The creature that was once human opens its mouth and emits a gargled bark at me. Blood oozes from sores in its gums where sharp, calciferous teeth have grown in like stalactites and stalagmites. A few maggots cling to the bloody drool dripping from its lips.

It barks at me again, and then it pulls itself the rest of the way into the corridor and lumbers forward. The torn fabric of its spacesuit hangs off its broad shoulders and muscular arms. Congealed blood scabs over a large bite wound on its leg.

"Shit, shit," I curse.

Once it gets past the door, it picks its pace up to a run.

"Fuck!" I leap a step back, putting the door to the galley between myself and the monster. A grubby, gnarled hand reaches around the door, but right before it can grab me, I shove the door to the galley open the rest of the way. With a thunk, it clocks the zombie in the head right between the eyes.

The undead growls and staggers back a few steps, and I dart into the galley.

I grab the handle to swing the door shut behind me, but the zombie reaches around it, latching on to the side. I yank back, and with a bone-snapping crunch, I slam its fingers in the frame.

"Fuck off!" I scream.

Its fingers continue to claw at the door. I push it open a few inches before slamming it on the bloody, broken fingers again.

Its hand squirms in the frame as the monster releases a guttural bark. Another set of fingers claw their way into the gap, pulling and prying to get it open. The zombie's face stares at me with blind, empty eyes through the widening crack between the door and its frame. It mashes its teeth up and down like it is trying to bite through the air. In its gums, between the gaps of its pointy, shell-like teeth, the parasites writhe, producing a bloody pink foam.

I yank on the door and lean my entire weight back, but even with its fingers crushed, the zombie is too strong. The gap widens, and it shoves its head through, snapping its jaw at my arm.

Screaming, I release the handle and leap away, narrowly avoiding its teeth as they close on empty air. The zombie falls back as the door flies open, but before I can move to pull it shut, the monster pushes itself to its feet and charges at me.

I scamper three steps back and turn on my heels. In six more strides, I reach the back of the small galley. The soles of my boots screech as I skid around the island countertop. We were supposed to set up habitation tents on the surface, including a kitchen, so the galley on the starship is hardly big enough for one person to cook a meal in, let alone big enough for a girl with a sprained ankle to escape a raging zombie.

Once I've put the island counter between myself and the monster, I turn to face it. It charges directly at me, leaping onto the stainless steel-coated counter and landing on its hands and knees. Before it can reach out to grab me, the entire ship quakes as the monster outside slams into it again. The zombie falls forward, its face smacking the metal countertop.

I brace myself against the counter behind me, gritting my teeth. Pain flares through my ankle as the clattering of falling pots and pans within the cabinets fills the galley.

Before I can make a move to get away, the monster regains its balance. It bares its teeth at me and snaps its jaw. I press myself as far back against the counter behind me as I can, holding my breath as its teeth clink against the glass of my helmet. My fingers find the handle on one of the counter draws. Without looking, I slide it open and grab the first utensil I touch.

"Die!" I scream at the zombie as I swing the fork at its face. I was hoping for a knife, but this will do. I connect with its left eye. A release of pressure like popping a water balloon follows as the tines break the surface.

My hand shakes as I release the fork, leaving it lodged in the monster. A yellowish goo leaks from the deflating eye, and the fork twitches around as it tries to move its eye beneath it. A worm crawls out of its mouth and into the leaking puss, feasting as it heads up towards the eye socket.

As quickly as I can, I dart to the other corner of the galley to put as much distance between it and me as I can. I swing open one of the cabinets behind me and grab the handle of a frying pan. Gripping it in both hands like a baseball bat, I wield the pan out in front of me.

"Come and get me, you sack of shit," I snarl at the monster.

It does as it's told. It crawls across the counter on its belly, croaking and snapping its teeth at me. With a grunt, I swing the pan back and smack it on the side of its head as hard as I can.

The zombie slides off the counter on impact, tumbling to the floor and landing on its back, right between me and the door.

It rolls over onto its stomach and begins to push itself to its feet. My heart races. I need to get out of here, but it is blocking the way I came in.

I glance behind myself, searching for a way out other than past the zombie. Between the two cabinets mounted on the wall, I see it—the door to the storage room! We learned in training that the storage room has two access points, one through the galley for access to the dehydrated food, and a second at the other end of it that leads directly into the main corridor, between the icing pod chamber and the entrance to the bridge.

Without missing a beat, I punch in the code to unlock the door to the storage room open and rush inside. The sounds of the zombie croaking and grunting are muted as I slam the door shut behind me.

My heart hammers against my ribs. I lean back against the door, panting as the sound of the zombie scratching on the other side reverberates through the metal barrier.

I don't know if the zombie knows how to open doors, but I'm not willing to risk it. The storage room can only be locked from the outside, so I have to find another way to keep it shut. I scan the dark room with my headlamp before stopping on a large crate next to me. The side of it says, "dehydrated lasagna."

I take a deep breath and rush behind the crate, shoving it with my shoulder until it is in front of the door, forming a barricade.

The starship shakes as the massive flying alien outside slams into it again, and I fall to my ass. Pain shudders through my body. "Dammit," I mutter.

The zombie on the other side of the door is silent for a second. I hold my breath.

With a bang, it slams into the door. I brace myself, but the door holds. Slowly, I rise to my feet, but then, in the light of my headlamp, the handle twitches.

Click, click, click.

"Shit, shit, shit," I hiss. The latch ticks over as the door slides open an inch, letting a sliver of light from the galley into the dark storage room. A set of gnarled fingers poke through the gap, clawing their way in and shoving against the door.

It will only take the monster a few minutes to get the door open wide enough to fit through. I don't have enough time to slide another crate in front. I've got to move.

Without wasting another second, I break into a run. I forgot to turn the lights on, so the only light is my headlamp illuminating the path in front of me.

"Which way is out?" I mutter to myself under my breath.

I dart past racks of crates containing more dehydrated food. I skid to a stop at the end of the row. I shine my headlamp left and then right before deciding to try my luck with the route on the right. Running my hand along one of the crates, I take the turn quickly and charge down the next row.

Large bins line the space from floor to ceiling. These contain the equipment and supplies we would have used to set up our colony. I brace myself against one of the battens holding the bins in place as the floor shakes beneath me again. Why won't the monster outside just give up?

I watch my step as I make my way down this row. A few of the bins were opened by our crew when we landed as they prepared to assemble the solar cells and rover, and of the materials are now scattered along the passageway. The ship shakes with another impact, sending stray nuts and bolts clattering across the floor. A light-weight titanium rod about the diameter of my index finger that was intended to be a part of the rover rolls towards me, and I narrowly miss planting my foot on it and slipping.

I pick up my pace to a jog once I pass the scattered equipment. With only the beam of my headlamp illuminating the space, I don't realize I've reached the end of the row until it's too late. I slam into the stack of crates against the back wall with a crash.

I rub my shoulder where I banged it and shine my light to both sides, searching for my next turn. Towers of crates and bins are stacked all around me. "Crap." I slam my hand back against the bin I crashed into in frustration. I've reached a dead end.

I turn to head back the way I came, but before I can take a step, the sound of something breathing stops me in my tracks. The noise comes from above. Sweat drips down the back of my neck as I turn my head to direct my light up.

A drip of red flashes in the beam of my light. With a splash, it lands in a small puddle on the floor. Another drip follows, and before I realize what is happening, a creature leaps down from the top of one of the bins.

I scream. The zombie that was once a woman lands on its hands and knees in front of me in a clumsy crouch. Immediately, it turns its head up to face me and emits a guttural croak. My headlight shines right at its two dead eyes. Blood gushes from its mouth where a few human teeth still hang from the swollen, bloody gums. It shakes its head like a wet dog, dislodging one of the teeth and sending it clattering to the floor.

From the crouched position, the zombie takes a lumbering step towards me. Before the undead can get any closer, with a scream, I throw my foot up and slam it into its gruesome face. Another tooth flies out of its mouth on impact, and I feel a satisfying crunch of cartilage crushing beneath the sole of my boot.

The monster falls back a yard, but that only makes it angrier. The creature yowls and barks at me as it scurries toward me on its hands and knees, parasites and spit flying from its rabid, foaming mouth.

Screaming, I charge at her and leap on to her back. I land feet first, slamming the soles of my boots down as hard as I can. I nearly fall as her arms buckle beneath her. I jump off on the other side and roll into a summersault. I use my momentum to push myself to my feet.

Before I've gone more than a few steps, a hand curls around my injured ankle, squeezing and crushing my already bruised bones as it yanks me back.

"Fuck!" I yelp. My leg is pulled out from under me, and I fall flat on my stomach. I flip myself onto my back, shining my headlamp at the zombie as I kick at its hand with my free leg.

It refuses to let go, clawing at my leg with its other hand, but I pull it back just before it can close its fist around me. I scamper back a foot, and my hand brushes over something cool and smooth—metal. I close my fist around the rod from the rover.

"Get off me!" I scream as I smack the zombie's hand with the rod.

Its knuckles release for just a second, and I roll forward onto my knees. I push myself off the ground, leaping away from it, but the monster is too quick. It dives at me, landing on my back. Its teeth click as they snap at the glass of my helmet. Our limbs tangle together as we roll across the floor. It grabs into my left wrist.

"Let go!" I snarl at it, snapping my teeth. I whack it in the side of its head with the titanium rod, but it doesn't even flinch. With a grunt, I swing my head forward, bashing my helmet into its skull.

The grip on my wrist releases for a second—just long enough for me to yank it Free.

Immediately, I jump to my feet. For good measure, I smack the monster over the head with the rod one more time. Blood explodes from its skin at impact. Maggots swarm out of its nose and mouth in a frenzy as it croaks out a groan.

Even though blood gushes from its head, it still doesn't give up its attack. It begins to push itself to its feet, but I don't stick around. I turn on my heels and limp as quickly as I can down the row of bins. When I reach my turn, I give one glance down the first row of crates, at the door to the galley. The other zombie has now managed to stretch its shoulders and head through the opening in the door. It claws at the crate of dried lasagna, trying to pull itself the rest of the way through.

Gritting my teeth against the pain in my ankle, I charge down the other row of bins as quickly as I can—the one I should have gone down in the first place. I skid to a stop at the end of it, taking another turn through the maze and rushing down another row of crates. At the end of the row, the beam of my headlamp illuminates the shining metal on the handle of the other door—my way out.

"Yes!" I shout. I reach it and swing it open. Light from the corridor bathes me as I leap out.

"Almost there." I don't even bother to close the door behind me as I rush the last few steps down the corridors to the door to the pilothouse. My gloved hand slips over the handle as I swing it open, and I all but fall into the room. I slam the door behind me and lock it.

I lean back against the door, panting as my heart races. I scan my surroundings, terrified that another zombie might be lurking here too.

The pilothouse is small and open. It's the only space on the starship with windows.

Front and center, four chairs with massive seatbelts sit in front of the numerous equipment and sensors used for manually flying the spaceship. The vast extent of the mission was done on autopilot—the only exception being landing—which four members of our crew were trained specifically for. Those were their seats.

Sixteen other seats with heavy restraining belts are located along the other walls of the pilothouse—where the rest of us sat during landing. I swallow a small lump in my throat as I think about Carl. One of those seats was never used.

In the right wing of the pilothouse, in front of a massive window, a single seat is placed next to the main radio transmitter. That seat is mine. My boots click against the shiny, chrome-coated floor as I approach it. I slide into the seat, taking in the view in front of me as I snap my helmet off and replace it with the transmission headset.

Beyond the thick glass window, I stare into the monstrous face of the worm that chased me onto the starship. Like vultures, other flying aliens emerge on the horizon. Their wings buzz around them, and their tentacles flail through the air.

I have no time to lose. I hit the button to warm the transmitter up. The monster slams into the glass right in front of me, and the ship shakes. I brace myself, gripping the arm rests and grinding my teeth together. Finally, the light on the transmission system turns green, signaling that it is ready. It beeps, waiting for me to start recording my transmission—my final transmission.

I think for a split second about what I am going to say, and then I hit the button and engage the broadcast.