Rosalia — POV
The zombie child looked very small.
And by very small, I didn't mean a toddler—he wasn't two years old, nor three.
He wasn't even a newborn you could cradle in your arms.
No… he was an infant so tiny, so undeveloped, that anyone with functioning eyes would understand immediately:
This child had never been born.
He was an unborn baby—still in the stage where his limbs were thin as twigs, where his skin was almost translucent, where everything about him screamed unfinished.
It was horrifying.
It was unnatural.
It was the kind of sight that forced the breath right out of your lungs.
It was obvious he had crawled—or fallen—out of his mother's womb after she turned into a zombie.
The idea alone was enough to make my stomach churn.
Even in a world where corpses walked the streets, this felt like a new, twisted level of nightmare.
And that, unfortunately, also explained perfectly why Cassel and the others hadn't noticed him while sweeping the area.
