The door creaked open wider, and Evan instinctively took a step back, his heart thudding in his chest. The man on the other side of the threshold—a tall, wiry figure with shaggy brown hair and a stubble-lined jaw—stared at them, his eyes wide with alarm. The room behind him was dim, lit only by a few flickering candles on a cracked wooden table. A few other people were inside, sitting uneasily, their gazes flicking from Claire to Evan and back again. They weren’t just survivors. They were living in this building. And now, they were looking at them.
Evan held his breath, hoping the tension wouldn’t snap.
The man’s hand hovered near the handgun strapped to his waist. Evan could see the sharp, calculating look in his eyes—measuring them, deciding whether they were a threat or just another pair of desperate souls looking for shelter.
Claire wasn’t fazed by the sudden confrontation. She straightened her back and narrowed her eyes at the man. “We’re not here to cause trouble,” she said, her voice steady, though there was an edge to it. “We’re just looking for supplies.”
The man blinked, processing her words, and then looked behind her to Evan. His gaze hardened, like he was trying to determine whether they were armed or not. Evan shifted uncomfortably, but he kept his hands visible, not wanting to give off any wrong signals. He wasn’t here to fight—he just wanted to get in, grab what they needed, and leave before things got ugly.
“Supplies, huh?” the man said, his voice low and skeptical. “Funny, because you didn’t mention anything about being part of a group when you knocked.”
Evan’s throat went dry. This wasn’t a good start. Claire glanced over her shoulder at Evan, giving him a brief, almost imperceptible look. It was clear that she wasn’t going to give in without a fight. She’d survived too long to trust anyone at face value, especially in a world where human beings were just as dangerous as the zombies roaming the streets.
“Look,” she said, her voice firm, “we’re not here to rob you. We don’t even know who you are, but we know this area. We know what’s out there.” Her eyes flicked toward the street, her expression grim. “And it’s getting worse. We need supplies to make it through the next few days. Food. Water. Anything you’ve got.”
The man’s eyes remained narrow, but Evan could see the tension in his shoulders easing. It was clear he was still unsure, but the weight of the situation was starting to sink in. His group wasn’t going to last long without fresh supplies either. They couldn’t afford to turn away people who might be able to help—especially when those people were just as desperate as they were.
There was a beat of silence before the man’s lips twisted into a half-smirk. “Fine,” he said gruffly, stepping back from the door. “But you’d better understand. You’re not just walking in and out of here. You want something from us, you play by our rules. Got it?”
Claire didn’t hesitate. She nodded curtly. “Got it.”
The man motioned for them to enter, stepping aside as Claire led the way. Evan followed behind, keeping his movements slow and deliberate, aware of the eyes on his every step. The group of survivors in the room hadn’t said a word yet, but they were all watching—watching for any sign that these newcomers were trouble.
The room was small but functional. The walls were bare, save for a few old posters and a map of the city tacked to one of the walls. A pile of makeshift bedding was stacked in one corner, and in the farthest corner, a rusted metal stove was emitting a faint heat, barely enough to ward off the chill creeping through the cracks in the building.
Claire led Evan toward the table, where the other survivors sat in silence. Two women and a man—none of them older than their late twenties, but all of them had the hardened look of people who had seen too much. One woman, with short, bleached blonde hair and a scar running down her cheek, eyed Evan with a piercing look that made him feel like she was peeling back every layer of his being. The other woman, darker-skinned and with an air of quiet intensity, gave Claire a short nod but didn’t say anything. The man, the one who had been talking to them at the door, took a seat at the table, his gun still visible on his hip.
“Alright, now that you’re here, I’ll introduce myself,” the man said, his voice rough. “Name’s Jake. This is Lila”—he gestured toward the scarred woman—“and that’s Kara,” he motioned to the other woman. “We’re the ones running this little operation here.”
Evan nodded, feeling the weight of their gaze as they sized him up. “Evan,” he said, his voice steady but soft. “This is Claire.”
Claire gave a brief nod but said nothing. She had learned long ago that speaking too much could get you into trouble. Let others talk. Let them expose their weaknesses.
Jake leaned back in his chair, his eyes flicking over Evan’s shoulder. “So, you guys are out there all by yourselves?” he asked, his tone still cautious.
Evan hesitated. The truth was, they had only just met. He didn’t know if he could trust Claire fully yet. She seemed capable, sure, but everyone had their secrets. And with the way things had gone so far, Evan wasn’t ready to reveal anything about the strange sensations he was feeling—the changes that were taking place in him.
“Yeah,” Evan said after a moment, forcing his voice to remain calm. “We don’t really have a group. Just the two of us.”
Claire’s eyes flicked to him briefly, her lips tightening. She didn’t look pleased with the lie, but she didn’t contradict him either.
Jake didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t push further. “Well, like I said, we don’t do charity around here. If you want anything, you’re going to have to work for it.”
“We’re not looking for charity,” Claire interjected quickly, her voice sharp. “We can pull our weight. We’re not useless.”
Jake raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Alright. Fair enough. We’ve got a supply stash, but it’s not easy to get to. There’s a couple of warehouses nearby, but they’re crawling with infected. If you want to make yourself useful, we’ll need you to clear a path for us.”
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Evan’s pulse quickened. He hadn’t expected this to be so immediate, but the reality of the situation hit him hard. He couldn’t afford to say no. Not when the stakes were this high.
“What’s the plan?” Evan asked, trying to keep his voice even despite the rising panic in his chest. He had never fought a zombie before—never even held a weapon in a life-or-death situation. But there was no turning back now.
Jake’s eyes gleamed as he outlined their plan. “There’s a small stash of supplies in a warehouse a few blocks away. The area’s crawling with zombies, but if we’re smart, we can get in and out. You two are going to help us clear the path. We don’t have much left, but we’re not going to waste it on a trip that’s doomed from the start.”
Evan’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. The idea of facing zombies—more zombies—was terrifying, especially considering his complete lack of experience. But if they were going to survive, he knew that the only way forward was to take risks. And, right now, survival wasn’t a luxury—it was a necessity.
“We’ll do what we can,” Claire said, her voice calm. “But I won’t risk anyone’s life for some supplies. If it’s too dangerous, we pull out.”
Jake gave a short, sharp laugh. “That’s the spirit. But don’t expect to get anything for free. The warehouse is surrounded, and the longer we wait, the worse it’s going to get. I’m not about to let a couple of strangers put us in more danger.” His eyes flicked to Lila and Kara, who were now sitting up straighter, looking more alert than before.
Evan nodded, silently agreeing with Claire’s assessment. His gut told him that this wasn’t just a simple raid for supplies. There was something else going on here—a subtle tension in the way Jake spoke, the way his group was eyeing them. But there wasn’t time to think too much about it now. If they didn’t agree, they’d be stuck in the building with no supplies. If they did agree, they risked their lives, but at least there would be a chance.
“Alright,” Evan said finally, swallowing hard. “We’ll help. But I need to know exactly what we’re dealing with.”
Jake eyed him for a moment, his lips curling into a half-smile. “Cautious. Good. You’ll need that. The warehouse isn’t too far. A couple blocks, maybe five minutes on foot if we’re quick. The place has been used by other survivors, but now the zombies have taken over the area. We’ve lost two people trying to get there already. You get us through, we’ll give you everything we’ve got.”
Claire stepped forward, her voice steady. “We’ll do it. But if anyone’s going to get us killed, it won’t be us.”
Jake chuckled, his eyes narrowing as he leaned forward, his tone dropping lower. “You talk a big game for someone who looks like they’ve never seen a real fight. But alright. You’ll have your chance to prove yourselves.”
Evan didn’t say anything. His stomach churned, but he could tell Claire was in control. Her confidence gave him some semblance of reassurance, even though the knot in his gut tightened. He wasn’t a fighter. He wasn’t even good with weapons, let alone in close-quarters combat with the undead. And yet, something inside him whispered that this was the moment where everything would change. He didn’t know what that change would be, but he knew that whatever it was, it had already begun.
The plan was simple: move swiftly, stick to the shadows, and clear out any zombies that stood between them and the warehouse. But as they gathered their meager supplies, Evan’s nerves began to bubble over. Claire gave him a quiet glance as she strapped a knife to her belt and slung a makeshift crossbow over her shoulder. Her movements were fluid, practiced. She had done this before. He hadn’t.
“You alright?” she asked, her voice low but sharp.
Evan nodded, though the tension in his chest only seemed to grow. “Yeah. Just… I’ve never done anything like this before.”
Claire gave a small, knowing smile, her eyes softening just for a moment before she turned her focus back to the rest of the group. “You’ll be fine. Stick with me, and follow my lead. Don’t try to do anything stupid.”
He wanted to ask what that meant—what stupid even looked like in a world where the dead walked the streets. But there wasn’t time for that. The door to the building creaked as Jake ushered them outside, his group trailing behind them.
The streets outside were eerily quiet, the only sounds the distant groans of zombies and the occasional wind that rattled through broken windows. The world felt different here—worse somehow. The stench of decay was thick in the air, and the once-thriving city now seemed like a forgotten ghost town. Buildings stood half-collapsed, graffiti marking the walls like tombstones.
Evan swallowed hard, trying to push the growing unease to the back of his mind. His eyes scanned the street as they moved, instinctively avoiding making any noise.
Claire walked a few steps ahead, and Jake led the rear. Lila and Kara, the other two members of their group, moved silently between them. Lila had a rifle slung across her back, her sharp eyes scanning the environment for any sign of danger. Kara, on the other hand, carried a long machete, the weapon looking almost too large for her slender frame. Yet, she held it with ease, as if it was an extension of herself.
They made their way down a few narrow alleyways, each one more dangerous than the last. The streets felt like a maze—winding and confusing, with shadows lurking at every corner. Every time a noise echoed, every time the wind shifted, Evan tensed, ready for something to jump out at them. He could feel his pulse pounding in his ears.
At one point, the group stopped, crouching behind a set of rusted metal dumpsters. Claire’s eyes were fixed on a group of zombies staggering down the street, their grotesque forms half-shrouded in darkness.
“They’re slow,” Claire murmured. “We can take them out silently. Kara, you’re with me. Evan, Jake, and Lila will cover the other side.”
Evan nodded, swallowing against the lump in his throat. His heart hammered in his chest as he peered around the dumpster, his eyes falling on the zombies. They were close—too close. Their skin was decayed, patches of flesh missing, their eyes glazed over with the hollow, mindless hunger that had claimed their existence.
Claire and Kara moved with deadly precision, darting forward to close the gap between them and the zombies. The slashing sound of the machete was muffled as Kara swiftly took out one of the undead, severing its head with a single clean strike. The others fell one by one, their bodies crumpling to the ground without a sound.
Evan, however, wasn’t prepared for the sickening splat as one of the zombies collapsed, its head hitting the ground with a sickening crack. It felt too real, too raw. The fight had barely begun, and already Evan felt a cold sweat breaking out across his brow.
“Focus!” Jake barked from behind him, and Evan snapped his gaze forward.
Lila was already at his side, her rifle aimed at a group of zombies further down the street. “On your mark,” she said, her voice low but intense.
Evan barely had time to react before Jake signaled, and they all sprang into action. The zombies were slow, but they moved in a haphazard manner, some stumbling while others turned and staggered toward the noise.
Evan barely had time to raise the makeshift crowbar in his hands before the first zombie reached him, its mouth gaping open. He swung the crowbar instinctively, the force of it connecting with the zombie’s skull. The sickening crunch made his stomach lurch, but he didn’t stop. He swung again and again, each strike pushing the fear further down.
By the time the last zombie collapsed at their feet, gasping for breath, Evan’s arms felt like they were made of lead. He could barely comprehend what had just happened—the adrenaline, the panic, the violence. But somehow, they had made it through.
Jake patted him on the back, his grin faint but approving. “Not bad for a rookie.”
Evan didn’t respond, his mind too rattled to form coherent thoughts. But as they moved forward toward the warehouse, something inside him felt different. A shift. A flicker. The change he had felt earlier—it was growing stronger. And with it, a sense of power, however small, started to take root.
He just hoped that whatever was happening to him didn’t change everything about the person he was before.
They were almost there.