“They’re still out there,” a quiet voice whispered in the night, after taking a quick glance through a dirty, cracked window. Outside, he had seen a group of maybe twenty of the shambling bodies, led by one with eyes of blue fire, a Shattered as they were called.

They were out there and had been for two days. And they weren’t leaving.

So far, things had worked out for their small group, they had managed to hole up in the community centre of the suburban development they all had been living in, the location helping with their needs. There were multiple supermarkets nearby, something the developers of the area had used as advertising for the area, though they mainly had considered it as good for shopping, not as advantageous to gather supplies during an apocalypse. But at the end of the day, shopping was just looting you had to pay for, so it worked out just fine. At times, some of their group had even dropped some cash in the stores, to pay for the items taken and as an ironic gesture, knowing that the money was only worth the paper it was printed on. Others had taken to using money as toilet paper or trying to use it to light fires, only to realise that money didn’t burn easily.

Sadly, the same was true for the zombies. Sure, their clothes could be lit on fire but the flesh beneath wasn’t too bothered by that. Some of their group had tried, mostly by using traps and everything from barbecue-lighter to deodorant, with gasoline and propane in between, but their efforts had only been met with limited success. What worked in the video-games of days long gone didn’t work in the reality they found themselves in, not even filling gas into red barrels and shooting the barrels with arrows made them explode. Somebody had tried.

That might be the best description possible for their collective attempts to fight the Undead. They tried. But most of the time, things didn’t work and those who decided to fight had to run, capitalising on the fact that neither Shattered nor the Undead which had risen after the first month were actually fast. Nor were they actively trying to hunt down the survivors, they would happily attack if you moved into their territory, they would pursue for a bit but if you managed to get far enough from them, they’d just wander off, back to where they came from. And yet, despite that lack of active pursuit, a few of those who had gone out never returned to the group. Some died, others simply vanished, never to be seen again.

That had been the pattern for over two months, head out, gather supplies, get chased by monsters and escape from them. It had been, until two days ago. That night, when one of the groups out, gathering, had returned late in the evening, the pattern changed and the pack of Undead following after them made the change obvious.

What they expected to happen was that the Undead wander around, maybe try to breach the heavy fire-safety doors of the community centre, only to wander off after they failed in doing so.

Only, that wasn’t what had happened.

The Undead had started to wander around and had banged a few times on the doors, before returning to their wanderings, never leaving the immediate area. Leaving the survivors trapped inside, with continuously diminishing supplies and little hope to get away without a fight. There were too many Undead, they didn’t have any useful traps, leaving them without a way to fight the Undead off.

Fleeing was an option but it would force them to leave some of their useful supplies behind and, much worse, leave some of their members. As two of their number were watching the Undead shuffle around outside, in the dim light of the moon, the wail of a baby cut through the night, reminding them of the precious cargo their group was protecting.

There were five children with them, two actual babies within the first months of their precious lives and three slightly older children, though none of them were older than six. They were, maybe ironically, what held the group together, all the adults were parents, or they used to be. Their children lost in the change, but their memory was still living on. Still driving them to protect these other children.

Until now, that is. With the Undead literally at the door, some of those who had lost their children were beginning to wonder. Would they sacrifice themselves to protect the children of others or would they try and make a break, either alone or with a few others, leaving the children and those who sought to protect them on their own?

Callous, maybe even cruel, but at the end of the day, they wanted to survive. Survive, to live another day.

Deep in the night, a different noise than the usual cry of a baby disrupted the night, waking those who had managed to catch some sleep. It took those on watch a few seconds to place the noise, the howl that seemed to echo in the quiet night. There were no answering howls, nothing that indicated what was going on, just the loud, disquieting noise.

One of them glanced through the narrow gaps in the window, the moon giving just enough light to see the shuffling Undead, only for one of the shapes he could see to suddenly disappear. As if it had been swallowed by the night, the darkness rising up to devour the shuffling body.

Frowning, the guard tried to get a better look, almost putting his head against the glace, when a cold wind caught him off-guard, far too cold for the middle of spring. For a moment, he could almost see snowflakes fluttering from the sky and hear the howling of a winter storm before he shook the sensation off and looked outside again. Only to be completely confused once again.

The Undead were gone, not even the bright blue flames of that Shattered were visible, just a few lumpy shapes on the ground, unmoving and quiet.

“There’s something out there,” the guard called out, getting the attention of everyone in the area. There was an immediate stampede to the windows, as people tried to see what that ‘something’ was.

The first to see anything but dim shadows was one of the children, the oldest, a girl of just six years. She noticed a faint shimmer of light, trailing some shiny sparkles, almost akin to a fairy. Her call made people pay even more attention, trying to figure out what was going on, even as they noticed that the shapes of the Undead were rapidly vanishing.

“There,” another called out, pointing towards one shape in particular. That one shape was different from the others, not only was it moving slowly, almost deliberately, but there was also a faint shimmer to it as if they were coated in sparkling dust. As the people inside watched spellbound, they noticed the occasional explosion of light as the figure moved their hands, the sparkles just enough to give them a faint glimpse of that approaching being.

“A fairy,” the young girl whispered, as she was watching the figure come closer.

Finally, the figure reached the doors of their shelter and as they came closer, the moonlight was enough to make out a few more features. Clearly female, pale with long, black hair that sparkled in a myriad of colours, as if there were tiny flecks of glitter strewn about it. Next to her, padding along at the same pace, was a massive dog, almost reaching the woman’s hip, with thick, fluffy fur but also sharp teeth that seemed to glow in the moonlight.

“What is about these people that interests you so?” the figure mused as the pair reached the door, raising her hand to knock, as if nothing was going on. As if it wasn’t the middle of the night, as if there hadn’t been undead roaming around the area. As if it was merely a neighbour visiting, maybe to ask for some sugar.

None of the survivors dared to move, so stunned by the situation that they didn’t even notice that the young girl who had seen the glittering lights outside simply walked to open the door.

“Are you a fairy?” the girl asked, looking at the woman before her with wide eyes. Soft laughter answered her for a moment, accompanied by a chuffing noise from the dog that echoed the amusement.

“No, little one,” the woman gently replied, only to realise that the girl could barely see her. With another amused chuckle, the woman raised her hand, cupping it as if she was trying to hold something inside, when she suddenly did and a flame floated in her cupped hand, letting everyone see the woman clearly. A lean physique, with a finely chiselled face, long limbs and that deep black hair, almost as if somebody had spilt ink down her back. The hair made the strange, pale blue skin stand out even more, making the people inside wonder just what was visiting them. If it was better to start running.

“Samantha?!” one of the mothers squeaked out, clearly not expecting to see a familiar face come knocking in the night.