their faces were close enough to human to be insulting, but wrong in all the ways that matter. Teeth too eager. Eyes too fixed.

One lunged at a woman near Marla and caught her arm. The skin didn’t tear clean. It stretched first, like it was reconsidering its life choices, before giving up all at once. The thing made a pleased, almost conversational noise as it bit down again.

“Okay, no,” Marla said, grabbing a fallen branch. “We’re not doing this politely.”

She swung.

Connected.

Something cracked. It didn’t seem to care much.

“Great,” she muttered. “Love a resilient problem.”

The melee was chaos. People fought like they’d never practiced, which was accurate. Someone tried to use a charcuterie board as a shield. It did not hold up under pressure, emotionally or structurally.

Marla didn’t stop moving.

She stabbed. Ran. Yanked one of the strangers free just before something took a bite out of his side like it was sampling.

They made it out.

Somehow.

Not everyone did.

---

Time passed the way it does after everything breaks. Quietly. Reluctantly. With a lot of pretending.

The survivors took the building.

Turned it into something like safety.

Rooms were claimed. Routines built. Someone started a chore rotation, which felt both necessary and deeply insulting given the circumstances.

There was a courtyard.

A pool.

Because even at the end of the world, someone will insist on maintaining water clarity.

Evan was that someone.

Marla watched him skim leaves from the surface like civilization depended on it. Nearby, six-year-old Ella sat cross-legged, drawing something with too many teeth.

Her parents had been taken in the first wave. The world had restructured itself around that absence without asking permission.

They had learned to live in the quiet.

It was almost peaceful.

Which should have been the second red flag.

The screaming came fast.

The gates didn’t fail. They were breached. Overrun by numbers that felt personal.

The new ones were worse.

Not slower. Not stumbling. They moved with purpose now. Coordination. Like something had finally finished learning how to use the body it was in.

Faces flashed too close. Lips pulled back too far. One smiled as it ran, like it was about to tell a joke that ended in screaming.

Evan looked up.

Saw them.

Saw Marla.

“Save Ella!”

That was it. No speech. No lingering moment. Just a decision thrown across the air like a lifeline.

Marla moved before the echo faded.

She scooped Ella onto her back, grabbed the spear leaning against the wall, and ran.

The world narrowed.

Steps. Breath. Impact.

Ella clung to her, small and shaking.

“Don’t look,” Marla said.

Ella looked anyway.

Ahead, the courtyard collapsed into bodies and movement. A man was dragged across the ground, heels digging uselessly into stone. One of the creatures leaned down and bit into his side, then pulled back hard, taking something with it that definitely wasn’t meant to travel.

It chewed.

Considered.

Went back for more.

Marla pushed forward.

Fought as she ran.

Every strike a delay, not a solution.

And then—

Her daughter.

Alive.

Not safe. Not okay. But alive.

Standing in the open.

Surrounded.

Time didn’t slow.

It compressed.

No room for grief. No space for speeches. No carefully chosen final words that would make this noble instead of impossible.

Just math.

Two directions.

One choice.

Marla didn’t hesitate.

She hurled Ella forward.

Arms out. Trust in motion.

Then turned.

Charged the oncoming mass.

Spear first. Teeth clenched. A human being making the worst possible decision for the best possible reason.

Something hit her from the side.

Another from behind.

Hands grabbed. Pulled.

A mouth closed on her shoulder and shook like it was trying to win a prize.

She swung again anyway.

Because that’s what you do when there’s nothing left to do.

The last thing she heard was Ella screaming.

The last thing she saw—

Her daughter catching her.

And then—

Nothing.

Because nightmares don’t do endings.