3. Resurrection

The harsh glare of the fluorescent light was blinding.

It felt like I had kept my eyes closed for a long time, and it took several blinks to focus. After what seemed like endless blinks, my surroundings finally came into view.

A hard hospital bed, a thick IV needle stuck in my vein, the sharp scent of medicine, and the restraining straps binding my arms and legs—these details slowly registered in my foggy mind.

‘A hospital…’

I thought, dazed and slow, as if I were drugged. My thoughts crawled like a turtle, taking too long to grasp how strange it all was.

Had I been dreaming? A long dream? But it felt too real to be a dream. Logan had come into my room, zombies had appeared, we ran, we hunted, and then I turned into a zombie…

‘Was it all a dream?’

Were those vivid memories just a dream? Where did reality end, and where did the illusion begin?

As I blinked dumbly at my surroundings, the sound of an intercom broke through the silence. Someone was calling for the doctor.

“Patient 023 has woken up! Doctor, come to Room 023!”

I tried to open my mouth to speak along with the intercom, but no sound came out.

My throat was so dry that even breathing hurt, as if I had swallowed shards of glass. Every breath was agony.

‘Doctor, please come quickly. Tell me if I’ve lost my mind or if I’ve been dreaming this whole time.’

Could it be that I’d been in a coma from a car accident? Did I just dream all that nonsense?

‘The zombie outbreak, the end of the world, Logan killing my mom—it was all just a lie, right?’

* * *

Not long after, the hospital door swung open, and a group of people in white coats rushed in, poking and prodding me without a word.

They pried open my eyelids with flashlights, checked the inside of my mouth, and lifted my shirt to palpate my bare chest. It felt clinical, cold, like I was a specimen rather than a patient.

Gloved hands checked my pulse, drew blood, examined my pupils, and measured my temperature.

The doctor’s examination was rough and impersonal, as if I were livestock. I should’ve been angry, but my body refused to cooperate. Speaking was difficult, and I didn’t even have the strength to twitch a finger.

‘Will someone explain what’s happening to me?’

Frustration gnawed at me.

“Uhh, who… who are… where?”

I struggled to form words, my voice barely a hoarse whisper. No one paid attention.

The doctor jotted something down on a chart, nodding with satisfaction as if the results were favorable.

“Normal for now. Call the guardian.”

My eyes widened.

‘A guardian? Yes, call my parents… Please, come and get me. Save me from this nightmare.’

I waited for the door to open, expecting to see my mom and dad walk in.

‘But… Logan? Why is he my guardian?’

Instead, it was Logan who entered the room. He looked sharper, tougher than I remembered, more hardened than the Logan in my memories.

His hair was cut short, military-style, and his face was sun-tanned with small scars. It was Logan’s face, but something about him seemed different, like he was someone else entirely.

Logan’s gaze was sharp, his eyes locked on me as he addressed the doctor without looking away.

“How is she?”

“Her condition is quite good. Her pupils and pulse are responding normally. Until now, we haven’t had any cases where a zombie that’s been infected for over a year has reverted back to being human…”

The doctor adjusted his glasses and glanced down at me with a fascinated expression, as if I were some strange, rare creature. Behind him, a nurse grimaced, her shoulders hunched, as though she was looking at something revolting.

The reactions of everyone around me were varied and strange, leaving me bewildered. My body felt heavy, my thoughts sluggish, and it took a moment for the doctor’s words to sink in.

‘Infected for over a year?’

Had I been a zombie… and then turned back into a human?

It was unbelievable. No, it was impossible. I had no memory of being a zombie. It felt like I had simply been asleep for a long time.

My last memory was of asking Logan to kill me, and him hesitating, unable to pull the trigger.

*And then… he told me he had killed my mom. My vision had turned red, and my mind exploded in rage.*

So, that memory was real. It wasn’t just a nightmare.

Had an entire year passed since then? Had I been living as a zombie for a whole year… was that even possible?

What mattered now was that a cure had been found. That must have been how I was treated and brought back to human form.

But I couldn’t even begin to imagine what had happened to me during that year. The thought that I had been a horrifying, grotesque zombie was something I couldn’t bear to believe.

‘But I’m human again. I’m alive, and that’s what matters, right?’

The biggest question gnawing at me was this: why, and how, did Logan save me? Did he keep me by his side while I was a zombie? Why?

Was it because he couldn’t bear to kill the daughter of the woman he had already killed? Out of guilt?

My breath grew shallow, the frustration building as the questions piled up inside me. I wanted to ask him so many things, but I couldn’t get my voice to cooperate, and it was driving me mad.

The doctor looked up at Logan and asked.

“Are you really going to take her with you? The zombie virus hasn’t completely disappeared. There’s a high chance she could turn again.”

“I lived with her even when she was a zombie.”

Logan replied calmly.

“Ah, yes, of course. You did, didn’t you.”

The doctor shrugged, as if the question had been unnecessary.

“Technically, she can’t be discharged in her condition. If you weren’t immune, Colonel Logan, we wouldn’t have been able to authorize it. You’ll need to be extra cautious.”

“I understand.”

“In that case, I’ll prepare the discharge papers and prescriptions. You’ll need to pay close attention to the instructions, as she still requires careful monitoring. Please follow me.”

With that, the doctor and Logan left the room, not a single word or glance directed toward me.

No one asked the typical questions you’d expect for a patient lying in a hospital bed: *How are you feeling? Are you dizzy? Is everything okay?* Not one person cared enough to treat me like a normal human being.

I felt strange. I was supposed to be fine now, a human again. Yet, no one treated me as such. It was as if I were still a zombie, looked down on with the same fear and disgust.

‘…I feel sick. I can’t breathe.’

It felt like ants were crawling over my skin. I wanted to scratch myself, to ease the unbearable itch, but…

I was still bound by the restraints of the straitjacket. It served as a constant reminder that I was still considered dangerous. Still a threat.

I left the room in a straitjacket, wheeled out by Logan, who had, without my consent, become my guardian.

As we passed through the hospital, my expression was frozen in shock.

Every room had barred windows, and inside were zombies, locked away like prisoners. The nurses all carried guns holstered at their sides, and beyond the hospital walls, tall fences and razor wire surrounded the facility.

What I thought was a hospital was, in fact, a zombie research lab. The realization hit me hard.

If Logan hadn’t taken me out, what would have happened to me? I would’ve been treated like a severely ill patient in a mental institution, strapped to a bed with no way to move.

‘Should I be grateful to Logan?’

He hadn’t killed me when I became a zombie. He made sure I received treatment and even became my guardian. Objectively speaking, I should be bowing to him in gratitude.

‘But Logan killed my mom.’

My heart couldn’t open to him.

The anger that had consumed me when I first heard Logan’s confession was still fresh, like it had happened yesterday. How could I forgive him so easily?

‘I never asked him to save me. I wanted to die, and yet, he saved me on his own. Why should I be grateful for that?’

A mix of resentment and confusion swirled inside me. I hated him for what he did, yet part of me felt thankful and wanted to rely on him. It left me feeling conflicted, torn between anger and guilt.

So, I selfishly thought to myself:

‘I didn’t ask to be saved. You acted on your own, so I won’t forgive or thank you so easily’

Defiance bubbled up inside me. I stayed silent on purpose as we passed through the security gate and into the car.

I glared at Logan, my breath coming in harsh, angry huffs.

‘But in the end, who does that really hurt? Only me.’