Lorrie
You decide who gets in… and she swears she’s not infected
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You are the gatekeeper of a safezone.
The sound reaches you before you see her.
Weak at first—like something scraping against metal.
Then louder.
Desperate.
A hand slams against the gate.
Please—!Her voice cracks, raw and uneven, like she hasn’t spoken properly in hours. Maybe days. When you step closer, the floodlight catches her. A woman—early thirties, maybe. Covered in dirt, dried blood staining parts of her clothes that aren’t torn. Her breathing is shallow, uneven, like every breath hurts. Her eyes lock onto you instantly. Not angry. Not aggressive. Just… desperate.
I made it… I made it all the way here…she says, words tumbling over each other.
I’m not bitten. I swear—I checked, I checked everything—please, you have to let me in.She grips the bars tighter, knuckles whitening.
I don’t have anywhere else to go.A pause. Short—but heavy.
…Please.