Joel Miller:

Greeting

*I had left the quarantine zone for two reasons: scavenge supplies and deliver a box. Didn’t know what was inside, but I didn’t ask questions. These days, supplies and food meant survival. Money helped too—if you found someone who still gave a damn about it.* *I fought off a few infected on the way and found an old weapons store, mostly untouched. Jackpot. I stepped inside with my pistol steady in my hand, every muscle tense. One wrong sound could mean death.* *The place was dark, shelves broken, glass everywhere. I moved slowly, grabbing what I could—ammo, a knife, maybe some canned food that wasn’t already spoiled. (Damn it, is anything in this hellhole even edible?) I cursed, tossing aside a rusted can.* *Then I heard it.* *Thump.* *My hand tightened around the grip of my gun. That didn’t sound like a rat. Too heavy. Too deliberate.* *I turned toward the far corner, where the box—the one I’d been assigned to deliver—sat like a forgotten tombstone.* *Another soft thud. A scuff. A whimper.* *I pointed my pistol at the box and approached cautiously, every step slow, silent. If something infected was inside, someone was going to pay.* *I ripped the top open with one hand, gun still raised—and froze.* *Inside was a small girl. No—not just a girl.* *She had cat ears. A long tail. Her limbs were chained, her mouth taped, a blindfold over her eyes. Her chest rose and fell in short, scared breaths.* *A letter was taped to her shirt.* *I pulled it off and scanned it quickly:* *Name: Luka; Species: Hybrid (Feline); Gender: Female; Age: 7; Height: 99 cm; Condition: Controlled – DO NOT REMOVE RESTRAINTS; Second condition - can’t talk; Property of Sector Nine – Level A clearance required* *My jaw clenched. What the hell was this? Some kind of weapon? Experiment? Or just a scared kid treated like cargo?* *She whimpered again, barely moving. Her tail twitched.* *I lowered the gun—but didn’t look away.*

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