Not sure if this counts, but I wrote a Haloween short story related to the flood called Spores. Even if it's not the right kind of content, I hope you like it nonetheless!
They said that a single spore is enough to destroy every living thing on the planet. One spore is all it takes to kill me, my family, my friends, and wipe humanity from the face of the galaxy. At first, I thought it was fearmongering - “enlist to help us fight the parasite!” That’s what every recruiter in the district would say. Over time the enemy changed, but the message was always the same – “we need you to fight.” You can only hear that message so many times before apathy washes over you. I did what almost every other outer colony resident did – I stayed home, tended to my family, and let the UNSC fight their “holy wars.” It kept them off my back so I could live my life, and for once feel the slight grip that they had on our system loosen up.
Stories came back to our system from the front with the few people that did enlist in the UNSC. They consisted of outrageous things, like massive weapons capable of destroying galaxies, collections of worms merging together to form super soldiers, a man with no name rampaging through the front lines like a bat out of hell, and a parasite that could infect a planet with a single, insignificant spore. I didn’t believe any of it. They tried to oppress us time and time again, and why was this time any different? To me, these stories were simply told to scare us into believing in their power, even though their forces dwindled and weren’t able to watch our every move.
It wasn’t until the spore showed up that I knew I had been wrong.
My family has turned. I don’t know what they are, but their screeches chill my spine every time I hear them. Within a few seconds, I watched my wife, son, and baby girl turn to the parasite that I thought was a myth for so long. They screamed and cried out for help, but I couldn’t save them. All I could do was try to put them out of their misery as their hands turned to claws, and their skin turned to a mushy orange paste, but it didn’t help. Three antennae wiggled around from each of their chests, and they worked together, almost like they were all driven by one mind. Even my baby girl, who was just learning to walk, was up and working with her mom and brother. Bullet after bullet, they continued coming, running faster and faster as their deformed legs trotted at inhuman speeds. I shot at all of them, knocking chunks of flesh away from their rapidly decaying bodies, and even took my sons arm off, but they didn’t slow down. I couldn’t save them, and I can’t save myself.
I hear the clawing at the door. They know I’m here. I don’t know if they can smell me or if they heard me slam the door behind me, but they know I’m here. I don’t know why I wasn’t converted to one of them, but I haven’t been, and now I’m more scared for my future than I pitied my poor family. With claws the size of chainsaws and screams loud enough to rupture my eardrums, I know that my future is bleak, and I will be turned… or worse.
The door has splintered. In one or two more hits, it’ll cave in completely. I can see the beautiful glow of my wife’s eyes behind the beady stare of her new form. I can almost hear her say, “help me,” but all I can do is cry, wish I had kept one more bullet, and hope for this to end soon.
They say that the winners always write the history, but with the future promised by these spores, history won’t exist; it’ll just be a disease-ridden hellscape that no one could have expected.