I lay on my back in the tent, hands laced behind my head, fingers digging into the thin mattress. The night had settled heavy and warm over the canvas, but my mind refused to follow. Eleanor's voice kept slicing back through the dark.
Do you know why they can be used this way?
Because they don't know they're people anymore.
I had meant the infected. I wasn't sure that was all I meant.
I sat up fast, sand shifting under the mattress, and pushed through the tent flap. Cool night air hit my face, thick with smoke and the sharp scent of burning wood.
The camp was alive. Voices shouted between tents, laughter cracking sharp and sudden. Fires flickered in clusters, orange light dancing across white canvas and bare skin. Bodies moved everywhere, people passing bowls, children darting between shadows, the raw, unfiltered noise of a community that had nothing to fear from the dark.
