Jack was awake before dawn, a habit he’d honed over years of dodging trouble in a world where trouble never slept. He did a quick sweep of the building, glancing through cracked windows and listening for any sign of nearby movement. The night had been quiet, but Jack knew well enough that calm was usually the precursor to a storm.

Outside, the morning light cast a pale glow over the wasteland, softening its edges but failing to hide the scars. Broken buildings stretched out before him like rows of gravestones, reminders of a world that had crumbled under its own weight.

As he returned to their makeshift camp, he found Sam showing Lila how to tie a few simple knots with bits of rope he’d scavenged. Sam’s voice was low, his hands steady as he demonstrated. Jack didn’t interrupt; he watched from a distance, noting how Lila listened carefully, her brow furrowed in concentration. It was a small moment, but it struck Jack that the girl might stand a chance if she learned enough. And Sam—he had a father’s patience, a trait Jack respected even if he’d never admit it.

Jack cleared his throat, catching their attention. “Better hope those knots don’t come undone,” he said, his voice gruff. “Out here, a mistake like that could get you killed.”

Sam gave him a cool look but didn’t argue. “Everyone’s got to start somewhere, Grizzly. You didn’t just wake up knowing everything about survival, did you?”

Jack shrugged, strapping his machete to his belt. “Learned fast enough once the world went to hell. You’ve got to be quicker out here, that’s all.” He met Lila’s eyes, his expression firm. “You start relying on people, kid, you’re already on thin ice. Trust will get you killed just as quick as those knots if you’re not careful.”

Lila rolled her eyes but nodded, filing away the lesson even if she didn’t quite understand it. Jack noticed her look, and it annoyed him more than he cared to admit. She had that mix of defiance and innocence that only young people seemed to possess—a dangerous mix, he thought, one that had no place in a world like this.

They set off again, the day wearing on in tense silence as they wound through the outskirts of the ruined city. By mid-morning, they stumbled upon a small outpost wedged between two broken buildings. It was little more than a lean-to made of scrap metal and tarps, but Jack’s eyes immediately caught sight of the supplies—stacks of canned goods, a few scattered water jugs, and an old pack with a faded military insignia.

“Looks like someone left in a hurry,” Sam murmured, his gaze sweeping over the abandoned site. “Wonder why they’d leave so much behind.”

Jack crouched, examining the cans and the worn pack. “Probably figured they’d be back. Or maybe they got chased off by something worse.” He shot a glance over his shoulder, his senses prickling. “Whatever the reason, we’re not sticking around long enough to find out.”

They moved quickly, Jack giving orders as they gathered the supplies. Lila filled her arms with cans, her face a mask of concentration, while Sam hefted one of the water jugs over his shoulder. Jack worked alongside them, grabbing items with a practiced efficiency, mentally calculating what they’d need to make it to the next city if he split from the pair.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

But as he looked over at Sam and Lila, something made him pause. They were vulnerable—more than he’d allowed himself to acknowledge. He could walk away, leave them to fend for themselves, but the thought lingered uncomfortably in his mind. He didn’t owe them anything, he reminded himself, and they didn’t owe him. But somehow, it didn’t feel that simple.

He had just started to push the thought away when the sound of footsteps echoed through the alleyway behind them.

“Company,” he hissed, motioning for them to take cover.

Three men appeared at the edge of the outpost, each one carrying a makeshift weapon—rusty blades and a broken length of pipe. They spotted Jack, Sam, and Lila immediately, grins spreading across their faces like hungry wolves spotting prey.

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a feast,” one of them sneered, raising his weapon.

Jack felt a surge of adrenaline as he stepped forward, putting himself between the attackers and his companions. “You’ve got about three seconds to turn around and walk away,” he growled, his hand tightening around his machete. “Otherwise, you’ll be leaving here a lot lighter.”

The men laughed, but there was an edge to it—a nervousness that hinted they’d heard of people like Jack before, survivors who fought like cornered animals. But one of them shrugged, clearly more desperate than cautious. He lunged, swinging the pipe at Jack’s head.

Jack moved with practiced speed, ducking under the swing and bringing his machete up in a brutal arc that caught the man’s arm. Blood sprayed, and the man screamed, dropping his weapon and stumbling back. The other two hesitated, but only for a second. They came at him together, flanking him with vicious swings, but Jack was faster. He blocked the first attack, then pivoted, slamming his elbow into the second man’s face with a sickening crunch.

The fight was over in moments, the attackers sprawled on the ground, groaning and clutching their wounds. Jack wiped his blade on the dirt, his face impassive. For him, it was just another day.

He glanced back at Sam and Lila, their expressions a mix of shock and awe. Lila’s eyes were wide, fixed on him with a mixture of fear and fascination.

“That’s what happens when you trust too easily,” he said, his voice cold. “Out here, the second you think someone might be a friend, you’re as good as dead.”

Sam, though rattled, gave him a steady look. “We’re lucky to have you, Grizzly. That kind of skill doesn’t come easy.”

Jack grunted, brushing off the comment. “Luck doesn’t have anything to do with it. You survive long enough, you learn what needs to be done. Simple as that.”

They made their way to a hidden spot near the outpost, settling down to divide their newly acquired supplies. Jack kept his distance, feeling the old, familiar weight of isolation settling over him. He knew this was the part where he should walk away, leave them with enough supplies to make it through a few days on their own. But as he looked at Sam, and then at Lila, he found himself hesitating.

Sam broke the silence, his voice low. “You know, Grizzly… I’ve seen a lot of men in my time, but you’re one of the few I can tell’s got a story to him.”

Jack didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the fire. “Stories don’t keep you alive. Only thing that matters is what’s right in front of you.”

Sam nodded, but he didn’t look convinced. “Maybe. But sometimes, keeping people alive isn’t just about having enough supplies or knowing how to fight.”

Jack met his gaze, his expression hard. “You think a story can protect you from what’s out there? You think any of this matters?” He gestured to the wasteland beyond. “Everything we had—everything that was good—died with the old world.”

A tense silence followed, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Lila looked at Jack, her expression softened, almost understanding. But Jack turned away, burying whatever feelings stirred beneath his hardened exterior.

In the end, attachment was weakness. And he knew better than anyone that weakness had no place in a world like this.

For now, he’d keep going. But the second things got complicated, he told himself, he’d walk away. It was the only way he knew how to survive.