The wind rattled through the ruins, howling low and steady, like a growl in the back of some hidden predator’s throat. Gray dust floated down from skeletal buildings, pooling in layers on broken roads and jagged sidewalks. Jack Carson, known to most as "Grizzly" on account of his haggard face and thick beard, navigated the rubble with an air of practiced indifference. He was a tall man, broad-shouldered and lean, a look sharpened by years of scrounging through the remnants of a world no one remembered fondly. But even with his gruff appearance, there was a spark in his eye, a glint that hinted at something besides survival instincts.
Jack adjusted the worn leather strap of his backpack and glanced at his surroundings, giving the gutted city one of his half-scowling, half-amused looks. As he walked, he muttered to himself. "Amazing," he said, eyeing the remains of a once-grand building, its arches still faintly visible under the scorch marks. "A whole civilization gone, and they still managed to leave all the useless junk behind." He kicked a rusty can, watching it clatter into an alley before he moved on.
For Jack, every day was an exercise in balance: just enough risk to find what he needed, just enough caution to stay alive. And though he kept his walls high and his humor dry, he hadn’t fully lost the memory of what it felt like to belong somewhere. The problem was, in this world, belonging meant trusting someone. And Jack Carson wasn’t about to go down that road again. Not after the last time.
The sun was slipping down behind the crumbling buildings, painting the ash-colored landscape in shades of red and orange. Shadows grew longer, stretching across the cracked pavement like fingers reaching out to pull him back. Jack wasn’t superstitious, but he’d learned to heed the signs; the city had a way of swallowing you whole if you didn’t keep moving.
He reached the corner of an abandoned shopping mall and crouched low, scanning the area. That’s when he saw it—a faint trail of footprints in the dust, leading around the side of the building. Recent, by the look of it. Fresh enough that he could make out the shape of the boot tread, something he recognized as military. Jack clenched his jaw, debating whether to follow or steer clear.
“Probably just some poor sap lookin’ for their next meal,” he murmured to himself, glancing down at his own beaten boots. “Or maybe the meal itself if they’re not careful.” Despite the danger, curiosity tugged at him. If someone else was out here scavenging, they might know something useful. He adjusted the machete strapped to his side, its blade sharpened to a fine edge, and began to follow the prints.
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The trail led him through alleys littered with rusted-out cars and piles of rubble, past graffiti that had faded into unrecognizable smears. He moved with a hunter’s silence, every step measured, every sound filtered through years of experience. He’d been doing this too long to be reckless.
The prints veered into a half-collapsed diner, the neon sign hanging by a single wire, the word “EATS” flickering dimly in the dying light. Jack paused just outside the doorway, listening. A faint shuffle sounded from inside, followed by the clinking of glass. Whoever it was, they weren’t alone.
He leaned against the wall, considering his options. He could walk away, keep moving and save himself the trouble. But Jack was low on supplies, and sometimes trouble was the only way to get what you needed. Plus, he couldn’t deny it—the thought of company, even for a moment, was oddly tempting.
“Alright, Grizzly,” he muttered, taking a breath as he tightened his grip on the machete. “Let’s go see what kind of fool wanders into a dead man’s diner at dusk.”
Jack slipped inside, moving from shadow to shadow, his eyes adjusting to the dim interior. A few scattered tables were overturned, chairs piled in one corner. He saw two figures crouched behind the counter, their backs to him as they rummaged through the shelves. A grizzled older man and a young girl, barely a teenager by the look of it. Both looked too thin, clothes hanging loose on their frames. They hadn’t heard him yet.
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“Hope you’re not planning on leaving me out of the dinner plans,” Jack said, his voice a low, even growl.
The older man froze, turning around slowly, his face a mixture of fear and defiance. The girl clutched a rusted knife, her knuckles white. Jack held up his hands, showing he meant no immediate harm, though he didn’t relax his grip on the machete.
“Easy now,” he said, eyeing the knife with a smirk. “Not here to rob you. Just a friendly stranger, hoping you’ve got more than dusty cans in that stash.”
The man relaxed slightly, though he didn’t let his guard down. “Ain’t much friendly about strangers these days,” he replied, his voice gravelly. “But you don’t look like the type to kill for scraps.”
Jack shrugged. “Depends on the day.” He leaned against the counter, giving them a casual once-over. “Got a name, old man?”
“Sam,” he replied cautiously. “This here’s my daughter, Lila.”
Jack nodded to the girl, who still clutched the knife, though her hand shook slightly. “Well, Sam and Lila, I’m Grizzly. Just passing through.” He let his eyes wander over their meager collection of cans and bottles. “Looks like you’ve got about enough for one good meal. Not exactly a five-star spread, is it?”
Sam shot him a wry smile. “You think we’re out here lookin’ for gourmet? We’re out here lookin’ for anything. This place...it used to mean something. People’d come from miles for the best pie in town. Now? Just crumbs and ghosts.”
Jack gave a small nod, feeling a flicker of something he hadn’t in a while—empathy, maybe. “Yeah. Ghosts and scraps. Guess that’s all any of us have left.”
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They sat in silence, an unspoken truce forming as the last light of day slipped away. Jack, against his better judgment, tossed one of his own cans to Sam, who caught it with a surprised look. “Consider it an investment,” Jack said, forcing a smirk. “Next time we meet, I expect a full three-course dinner.”
Sam chuckled softly, cracking open the can and passing it to his daughter. “You got a deal. But I can’t promise much in the way of dessert.”
Jack watched them eat, feeling that rare pang again—a reminder of what he’d once had and lost. But as soon as the thought surfaced, he buried it. Thinking about the past didn’t change the present. Out here, looking back was just another way to die.
As they finished, a distant sound reached Jack’s ears. It was subtle, nearly lost in the quiet hum of the night—the low rumble of engines, getting closer. His senses sharpened, adrenaline kicking in.
“You expecting company, Sam?” he asked, his tone deadly serious.
Sam’s eyes widened, his face paling. “No. Raiders, most likely.”
Jack tightened his grip on the machete, glancing at the door. “Time to move. Those aren’t the kind of folks you want to meet in the dark.”
They gathered their scant belongings, moving swiftly but quietly, their breaths hushed. Jack led the way, his movements calculated as they slipped out the back door. The three of them ducked behind a row of rusted cars as the headlights of a convoy swept through the street, illuminating the diner.
Lila clung to her father, eyes wide with fear. Jack felt her gaze on him, questioning, searching. He gave her a quick nod, his expression unyielding. “Stick close. We keep quiet, keep low, and we’ll make it out.”
The engines idled, voices echoing through the night as the raiders began to filter into the diner. Jack could make out snippets of conversation, rough voices chuckling about “fresh meat.” He glanced at Sam and Lila. “Stay put,” he whispered. “If they find us, I’ll give you a head start. Just…run.”
The tension was thick, every nerve in Jack’s body primed for action. But as the raiders searched the diner, an unexpected laugh escaped him—a quiet, breathy chuckle.
“What’s funny?” Lila whispered, barely audible.
“Life,” Jack muttered, flashing her a quick grin. “It’s one hell of a joke. And I’m not ready to be the punchline just yet.”
The engines roared back to life, and the convoy eventually moved on. As silence returned to the streets, Jack let out a long, slow breath, feeling the weight of survival settle back over him. They were safe, for now.
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As the three of them stepped back into the night, Jack glanced at Sam and Lila, their faces shadowed but hopeful. He didn’t need anyone, he reminded himself. Not really. But maybe, just for tonight, he’d make an exception.
“Come on,” he said, his voice gruff but warm. “Let’s find somewhere a little less haunted.”
They moved into the darkness, together.