《They Who Hunger》


 Forsaken

    "White"


    The last color I saw before everything fell apart. The rhythmic beeping of the machine beside my roommate was my only comfort, the only thing keeping the silence at bay¡ªuntil they appeared.


    Story Start


    The fluorescent lights buzzed softly, casting a sterile glow over the hospital room. The air smelled of disinfectant, sickness, and something else¡ªsomething I couldn''t quite place. The rhythmic beeping of machines droned on, a cruel reminder of the slow march of time.


    "It''s just a broken leg, for Christ''s sake." My voice cut through the sterile quiet of the hospital room, frustration laced in every word.


    "Why the hell do I have to be stuck here for a week?" I groaned, my irritation boiling over.


    A raspy voice cut through my rant, rough and tired. "Can you¡­ fucking shut up?" It was quiet, but the weight behind it was enough to make me freeze. "At least let me die in peace."


    I turned my head slowly, suddenly aware of just how little I had paid attention to my roommate, Marcus, before now.


    I glanced over at him. His skin was waxy, stretched too thin over his bones, and his eyes were dull, sunken. A faint, unpleasant odor clung to him¡ªlike something left out too long. I told myself it was just sickness. Just decay from within. But still¡­ something about it made my stomach turn.


    I sighed. "You''re right. My bad." I did feel for the guy. Dying alone in a hospital room? No visitors, no one waiting for him outside? That wasn''t a fate I''d wish on anyone.


    "Still, I don''t get it. I can take care of myself. Instead, I''m stuck here listening to the beeping like some kind of death countdown." I sighed, shifting uncomfortably in bed.


    Patience was never my strong suit, and maybe this was my punishment for it¡ªforced to endure the same dull routine every day. I let out a dry chuckle at my own joke, more to keep myself from losing it than anything else. Screw it. I needed a distraction.


    I fumbled for the call button clipped to the side of my bed and pressed it. A few moments later, the intercom crackled.


    "Yes?"


    The voice on the intercom was flat, indifferent, as if whoever was on the other end was barely paying attention.


    "Hey, the remote''s gone. Can someone turn on the TV?" A long pause. Then, an exasperated sigh crackled through the speaker, heavy with impatience.


    "Is this an emergency?"


    I rolled my eyes. "No, but I''m losing my mind here."


    Another pause. A reluctant sigh, drawn out like they were weighing the effort of dealing with me. "Sure, I''ll send someone over."


    The intercom clicked off, leaving me alone with the steady beeping of the monitors. I exhaled, settling back into my pillow, staring at the ceiling.


    A few minutes passed in silence. Then, without warning, static crackled through the speaker, sharp and grating like nails on glass.


    I frowned. That was new.


    The sound sent a prickle of unease down my spine. I waited, fingers gripping the bed sheets as boredom turned to discomfort. Then, I pressed the call button again.


    "Hello? Did you already send someone?"


    The same voice responded, but something was wrong. There was an edge to it now¡ªa strained tightness, a mix of fear and urgency barely held in check.


    "I''m sorry, but we have no available personnel at the moment. A large number of patients are currently experie¡ª"


    The intercom cut out abruptly, leaving the last syllable unfinished, swallowed by dead air.


    I sat up, unease curling in my gut like a clenched fist. What the hell was that?


    A few seconds passed. Then¡ª


    "Sir!" The voice came back, but this time, it was frantic. "Are you okay? Are you still in your room?"


    My pulse spiked. "Yeah? What the hell is going on?"


    Shouting erupted in the background, voices overlapping, tangled in confusion and fear. A crash, then another. Someone screamed¡ªa raw, desperate sound that made my blood turn to ice.


    "Get security up now!" a voice barked. More static. More voices.


    Then, one voice cut through the chaos. A man, furious and terrified all at once.


    "The fuck? Get away from me, you freak! Don''t touc¡ª"


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    A sharp gasp. Then¡­ nothing.


    The intercom went silent.


    I waited, gripping the sheets in a vice-like hold.


    It didn''t come back on.


    It never would.


    "What the hell''s going on?" I muttered, shifting uncomfortably in bed.


    I turned to Marcus, hoping he had some insight. "What do you make of it, man?"


    He didn''t answer. Didn''t even look at me. He just stared at the wall, his expression empty.


    A strange, uneasy feeling crept up my spine. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths. Had he always breathed like that? The sickly sheen on his skin looked worse now¡ªgreener, like spoiled meat.


    I sighed and lay back, trying to shake the tension from my body. Whatever''s going on, it''ll fix itself, I told myself. I''ll just sleep it off and wake up when everything''s normal again.


    Then¡ª


    COUGH!


    The sharp, guttural sound shattered the silence, jolting me upright. My head snapped toward Marcus.


    COUGH! COUGH! COUGH!


    His entire body convulsed violently with each hack, his frail frame jerking like a puppet with its strings yanked too hard. His chest heaved, his ribcage rising and falling in erratic spasms, as if something inside him was trying to claw its way out.


    His breathing turned ragged, wet¡ªlike he was drowning in his own lungs.


    "Hey, man¡ªhang in there." My pulse spiked. Panic bled into my voice.


    I wanted to help. I had to help. But what the hell could I do? I wasn''t a doctor. I had no medical expertise. And the intercom¡ª


    The intercom was dead.


    The silence from it was suffocating. A cruel contrast to the sounds of someone choking to death just a few feet away.


    I clenched my fists. Think. Do something.


    "Hold on, I''ll get someone."


    I swung my legs over the bed, but the second I put weight on them¡ª


    THUD.


    Agony shot up my broken leg like wildfire, sending a searing jolt straight through my bones. My body crumpled instantly, slamming onto the cold tile floor.


    "Fuck¡­!"


    I gritted my teeth, sucking in sharp breaths as I pushed myself onto my elbows. My leg screamed in protest, but I ignored it. I had bigger problems.


    Then¡ª


    Silence.


    The coughing had stopped.


    A wave of relief started to wash over me¡­ but it didn''t last.


    Because if Marcus wasn''t coughing anymore, that meant one of two things.


    Either he was fine.


    Or he was dead.


    A cold weight settled in my stomach. My mouth felt dry.


    I swallowed hard.


    "¡­Yo, man¡­ you okay?"


    I gazed at Marcus'' body, confusion washing over me. His skin sagged, drained of color¡ªnot pale like a sick man, but like meat left out in the sun. His veins were dark, pulsing, as if something inside him was trying to crawl free. A sickly, gray-brown hue had set in, veins darkening beneath the surface. His lips had peeled back slightly, revealing teeth that looked longer than they should.


    Then, he moved.


    I wish he hadn''t.


    A series of cracks and pops echoed through the room as his joints jerked unnaturally. His neck twisted too far to the side before snapping back with a sickening jolt.


    In a fraction of a second, he lunged out of bed and crashed onto the floor beside me.


    "FUCK FUCK FUCK¡ªWHAT THE HELL IS THAT!?"


    Adrenaline hit me like a truck. I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the searing pain in my leg.


    "Cut it out, man!" I shouted, grabbing the nearest IV pole as a makeshift weapon. Not that I had the guts to use it.


    Marcus¡ªwho, just moments ago, could barely move¡ªwas now twisting, his body contorting in ways no human should. Then, with a frantic jerk, he stood up. His limbs spasmed as he lunged at me again, mouth wide open¡ªaiming to bite.


    I barely dodged in time as Marcus crashed onto my bed, rolling off the other side with a sickening thud. My mind raced.


    What the hell is this thing? Is this still Marcus?


    No. This¡­ this wasn''t happening. It couldn''t be.


    Marcus was sick. That''s all. Maybe he was having a seizure or some kind of violent reaction. Maybe¡­ maybe he was still in there.


    I grabbed the IV pole, gripping it so tightly my knuckles ached. "Marcus," I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. "Come on, man. Talk to me."


    He jerked again¡ªspasming, twitching, his head tilting at an unnatural angle. No recognition in his eyes. No pain, no fear. Just¡­ hunger.


    Cold dread pooled in my stomach, thick and choking. My breath hitched. My fingers trembled around the IV pole


    This wasn''t Marcus anymore.


    I tightened my grip on the IV pole. I didn''t want to do this. I shouldn''t have to do this.


    But if I didn''t, I was dead.


    But my hands still shook.


    I tightened my grip on the IV pole, but the thought of swinging it¡ªof bashing in the head of the man I''d just shared a room with¡ªmade bile rise in my throat. He was already dead, wasn''t he? Was I about to kill someone who was already gone?


    No. That thing standing before me¡ªit had Marcus'' face, but Marcus was gone. And if I didn''t move now, I would be too.


    The problem? I stood no chance in a fight. Even in perfect condition, I wasn''t exactly a fighter¡ªand with a broken leg, I was as good as dead in a fair brawl.


    I needed a plan. Fast.


    The best I could hope for was to make him trip again, giving me an opening. If that even worked.


    Still, I''d rather die trying than just die.


    No way in hell was I about to be torn apart by a rotting old man.


    I had no time to waste. If I wanted to survive, I needed more than just blind luck¡ªI needed a real plan.


    I could try placing a chair in his way, hoping he''d trip over it. Or maybe I could bait him into lunging at me again and pray he''d crash into something. But those ideas relied too much on chance, and right now, I didn''t have the luxury of gambling.


    No. If I wanted to live, I had to take control. I had to trip him. I had to create my own opening and end this before he got the chance to tear me apart.


    My heart pounded against my ribs, my grip tightening around the IV pole as I braced myself.


    "Come at me, you fucker!" I roared, forcing more confidence into my voice than I actually felt.


    The rotting husk that had once been Marcus twitched at the sound, his head snapping toward me in a jerky, unnatural motion. His milky, lifeless eyes locked onto mine, and for a brief second, I swore I saw nothing human left in them¡ªjust hunger.


    A chill crawled down my spine, but I clenched my jaw.


    Fear could paralyze me. And if I hesitated for even a second, I was dead.


    Marcus let out a guttural snarl¡ªa sound too deep, too raw to come from human lungs. Then, he moved.


    Not like a man. Like a puppet whose strings had been yanked too hard. His joints popped, his spine jerking at unnatural angles as his feet barely skimmed the floor. His hospital gown, torn and stained, clung to his gaunt frame, fluttering with his erratic movements.


    His fingers twitched¡ªbone-thin, the nails cracked and blackened. And his mouth¡­ dear God, his mouth. It stretched too wide, lips peeling back like torn leather, revealing gums shriveled and black. His teeth¡ªlonger now, jagged and wrong¡ªsnapped together like a bear trap, saliva thick and yellowing, dripping onto the tile.


    And his eyes. Empty. Clouded. As if nothing human remained inside.


    I held my ground.


    Come to think of it, I''d never really stood up for myself before. I always let things happen, let people push me around. I was never the type to fight back.


    And now? It took the literal end of the world for me to finally stop running.


    Better late than never.

 Sanctuary… For Now?

    "Unity"


    The last thing I expected from an apocalypse. But at least it''s a positive one, to say the least. In a world where it feels like God has forsaken us, it''s the only thing we can cling to.


    Story Start


    I knew that hitting Marcus head-on wouldn''t be enough. A half-assed swing wouldn''t kill him¡ªit would only get me killed. If I was going to survive, my plan had to work.


    I tightened my grip on the IV pole, my palms slick with sweat, my fingers trembling around the cold, metallic shaft. Marcus lurched forward again, his decaying body twisting unnaturally, bones cracking with each movement. His sunken eyes¡ªclouded, inhuman¡ªlocked onto me, a wet, gurgling growl escaping his ruined throat. The stench of rot was overwhelming, a mixture of spoiled meat and death that clung to the sterile hospital air.


    The sound of his approach¡ªlike wet meat slapping against tile¡ªsent a violent shudder down my spine. No time to focus on that. No time for fear.


    I steadied myself, sucked in a sharp breath, and swung.


    CRACK!


    His leg shattered like brittle wood, the jagged edges of his tibia piercing through necrotic flesh. He let out a strangled, choking sound as his body collapsed to the floor, his face hitting the cold tile with a sickening THUD.


    I stared at his twitching form, my breath ragged, my heart slamming against my ribs. His limbs convulsed, fingers spasming against the blood-speckled linoleum. A sickly-colored fluid seeped from his shattered limb, pooling beneath him in a viscous, unnatural puddle. Not blood. Something else. Something wrong.


    But there was no time to think about it. No time to hesitate.


    I raised the IV pole above my head, gripping it like a spear, my pulse roaring in my ears. My breath hitched, and for a split second, I hesitated.


    Then I thrust it down.


    A wet, crunching sound echoed through the room. The pole sank deep into his skull, piercing through softened bone like a knife through rotten fruit. His body spasmed once, then stilled. The air was heavy, thick with the metallic tang of something unnatural.


    "I did it¡­ I fucking did it."


    I stumbled back, my hands trembling, the IV pole still lodged in his skull. A part of me wanted to be horrified. Another part was relieved. Marcus was dead.


    And then reality slammed back into me.


    The intercom. The distant screaming. The chaos unraveling around me. This wasn''t an isolated incident.


    I staggered to the door, gripping the frame for balance. My leg screamed in pain, but adrenaline dulled the worst of it. I took one last look at Marcus'' body, twisted and broken on the floor.


    Then I stepped out.


    And into hell.


    The hallway was a battlefield.


    People like Marcus¡ªshambling, ravenous, wrong¡ªwere attacking anything that moved. Doctors and nurses, once fighting to save lives, were now forced to take them. Blood splattered across sterile white walls. A gurney slammed into the ground with a deafening crash as a nurse was tackled onto it, screaming. Teeth tore into flesh. Handprints dragged along the surface like someone had been clawing their way to safety. A gurney lay overturned, its wheels still spinning lazily. A doctor¡ªhis coat stained with crimson¡ªwas on the ground, his throat torn open, glassy eyes staring blankly at the ceiling as a hunched, snarling figure feasted on his insides.


    Bodies. Everywhere. Some still twitching, others completely still, their flesh torn away in ragged chunks. The air was thick with the stench of iron, antiseptic, and decay.


    Then they turned.


    The dead¡ªwhat was left of them¡ªjerked toward me, their heads snapping unnaturally in my direction. Hollow eyes, slack jaws, and rotting teeth dripping with viscous fluids. They moved in sharp, erratic bursts, their bodies no longer bound by the same rules as the living.


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    "Oh, fuck me," I breathed.


    No time to gawk.


    Move. Now.


    The ground floor was a death trap¡ªI knew that much from the intercom chaos. And if this infection spread, that meant outside wasn''t any better. Running out the front doors would be suicide.


    That left one option.


    I have to go up.


    If I could reach the next floor and barricade myself inside, I might have a chance. Best case scenario? I hold out long enough for help to arrive.


    Worst case?


    "Don''t think about that," I muttered to myself, shaking off the thought.


    I turned sharply, sprinting toward the nearest stairwell, my leg screaming in protest. I could barely think beyond the thunderous pounding of my heart. But then¡ª


    Three of them.


    They lunged out of a side hallway, dragging a man down as he let out a bloodcurdling scream. I skidded to a stop, panic clawing at my throat. That path''s blocked.


    "Shit, shit, shit!" I gasped, spinning on my heel.


    No choice. I pivoted, forcing myself down another corridor. The hospital was a damn maze, and every second spent running blindly meant I was running out of time.


    Suddenly, another three biters lunged out in front of me.


    I had to take another detour, sprinting through the hospital''s winding hallways, desperately scanning for signs that could lead me to the fourth floor. Every second counted. And with all this running, I had attracted a horde.


    "Someone! Please¡­ HELP!" I cried out, desperate for an escape.


    The snarling grew louder. The sound of feet dragging, bodies slamming against walls as they scrambled toward me. The chaotic symphony of the dead closing in. My legs burned. My breath came in ragged gasps. My vision blurred at the edges.


    They were gaining on me. The hospital was a damn maze, and the chaos around me was shifting. The sound of fighting was fading¡ªreplaced by guttural snarls and bloodcurdling screams.


    That meant only one thing.


    Most of the survivors were dead.


    "Please¡­ someone¡­" I gasped, my breath ragged, my legs burning. My adrenaline could only push me so far¡ªespecially with this broken leg.


    Was this it?


    I stumbled, my vision blurring. I regretted everything. Wasted time. Wasted chances. I wished I had lived more before all this happened.


    Then¡ª


    CRASH!


    A medical cart barreled into the hallway behind me, toppling over with a thunderous bang. The noise was deafening.


    Before I could even process what had happened, they appeared.


    Five figures¡ªclad in scrubs, lab coats, and makeshift armor¡ªrushed into view. One of them, a woman in blood-splattered scrubs, shoved another cart into place, forming a barricade. Another swung a crutch like a club, cracking it against a snapping jaw. They weren''t soldiers. They weren''t prepared for this.


    But they fought like people who had no other choice.


    "MOVE IT, DUMBASS!"


    One of them, a tall man with a jagged gash across his temple, shouted at me.


    I didn''t hesitate. I ran.


    My leg throbbed with agony, but I pushed forward with everything I had.


    Behind me, the sounds of battle rang out. Then¡ª


    Silence.


    I glanced over my shoulder.


    Four of them were now running alongside me.


    The fifth?


    Gone.


    The same person who had shouted at me was now barking directions as we ran.


    I had no idea who they were.


    But I knew one thing.


    I owed them my life.


    We reached a stairwell¡ªand at the top, a barricade.


    A group of survivors stood behind it, gripping weapons, their faces tense. The wall itself was a haphazard mix of hospital tables, chairs, and whatever else they could scavenge. Unlike the chaos below, it seemed like the upper floors had managed to gain some control¡ªunlike the third, second, or ground floor, which had already fallen.


    The guards spotted us running for our lives and immediately unlocked the barricade.


    We stumbled inside, breathless, just as the rest of our group caught up. No sooner had we passed through than the guards slammed the barricade shut, locking us in.


    Then¡ª


    CRASH! BANG! SLASH!


    The horde hit the barricade like a battering ram. Dozens of them. Their snarls and guttural howls filled the air as they clawed at the makeshift wall, trying to break through.


    But the survivors here had prepared for this.


    The barricade had strategic openings, just large enough to jab spears through¡ªa kill hole.


    They wasted no time.


    Spears shot out like fangs, piercing through rotting flesh, impaling biters one by one.


    The floor trembled with the sheer force of the attack. But for now¡ª


    For now, we were safe. But it didn''t feel like safety¡ªit felt like a pause. The barricade groaned as the dead pressed against it, their weight straining the stacked hospital beds, overturned desks, and IV stands holding it together.


    A nurse¡ªher uniform streaked with dried blood¡ªjabbed a broken IV pole through a gap between the barricade''s layers. A sickening squelch followed as the sharpened metal punched through a biter''s eye socket. Another survivor did the same, using what looked like a snapped-off mop handle with makeshift duct-taped shears attached to the end.


    Spears. Not true weapons, but tools¡ªcobbled together from whatever could be turned into something sharp. A necessity when the only thing keeping us from being torn apart was a wall that wouldn''t hold forever.


    And from the exhaustion in their faces, I could tell¡ªthey had been fighting like this for a while.


    How much longer could they last?

 Fractured Sanctuary

    "Fractures"


    We weren''t safe. Not really. Safety was just an illusion¡ªa fragile thing held together by luck and desperate hands. And I had a feeling our luck was running out.


    Story Start


    I could still hear them. The dead. Their snarls seeped through the barricade, a constant, grating reminder that we were trapped.


    The survivors worked in tense silence, reinforcing weak spots, shoving tables and broken stretchers into place. They had done this before¡ªtoo many times, judging by the exhaustion carved into their faces.


    The man who had shouted at me earlier¡ªtall, lean, blood drying on his temple¡ªturned to face me. His sharp eyes raked over me, assessing.


    "You hurt?" His voice was rough, clipped.


    I swallowed hard and shook my head. "Just banged up. My leg''s not great."


    He exhaled through his nose, nodding. "We''ll patch you up. After that, you pull your weight."


    No introductions. No pleasantries. That''s how it was now.


    "Why did you save me?" My voice came out hoarse, raw from running.


    He looked at me, his expression unreadable. "We didn''t mean to. You were just there." He turned, already walking away, then added over his shoulder, "We lost a good man because of you. Hope you were worth it."


    I swallowed hard. I wasn''t. I was just a guy who had run fast enough. Who had gotten lucky.


    But luck wouldn''t get me much further, would it?


    A woman in scrubs¡ªher uniform torn, splattered with dried blood¡ªmotioned for me to sit against the wall. I obeyed, wincing as I stretched out my leg. She crouched beside me, unzipping a half-empty first aid kit.


    "It''s a bad sprain," she muttered, wrapping my ankle with quick, efficient hands. "You''ll have to deal with it. We don''t have meds to spare."


    I nodded stiffly. "Got it."


    Her fingers hesitated¡ªjust for a second. "What''s your name?"


    That caught me off guard.


    "¡­Kael."


    She gave a tired smile. "Elena." Then she moved on to the next wounded survivor, not wasting another second.


    I leaned my head back, closing my eyes for half a breath. My body ached. My mind buzzed with everything I had seen, everything I had done.


    Then¡ª


    BANG! BANG! BANG!


    My eyes snapped open.


    The barricade shuddered violently. The metal carts groaned under the force. The moans grew louder, a chorus of hunger and mindless fury.


    "More of them." A weary survivor muttered, grabbing a makeshift spear and driving it through the kill holes. They had been at this for a long time¡ªlong enough for the horror to become routine.


    "Damn it." The words slipped out before I could stop them.


    The world really had gone to shit, hadn''t it?


    Then¡ªanother sound.


    A scream.


    Not from the barricade.


    From inside.


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    I whipped my head toward the noise, adrenaline spiking. The others reacted instantly¡ªwhipping around, gripping makeshift weapons.


    A middle-aged survivor clutched his side, his pale face slick with sweat. His fingers were slick with something dark.


    No.


    Not just dark. Red.


    The realization hit all of us at the same time.


    "He''s been bitten," someone whispered.


    A cold weight settled in my stomach.


    "No, no¡ªwait, I¡ª" The man''s voice cracked. He staggered back, shaking his head violently. "I didn''t¡ªIt''s just a scratch! I swear!"


    It didn''t matter.


    The infection didn''t care about excuses.


    The tall man¡ªour leader, for lack of a better word¡ªstepped forward. His expression was unreadable. His grip tightened around the crowbar in his hands.


    "You know the rules."


    Panic flashed across the bitten man''s face. "Please¡ªplease, don''t¡ªI can fight! I can¡ª"


    "We can''t risk it."


    Elena''s voice was quiet but firm, though I noticed her hands trembling at her sides. She swallowed hard, her fingers twitching like she wanted to reach for something¡ªanything¡ªthat would change the reality of this moment.


    The room tensed. No one wanted to say it, but we all knew what came next.


    The man''s breath hitched. His gaze darted around the room, desperate. Looking for mercy. Looking for a way out.


    There was nothing.


    Then¡ª


    A choice.


    Put him down now or let him turn? And who would do it?


    The weight of it settled over us, heavy, unspoken. Someone had to act. Someone had to make the call.


    For the first time, I wondered¡ªwere we really any better than the dead?


    "Show your veins. Now."


    I stepped forward, limping toward the commotion.


    The wounded man''s gaze snapped to me. He clutched his side even tighter, desperation etched across his face. "No¡­ I swear, it was just an accident!"


    His voice rose, sharp with panic¡ªloud enough to draw unwanted attention.


    Our de facto leader stepped forward, gripping a makeshift spear. His tone was firm, final. "Do what he says. This is your only chance."


    The man''s eyes darted around, searching for sympathy. He found none.


    "Fine¡­" He exhaled shakily and lifted his shirt.


    Darkened veins. Rotting skin.


    A quiet verdict.


    "That settles it," the tall man muttered, tightening his grip on the spear. He stepped forward.


    "Wait¡ªwait! NO!"


    The plea barely left his lips before the spear plunged between his eyes. Blood spilled as his body crumpled to the ground.


    I stared, stomach twisting. The coppery scent of blood was thick in the air, clinging to the back of my throat. I had seen plenty of corpses¡ªhell, I had even put some down myself.


    But this?


    This wasn''t a monster. This was a man. Breathing. Pleading. Human.


    And yet, no one hesitated. No one even flinched.


    The silence pressed in, thick and unbearable, stealing the air from the room. I forced myself to look away, my gaze sweeping over the wreckage around us.


    Blood¡ªsmeared and splattered¡ªstreaked the cracked linoleum tiles. Half-used IV bags dangled from their stands, some still dripping onto the floor. A wheelchair lay on its side, one wheel spinning, as if someone had fled only moments ago. This wasn''t just a hospital. It was a graveyard.


    The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and something sharper¡ªsomething rotting.


    Spacious, yet somehow suffocating.


    For a moment, silence. Then the tall man exhaled, staring at the corpse with a grim expression.


    "Clean it up. We still don''t know how it spreads."


    No argument. He was right.


    "You just killed a man in cold blood!" The elderly woman''s voice trembled, but her eyes were hard. "And it meant nothing to you."


    Her wrinkled features barely hid the judgment behind her gaze. "How can we be sure you''re not already compromised?"


    The tall man let out a short, humorless laugh. "If it weren''t for me, you''d all be dead by now¡ªparalyzed by your own indecision." He exhaled, as if he''d had this conversation before. "And to answer your question¡ªI''m ex-military. Killing a man isn''t new to me."


    Without another word, he turned back to the corpse and yanked his makeshift spear free. Blood dripped onto the dirt.


    "For now, focus on the barricade. Those fuckers are still banging."


    I glanced around, watching the others. No one liked this new reality¡ªleast of all their so-called leader. But none could deny he was right. More would have died if he hadn''t acted.


    After a beat, the tension in the air broke. Heads shook. Eyes lowered. One by one, they returned to their tasks, some peeling away to reinforce the barricade, cutting down the infected still clawing at the walls.


    Survival didn''t wait for conscience.


    "You the new guy?"


    A slim man approached, his fingers twitching at his sides. His sunken eyes darted around the room, never settling on one place for long. He looked wired¡ªlike a man running on fumes and paranoia.


    "Yeah, I''m Kael¡­ nice to meet you?" I kept my tone light, but something about him set me on edge.


    His fingers twitched, foot tapping an uneven rhythm. He smelled of sweat and desperation.


    I frowned. Something was off.


    His gaze flitted across the room¡ªquick, jittery, like a trapped animal searching for an exit. His foot tapped, his jaw clenched, his breathing uneven.


    "Did¡­ did you see anyone die out there?" His voice was barely above a whisper, but there was something raw underneath it. "While they were trying to help you?"


    My stomach tightened.


    "Yes." The guilt still sat heavy in my chest.


    The moment the word left my lips, his whole body went rigid.


    His breathing hitched¡ªjust for a second. His hand moved.


    My gut screamed Move.


    Too late.


    He lunged.


    "What¡ª?"


    Before I could react, I was slammed into the wall, a cold blade pressing against my throat.


    "You got her killed."


    His eyes were wild, his grip unsteady, but the knife was real. Lethal.


    Others saw the commotion but hesitated. An armed man was still an armed man¡ªno matter how frail he looked.

 No Time to Mourn

    "Collapse"


    I should''ve seen it coming. Desperation makes people reckless¡ªmakes them dangerous. And in this world, danger doesn''t always come with rotting flesh and vacant eyes. Sometimes, it''s the living you need to fear most.


    Story Start


    The knife''s cold edge kissed my throat, sending a sharp prickle of fear down my spine.


    "You got her killed."


    The man''s bloodshot eyes darted wildly, pupils blown wide¡ªnot just from exhaustion, but something deeper. Something broken. His grip was unsteady, but the blade was real. Lethal.


    I didn''t move. Didn''t breathe.


    Around us, the others froze, hands hovering near their weapons, uncertain whether stepping in would escalate the situation. The leader¡ªstill holding his bloodied spear¡ªnarrowed his eyes. Calculating.


    I forced my voice to stay calm. "Who?"


    His fingers twitched against the hilt of the knife. "Anna." His voice cracked on the name. "She tried to save you. You didn''t even see her, did you?"


    My stomach twisted. I swallowed hard.


    I hadn''t.


    "There were too many," I said quietly. "I¡ªI didn''t know."


    He let out a shuddering breath, his face contorted with grief. "She didn''t have to die," he whispered, inching the knife closer to my throat. The cold steel grazed my skin.


    A deep voice cut through the tension.


    "For Christ''s sake, we''re being swarmed by the infected, and you think now''s the time to turn on each other?" The de facto leader''s grip tightened on his spear, frustration etched across his face.


    "She made a choice," he continued, stepping forward. "We all do." He placed a firm hand on the grieving man''s shoulder. "She chose to save him. That''s not his fault."


    "Shut up!" The man''s voice was raw, jagged. He shoved the leader back and pressed the knife harder against my throat. "You don''t get to talk. You don''t get to decide who lives and who dies."


    His hand trembled. His breathing turned ragged. He was unraveling.


    If I didn''t act now, this would end badly¡ªfor both of us.


    I swallowed hard, steadying my voice. "I''m sorry," I murmured. "But if you kill me¡­ will it bring her back?"


    His eyes flashed. His grip faltered.


    "Don''t¡ªdon''t pull that shit on me!" he spat, his voice cracking, spittle flying with every word. His eyes burned with fury¡ªbut beneath it, sorrow. A flicker of hesitation.


    Just a flicker.


    Then¡ª


    I struck.


    My hands shot up¡ªgripping, twisting. The blade grazed my skin, but I yanked free and shoved him hard. He staggered back, breath hitching in panic.


    "You fucker!" he snarled, clutching his arm.


    But before he could recover¡ª


    CRACK!


    The leader swung down hard, the makeshift spear¡ªa repurposed IV pole¡ªsmashed into his skull


    The man crumpled.


    Silence.


    A heavy, suffocating silence.


    I touched my throat, my fingers coming away slick with a thin line of blood. It wasn''t deep. A warning cut.


    The leader exhaled sharply, adjusting his grip on the spear. "Anyone else want to turn this into a damn soap opera?" He rested the weapon on his shoulder, scanning the group.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Silence.


    "Then get back to work," he snapped before striding toward the barricade, driving his spear into the infected clawing at it.


    People hesitated, glancing at the unconscious man on the ground, then at me. No one spoke. No one helped him. They just turned back to their tasks, as if this was normal.


    Because it was.


    I stepped toward the unconscious man, eyeing the knife at his side. Slipping it into my pocket, I muttered, "Might be useful later¡­"


    I swallowed hard and stepped away from the body. My hands still trembled, my pulse still thundered¡ªbut there was no time to process any of it.


    The dead were still out there. And they weren''t waiting.


    Hours passed, enough time for me to settle¡ªif only slightly¡ªinto the group.


    We worked through the night. Reinforcing. Securing. Preparing.


    With each passing hour, the moans outside grew louder, more frantic. Something had stirred them¡ªlikely the chaos from the infected man earlier¡­ and now the one who had threatened me.


    "Pressure''s building," Elena muttered, tightening a bandage around a survivor''s arm. "They''ll break through if we don''t do something."


    I looked at the barricade, my gut twisting. The metal carts were bent, the makeshift spears bloodied from constant use. We were holding, but barely.


    "We should leave," I said. "Find somewhere safer before they overwhelm us." I gestured to the barricade, now worn and splintering. "If not, then at least secure a fallback point¡ªfor when we run out of food or when the infected break through."


    The leader scoffed. "And go where? There is no safe¡ªonly less dangerous." His voice was firm, unwavering. "And how do you expect a bunch of medical professionals and patients¡ªmost of whom wouldn''t last a day out there¡ªto relocate?"


    He wasn''t wrong. He might sound like an asshole, but he was right. Every decision he had made, no matter how brutal, had always been for the group''s survival.


    Still¡ª


    "Staying here is a death sentence," I pressed. "This is a hospital¡ªsure, we have some food left, but it won''t last. The cafeteria is downstairs, swarming with infected. Even if the barricade holds, we''ll starve."


    It surprised me, standing my ground like this¡ªchallenging a man twice my size.


    No one argued. But no one moved, either.


    Before we could continue arguing, the next attack came.


    A deafening boom shook the hospital as another horde crashed against the barricade, the noise likely drawing even more of the infected.


    "Shit! It''s going to fall!" the leader shouted, stepping back and tightening his grip on his spear.


    A section of the barricade gave way with a sickening crunch, and the dead poured in¡ªshrieking, clawing, lunging.


    Chaos.


    Screams.


    Blood.


    The hospital floor became a battlefield.


    A man was dragged down, his cries cut short as teeth tore into his flesh. A woman stumbled, trying to poke out the infected with an IV pole. Another survivor swung wildly with a chair, the impact cracking a skull open like an egg.


    I ran. Limping. Fighting. Surviving.


    A pair of rotting hands lunged for me¡ªI dodged, letting it crash into the wall. I brought up my knife and stabbed it through the head. The creature went limp, but another took its place. Always more.


    "Elena!" I called out, scanning the chaos for her. Next to the leader, she was our greatest asset¡ªan actual medic. Out here, knowing how to treat wounds wasn''t just useful. It was survival.


    "Kael, help me!" A shout echoed in response.


    She was near the exit, trying to pry open the emergency doors. Jammed.


    I fought my way toward her, shoving past flailing limbs, slipping on blood-slick floors. An infected lunged. I stabbed its eye, yanked the blade free, and watched it crumple.


    "Fuck, fuck, fuck¡­" My body screamed in protest. Killing Marcus, running for my life, and now this¡ªfighting through a horde? I was nearing my limit.


    Up ahead, the leader carved through the infected, his spear sweeping in wide, brutal arcs¡ªmore quarterstaff than spear now. But even he was slowing, exhaustion dragging at his movements.


    "Get those doors open!" he shouted.


    Elena gritted her teeth, hoisting a hospital chair and slamming it against the emergency door. The metal groaned but held.


    The horde pressed closer.


    No more time.


    I turned, grabbing a fire extinguisher off the wall. Lifted it. Swung.


    BANG!


    The door shuddered, then exploded open, rattling on its hinges.


    A gust of cold night air surged inside, biting at the warmth within.


    "GO!"


    We ran.


    The leader lingered for only a moment, lighting a flare and tossing it into the hospital.


    "Fuck! That was supposed to be for rescue!" he groaned before sprinting toward the emergency door.


    The fire spread fast, devouring everything in its path. It wasn''t just destruction¡ªit was survival. If we didn''t burn them, they''d follow.


    We burst through the emergency door onto the hospital''s fire escape. Beside us, the roof of a smaller three-story building loomed¡ªa full-floor drop. Not ideal. But staying put or heading back meant facing the infected, either swarming below or closing in behind us.


    No choice. I had to jump.


    Gritting my teeth, I braced my already injured leg and leaped.


    "Ahh¡ªshit!" Pain exploded through me midair. I wasn''t going to make it.


    I slammed into the building''s edge, barely catching hold, my fingers straining to keep me from falling.


    "Hold on!" Elena shouted still at the fire escape.


    Suddenly, the leader burst through the emergency door, moving swiftly as he leaped from the fourth floor of the hospital to the third-floor rooftop below.


    "You''re still alive?" he said, surprised, as he grabbed my hand just as I was about to lose my grip. With a firm pull, he hauled me up to safety.


    Seeing that the two of us had made it, Elena jumped.


    Like me, she fell short.


    But before she could plummet, the leader lunged, grabbing her just inches from the building''s edge.


    The leader glanced back at the burning hospital, his expression unreadable.


    Now, only the three of us remained from what had once been a much larger group.


    "We keep moving," he said, his tone firm. Then, he held something out to me.


    "You left this behind while opening the emergency door."


    It was the pocket knife¡ªthe one I''d taken from the man who had threatened me. The one I''d used to survive this entire scenario.


    I took it without a word.


    No argument. No hesitation.


    Because he was right.


    Because there was no other choice.


    We walked.


    Into the unknown. Into the jaws of whatever hell waited beyond.


    And maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªtoward something more than just survival.

 Fleeting Bonds

    "Companionship"


    I never thought I''d feel this again¡ªespecially in a world this broken. But somehow, against all odds, it found me. And I can''t say I mind.


    Story Start


    The rooftop beneath my feet was uneven, covered in layers of grime, debris, and a few scattered corpses that had long since dried up. The wind howled, carrying the scent of smoke and death from the burning hospital behind us. The fire raged, consuming everything we left behind¡ªincluding whatever hope we had of ever returning.


    The leader¡ªwhose name I still didn''t know¡ªscanned the rooftop, his spear gripped tightly. Elena was breathing hard, her hands shaking, but she kept her head up. We all knew what stopping meant. Death. Or worse.


    "Where do we go from here?" I asked, my voice rough. My throat was raw from smoke inhalation, my limbs heavy with exhaustion.


    He gestured toward a set of double doors on the far side of the rooftop, leading into the new building. "Inside."


    I exhaled sharply. "You don''t even know what''s in there."


    "I know what''s behind us." His voice was flat, unwavering. "Pick your poison."


    I didn''t argue. We approached the door cautiously. Rust flaked from the surface, the peeling paint curling like dead leaves. It wasn''t locked.


    Thomas tested the handle and pushed it open just enough to peer inside. The hallway yawned into darkness, swallowing what little light we had. The air was thick¡ªdust, mildew¡­ and rot.


    "Call me Thomas," he said before stepping inside. "Easier that way."


    "Got it," Elena and I echoed.


    "Looks clear." He stepped inside first, spear at the ready. I followed, gripping my knife tightly, and Elena trailed behind, her breath shallow but steady.


    The door swung shut behind us with a dull thud, sealing us off from the chaos outside.


    I scanned our surroundings. The space was vast, the weak flicker of emergency lights casting eerie shadows along the walls. It was a fire station¡ªor what was left of one.


    Elena exhaled slowly. "If we''re lucky, we''ll find supplies." Her gaze swept over the room. "There should be plenty here."


    I didn''t believe in luck.


    We moved deeper into the building, weaving through abandoned workstations and break rooms. The farther we went, the stronger the rotten stench became. Something¡ªor someone¡ªwas dead in here. And judging by the lack of movement, it had been for a while.


    "We should clear each room as we go," Thomas murmured. "No surprises."


    Elena nodded. I did too, though my grip on my knife tightened. The last thing we needed was to get trapped inside with something we didn''t see coming.


    We started checking rooms, one by one. Some were empty, filled only with forgotten belongings¡ªa purse left on a chair, a coffee cup still resting on a desk, its contents long since evaporated. Others bore signs of struggle¡ªblood smears on the walls, broken glass, scattered documents telling stories we''d never know.


    Then we found the bodies.


    Five bodies sagged against the back wall, their flesh bloated, their faces twisted beyond recognition. The rot was fresh¡ªhours old at most. The infection had eaten through them fast. The stench clogged my throat.


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    Elena turned away, gagging. "Jesus¡­"


    Thomas crouched beside them, inspecting the corpses. "Bite marks. Everywhere."


    I frowned. "Then how¡ª?"


    His fingers traced a deep, dark gash in one of their foreheads. "A blade wound. Probably an axe, judging by the shape. Execution-style."


    A chill ran down my spine. If these people had been bitten, then whoever did this had no choice. Maybe they had been firefighters, putting down their own to stop the spread. A grim duty¡ªone I hoped I''d never have to face. "So someone killed them. At least we don''t have to deal with them now."


    "Maybe." He stood, his expression unreadable. "But it means this place isn''t as abandoned as we thought."


    I stole another glance at the bodies. Had someone wiped them out to take control of the building? Or were there still survivors here? Firefighters, maybe. Either way, it meant one thing¡ªdanger.


    Elena pressed a hand to her forehead. "Do we stay here?"


    Thomas didn''t answer right away. He walked to the large windows, peering out at the world below. The hospital still burned in the distance, and beyond that, the city was a graveyard of the dead.


    "Let''s secure the building first," he finally said. "Make sure we''re alone."


    We continued moving, sweeping the hallways, checking every room, every crevice where something¡ªor someone¡ªcould be hiding. We found no infected. No living people. Just remnants of a world that had ended.


    "It seems the workers here evacuated, makes sense." Thomas said, with a slight comfort in his voice.


    A supply closet yielded a few valuable finds¡ªa half-full first aid kit, a flashlight with weak batteries, and a can of food that might still be edible. Not much, but better than nothing.


    "It seems they cleaned this place out when they were doing so." He remarked


    "We can make this work," Elena said softly, rolling a can of soup in her hands. "At least for a while."


    Thomas nodded, but his expression remained wary. "We don''t settle in yet. We rest. We regain strength. Then we decide."


    That was the best we could do.


    We found a large room¡ªthe dormitory, judging by the sign above the door. Inside, there were beds, couches, desks, and, most importantly, lockers. Even better, the door had a lock.


    We wasted no time barricading it, stacking desks against the entrance for extra security. It wouldn''t hold against a full horde, but if someone¡ªor something¡ªtried to break in, it would at least buy us time.


    The moment I stopped, it all crashed down on me. My legs wobbled, my lungs burned, and my broken leg throbbed with a sharp, pulsing ache. I wanted to sleep, to shut my eyes and forget the smoke, the blood, the bodies. But I couldn''t. Sleep meant letting my guard down, and in this world, that was as good as signing my own death certificate.


    "Guess the adrenaline finally wore off," I muttered with a breathless laugh, more to myself than anyone else. Anything to keep my mind from unraveling.


    I sat on the floor, my back against the desk, running my fingers over the pocket knife Thomas had returned to me. It was still stained with blood.


    Thomas sat across from me, his spear resting beside him. He hadn''t said much since we entered the building, his expression unreadable, his mind likely turning over every possibility, every threat we might face.


    Elena lay curled up on the bed, her eyes fluttering shut. "Wake me up when it''s my turn for watch," she murmured.


    Neither of us answered. She was asleep in minutes.


    Thomas and I sat in silence for a long time before he finally spoke. "You did good today."


    I let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Didn''t feel like it."


    "Doesn''t matter how it feels. You survived¡ªwith a broken leg and almost no rest. That''s something." He chuckled. "Hell, you could''ve been drafted if all this hadn''t happened."


    I met his gaze. "Honestly? Kinda wish I had been."


    "Glad you''re not a greenhorn. Had my fill of that mess back at the hospital¡­" He smirked, but it didn''t reach his eyes.


    Regret clung to his words, thick as the blood we''d left behind.


    Despite the smirk, I could hear the regret in his voice. No matter how much he knew those people hadn''t liked him, he still felt responsible for their deaths.


    The silence stretched again, but this time, it felt less suffocating.


    I tried breaking the silence. "What''s our plan after we get some rest?"


    Thomas stared at me, his expression unreadable. After a few seconds, he spoke.


    "This is a fire station. We check the lockers¡ªgrab whatever gear we can. It''s the best armor we''ll find right now." He paused, scanning the dimly lit hallway. "And if we''re lucky, maybe some weapons too¡ªan axe, a crowbar, anything useful." His gaze flickered toward the kitchen area. "Hell, even if we don''t find weapons, as long as there''s food left, I''ll call it a win."


    Thomas stood up, holding the spear in his hand. "You go get some rest with the girl, I''ll keep watch, you need it more than I do clearly." He stares at my broken leg wrapped in bandages.


    "Fine. But swap out later¡ªyou''re our best fighter." I remarked before heading to one of the beds and laying down.


    "I''ll be fine," he said with a tired grin. "Had to stay awake three days straight on an operation once¡ªthis is nothing. Even if, you know, the situation''s a hell of a lot worse."


    He was joking, but there was a hint of truth beneath it. And for the first time, it felt like he was finally starting to relax around me.


    I didn''t know what tomorrow would bring. More running. More fighting. Maybe death. Maybe worse. But for now, we had a locked door, four walls, and a moment to breathe.


    And in this world, that was more than enough.


    For now.

 Static and Whispers

    "Resilience"


    I never thought I''d have to fight this hard¡ªnever imagined the world could fall apart in mere hours. But somehow, against all odds, I''m still standing. And right now, that has to be enough.


    Story Start


    The dim glow of emergency lighting flickered against the dormitory walls, casting long, uncertain shadows. Sleep tugged at my consciousness, but my body refused to relax. The muffled sounds of the outside world¡ªthe distant wails of the undead, the whisper of the wind slipping through cracked windows¡ªkept me grounded in uneasy wakefulness.


    Thomas stood near the door, his silhouette rigid, spear at the ready. His stance, the slight twitch in his fingers, told me he was just as restless as I was. He had volunteered for first watch, but I doubted he''d actually let himself rest when his turn was up. The way he carried himself¡ªlike a soldier bracing for a war that never ended¡ªtold me he''d been through this too many times to count.


    Elena stirred in her sleep, her body curled protectively, her face tight with whatever nightmares clawed at her mind. I envied her ability to let go, even if only for a few hours. I envied the illusion of peace.


    But peace wasn''t real. Not anymore.


    After what felt like an eternity, I pushed myself up, wincing as my injured leg protested. The pain had dulled, but it lingered¡ªa reminder of how close I''d come to death.


    "You should be resting," Thomas said without turning.


    "So should you."


    Thomas exhaled through his nose, a hint of amusement flickering in his tired eyes, but he didn''t argue. Instead, he stepped away from the door and lowered himself onto one of the nearby chairs. He stretched out his legs, rolling his shoulders as if shedding the weight of the world.


    "Tomorrow, we raid the lockers," he said, staring at the ceiling. "Then we move."


    "Where?" I asked.


    "Anywhere but here."


    "Think the military''s still kicking?" I asked.


    Thomas let out a short, dry chuckle. "Without a doubt. Those assholes wouldn''t let something like this take them down. Give it three months, and they''ll probably retake a city."


    I huffed a quiet laugh. "Is that a bet?"


    He leaned forward in his chair. "Damn right it is. Winner gets a beer."


    "Deal." I nodded, the thought of a future where we could actually share that drink feeling impossibly distant.


    Elena stirred, groggy and blinking against the dim light. She let out a quiet yawn, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Did I oversleep?"


    Thomas hesitated before nodding. "Yeah. Just keep an ear out."


    She stretched, then took his place by the door, gripping the rusted fire axe we''d scavenged from an emergency cabinet. It wasn''t much, but it was better than nothing.


    "Can''t believe they just left this behind," I murmured.


    "They probably had better gear," Thomas muttered, already heading for the cots. "Makes sense to ditch the dead weight."


    I watched him settle in, the distant howl of the wind outside a grim reminder¡ªwe weren''t safe. Not yet. Maybe not ever.


    Thomas lay back, exhaling slowly. He was out within minutes, exhaustion claiming him despite his stubbornness.


    I didn''t sleep. Not really. My body rested, but my mind wandered, sifting through memories I''d rather forget.


    "How do you feel?" I asked, trying to make small talk.


    Elena, still groggy from waking up, tightened her grip on the axe. "Better than when we were at the hospital, surprisingly."


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    I nodded, letting the silence settle before she spoke again.


    "We''re a smaller group now, but at least I can trust the people I''m with." Her gaze drifted to the sealed door. "Back then, you never knew when someone might turn on you." She exhaled, shifting her stance. "And at least here¡­ we haven''t seen any infected. Not yet."


    Time passed as Elena and I made quiet conversation through the night. At some point, sleep finally pulled me under.


    Surprisingly, neither of them woke me for my turn at watch. Maybe they forgot¡ªor maybe they just wanted me to rest, knowing I was the most injured of the three.


    Morning arrived in a dull, gray haze, light filtering through the grime-streaked windows.


    We ate what little we had¡ªhalf a can of soup split three ways, a handful of crackers that crumbled like dust in my mouth.


    "Why does this taste so bad? The world only just ended," I muttered, forcing down another bite.


    Elena smirked. "Probably expired. That''s why they left it behind."


    With our meager meal finished, we set out to scavenge the station, hoping to find something¡ªanything¡ªworth keeping.


    The locker room reeked of sweat and old metal. Dust coated the floor, disturbed only by the occasional smear of dried blood.


    We moved cautiously, prying open each locker in search of anything useful.


    Inside, we found remnants of a world that had ended just a day ago¡ªphotos, wallets, crumpled notes. Ghosts of lives interrupted.


    Thomas struck gold first. "Bingo."


    He pulled out a firefighter''s jacket¡ªthick, heavy, and padded enough to stop a bite. Tossing one to me, he grabbed another for himself.


    Elena rummaged through a nearby locker, pulling out a pair of gloves and a utility belt stocked with small tools. Not weapons, but useful nonetheless.


    "Here, take these." She tossed the gloves to Thomas.


    "You''re not using them?" he asked.


    She chuckled. "You''re the fighter here."


    That''s when I found the radio.


    It sat on a shelf, partially covered by an old towel. I turned it over in my hands, my heart pounding. It was one of those short-range models¡ªused for team communication. If there were any survivors left nearby¡­


    "Think it works?" Elena asked.


    Only one way to find out.


    I twisted the knob, and static crackled to life. For a moment, there was nothing. Then¡ªa voice. Faint. Garbled. But real.


    "¡­repeat¡­ anyone¡­ military¡­ east¡­"


    I exchanged glances with Thomas and Elena. Someone was out there.


    Thomas took the radio, adjusting the frequency. "Say again? Who''s there?"


    The signal flickered, then strengthened. "If¡­ hear this¡­ survivors¡­ east sector¡­ supplies¡­ danger¡­ repeat¡­ danger¡­"


    Then, silence.


    East sector. That meant somewhere deeper into the city. A death trap if we weren''t careful.


    Elena swallowed hard. "Do we go?"


    Thomas was quiet for a long time before answering. "We can''t ignore it. If someone''s alive out there¡­ they might have information. A safe place. Maybe even a real chance."


    I exhaled sharply. Hope was a dangerous thing. But in this world, it was all we had.


    "Then we move," I said. "Before it''s too late."


    None of us said it out loud, but we all knew the truth¡ªwhatever waited for us in the east sector, it wasn''t going to be easy.


    But we were out of options.


    Fine, but let''s hit the garage and storage room first," Thomas said, tightening his grip on his spear.


    He glanced at me, his tone shifting, the easy humor gone. "Elena and I are good¡ªour gear''s mostly long-range. But that knife of yours, Kael? That''s a death sentence."


    "Sounds good," I replied.


    As we move through the halls, the silence is suffocating. No infected, just the distant growls from outside.


    We reach the garage first. Heavy-duty lockers line the walls, but there''s no sign of any vehicles.


    "Well, that explains it," he mutters, eyeing the wire connecting the garage door. "I''m guessing they lured the infected out when they left. As for why the door''s closed¡ªprobably an automatic lock when the power was still on."


    "Let''s just grab what we can and hit the storage room next. No idea how soundproofed these doors are, and I''d rather not find out," Elena says, already moving toward the lockers.


    "Agreed. Let''s make it quick," I add.


    We open the lockers one by one¡ªnothing useful, just a few screws and hoses. Then Thomas lets out a loud whisper.


    "Jackpot."


    He pulls out what looks like a Halligan bar from the locker he was checking and grins.


    Without hesitation, he tosses his spear to me, keeping the new weapon for himself.


    "You read my mind," I say, gripping the spear. As tempting as the Halligan bar looks, I''m not strong enough to wield it properly. The spear, on the other hand, is simple, effective, and¡ªmore importantly¡ªsomething I can actually handle.


    "And finally, the storage room," Thomas'' confidence surged, his grip tightening on the Halligan bar as if it were the only thing keeping him alive.


    The storage room door loomed before us, its rusted hinges barely holding together. Thomas tested the handle. Locked.


    "Figures," he muttered.


    Elena gestured to his new Halligan bar. "Think you can pry it open?"


    He smirked. "Oh, I know I can."


    Thomas jammed the Halligan bar into the doorframe and yanked. Metal screamed, the sound cutting through the silence like a blade.


    I stiffened. "That was too loud." My voice barely rose above a whisper.


    "Almost¡ª" Thomas gritted his teeth and gave one final heave.


    The lock snapped.


    The door swung open, revealing rows of dusty shelves, haphazardly stacked crates, and¡ªmost importantly¡ªsupplies.


    I let out a breath I didn''t realize I was holding. "Damn it. I think the noise alone almost killed me before the infected could."


    Elena exhaled. "Finally, some luck."


    She stepped inside first, disappearing between the shelves. Thomas followed, scanning for anything useful. I hesitated, that uneasy feeling creeping in again. Something felt off.


    Then I heard it.


    A low growl rumbled through the room¡ªwet, guttural, too close.


    Thomas stiffened, his knuckles whitening around the Halligan bar. "Tell me you heard that."


    Elena didn''t answer.


    She was frozen, eyes locked on something deep in the shadows.


    I turned my head slowly, pulse hammering in my ears.


    Something shifted behind the shelves. A dragging sound. Then a wheezing breath, like air struggling through ruined lungs.


    The darkness moved.


    We weren''t alone.