The morning light filtered through the cracks in the shutters, casting thin beams of light across the apartment. Corey blinked awake, his body stiff from sleeping in the makeshift barricade they had set up near the door. He was immediately on high alert, listening for any sounds of the undead. But all he could hear was the soft breathing of his younger brother, Ornelas, who was still curled up on the couch.
They had survived another night.
Careful not to wake Ornelas, Corey stood and stretched, his muscles protesting as he moved. He had always been fit, but the last few years of constant vigilance and rationed meals had left him leaner, his body hardened by the rigors of survival. He walked over to the small kitchen area and grabbed a can of beans from their dwindling supply. They had to eat sparingly, but today was going to be a long day, and they would need their strength.
“Ornelas,” Corey whispered as he opened the can with a small knife. “Wake up. We need to get moving.”
Ornelas stirred, his brown eyes fluttering open as he groggily sat up. The weariness was evident in his face, but so was the determination. The boy had grown up fast in the apocalypse, forced to shed the innocence of childhood far too soon.
They shared the beans in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. The rain from the previous night had cleared, leaving the air crisp and cool.
Corey slung his backpack over his shoulder and handed Ornelas a smaller pack, filled with what little they had left. The machete hung from Corey’s belt, its blade gleaming in the dim light, while Ornelas strapped the bow across his back, his quiver of arrows hanging at his side.
“Ready?” Corey asked, though he knew the answer. Neither of them was truly ready, but they didn’t have a choice.
Ornelas nodded, his expression grim. “Let’s go.”
They approached the door cautiously, Corey peeking through the peephole before slowly sliding back the heavy bolts they had installed. He eased the door open just enough to look outside. The street was eerily quiet, no sign of movement. The rain had washed away some of the blood and debris, leaving the area looking almost normal—if you didn’t notice the occasional decaying corpse slumped against a wall or the dark, dried bloodstains that marked the pavement.
“Clear,” Corey whispered, and they slipped out of the apartment, closing the door quietly behind them.
The stairwell was dark, the power long since gone, but they had navigated it so many times that they could move through it by memory alone. Their footsteps were almost silent as they descended, avoiding the broken glass and debris that littered the steps. The building had once been filled with families, laughter echoing through the halls. Now it was a tomb, the silence a reminder of everything they had lost.
When they reached the lobby, Corey paused, listening intently for any sounds. The entrance was still barricaded, the heavy furniture they had used to block the doors and windows holding firm. He cautiously approached the barricade, motioning for Ornelas to stay back. He moved a piece of furniture just enough to peer outside.
The street was still empty, but Corey knew that could change in an instant. The dead were always near, drawn by any noise or movement.
“Help me with this,” Corey said softly, and together they moved the barricade just enough to slip through.
Once outside, they stayed low, their eyes scanning the area for any sign of danger. The city around them was a graveyard, the once-thriving metropolis reduced to a husk of its former self. Broken cars lined the streets, some with their doors hanging open, the remnants of desperate escapes. Buildings stood hollow, their windows shattered, their interiors ransacked by survivors and scavengers.
They moved quickly and quietly, sticking close to the sides of buildings and avoiding the open streets. Corey kept his machete at the ready, while Ornelas stayed close behind, his bow half-drawn, an arrow always at the ready.
They had a destination in mind: a supply depot on the outskirts of the city. It was risky, but they had no choice.
As they moved through the city, they saw the signs of other survivors—abandoned camps, makeshift barricades, graffiti scrawled on walls warning of danger or offering cryptic messages of hope. But there was no sign of life, no movement except for the occasional shuffling figure in the distance.
After what felt like hours of navigating the twisted maze of the city, they reached the edge of a large park. Once a place of leisure, it was now overgrown, the grass tall and wild, the trees thick with foliage. It was also a shortcut, cutting their journey time in half, but it was dangerous.
“Are you sure about this?” Ornelas asked, his voice low and cautious.
Corey hesitated, his eyes scanning the park. It was a risk, but they were running out of time. “We’ll move fast, stick close to the trees. If we see anything, we run.”
Ornelas nodded, his grip tightening on his bow. “Let’s do it.”
They entered the park, moving quickly and quietly, staying close to the tree line. The silence was oppressive, the only sounds their own footsteps and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. The park felt like a different world, disconnected from the city, the wildness of nature reclaiming the land.
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They were halfway across when Corey heard it—a low, guttural moan, followed by the rustle of movement in the tall grass. He froze, signalling Ornelas to stop. They crouched low, their eyes scanning the area. The sound was coming from their right, near a cluster of overgrown bushes.
Corey held his breath, his heart pounding in his chest. The moaning grew louder, and then, from the bushes, a figure emerged. It was a zombie, its flesh rotting, its eyes hollow and lifeless. It hadn’t seen them yet, but it was close, too close.
Corey motioned for Ornelas to stay still, his mind racing. If they were quiet, maybe it would pass by. But then another figure emerged from the bushes, and then another. The moaning grew louder, joined by the shuffling of feet. It wasn’t just one or two—it was a group, a small horde moving slowly through the park.
Corey’s grip tightened on his machete. They couldn’t stay hidden for long; eventually, the zombies would stumble onto them. They needed to move, and fast.
“On my signal,” Corey whispered, his voice barely audible. “We run. Stay low, stay fast. Don’t stop.”
Ornelas nodded, his eyes wide but determined.
“Now.”
They broke into a sprint, staying low as they moved through the trees. The zombies reacted almost immediately, their groans turning into hungry snarls as they spotted the brothers. The horde moved faster, their shuffling steps turning into a frenzied pursuit.
Corey led the way, weaving between trees and ducking under branches, the sound of the dead growing louder behind them. His heart raced, adrenaline pumping through his veins. There was no room for error; one wrong step, one moment of hesitation, and it would be over.
The edge of the park was in sight, the trees thinning out as they neared the road. Corey pushed harder, willing his legs to move faster. He could hear Ornelas just behind him, his brother’s breath coming in ragged gasps.
They burst out of the park and onto the street, the horde still close behind. Without slowing down, Corey led Ornelas towards a nearby alley, the narrow space offering some cover. They dashed inside, pressing themselves against the walls as the zombies spilled out onto the street, their snarls echoing through the air.
Corey held his breath, his body tense as the horde passed by the alley, their decaying forms stumbling forward, oblivious to the brothers hiding just feet away. He glanced at Ornelas, who was panting heavily but unhurt.
After what felt like an eternity, the last of the zombies shuffled past, the noise fading as they moved further down the street. Corey exhaled slowly, the tension in his muscles easing slightly.
“We made it,” Ornelas whispered, his voice shaky with relief.
Corey nodded, his eyes still scanning the street. “For now. We need to keep moving.”
They stepped out of the alley, careful to stay in the shadows as they continued towards the supply depot. The horde had slowed them down, but they were still on track. The thought of the depot—a place that might hold food, water, and possibly even weapons—was enough to keep them going.
But as they moved deeper into the city, Corey couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched. He glanced around, but there was nothing, just the empty streets and the distant groans of the dead.
“Do you think anyone else is still out here?” Ornelas asked, his voice hushed.
Corey hesitated before answering. “I don’t know. But if they are, we’ll find them.”
He didn’t want to admit it, but the city felt emptier than ever. The survivors they had once encountered, the small groups of people trying to rebuild their lives, seemed to have vanished. Whether they had been killed or had moved on, Corey couldn’t say. But the emptiness of the city weighed heavily on him, a reminder that they might be some of the last people left alive.
They moved quickly, the supply depot now only a few blocks away. But as they turned a corner, Corey froze, his blood running cold.
Ahead of them, blocking the street, was another horde—larger than the one they had encountered in the park. Dozens of zombies, their rotting forms filling the street, their hungry eyes fixed on the brothers.
Corey’s heart pounded in his chest as he grabbed Ornelas’s arm, pulling him back into the shadows. “We need to find another way,” he whispered urgently.
But as they backed away, a low growl echoed from behind them. Corey spun around, his machete at the ready, just in time to see another group of zombies emerging from an alley, cutting off their escape.
They were surrounded.
“Ornelas, get ready,” Corey said, his voice calm but firm. He knew there was no running now. They would have to fight their way out.
Ornelas nodded, his face pale but resolute. He drew an arrow from his quiver, knocking it in his bow, his hands steady despite the fear in his eyes.
The zombies closed in, their moans filling the air, the stench of death overwhelming. Corey tightened his grip on the machete, his mind racing.
“Stay close to me,” Corey instructed, positioning himself in front of Ornelas, ready to protect his brother at all costs.
The first zombie lunged, its decaying hands reaching for Corey, its jaws snapping hungrily. Corey swung the machete in a wide arc, the blade slicing cleanly through the zombie’s neck. The headless body crumpled to the ground.
Ornelas released his arrow, the shaft finding its mark in the skull of a zombie, dropping it instantly. He quickly drew another, firing with precision as more zombies advanced. The brothers moved as one, their actions synchronised through years of survival, each covering the other’s back as they fought their way through the horde.
But for every zombie they took down, it seemed like two more took its place. The sheer number of them was overwhelming, and Corey could feel his strength waning. His arms ached from swinging the machete, his breathing ragged as he fought to keep the zombies at bay.
“We can’t keep this up!” Ornelas shouted, his voice strained as he loosed another arrow.
Corey knew he was right. They were being overwhelmed, the horde closing in on all sides. But they couldn’t stop, couldn’t give up. Not now.
Just as Corey began to think they were done for, a loud crash echoed through the street, followed by the roar of an engine. He glanced up, his heart skipping a beat as he saw a large, armoured vehicle barrelling down the road, ploughing through the zombies like they were nothing.
The vehicle skidded to a stop just a few feet away from the brothers, its doors swinging open. “Get in!” a voice shouted from inside.
Corey didn’t need to be told twice. He grabbed Ornelas’s arm and pulled him towards the vehicle, the two of them diving inside just as the driver hit the gas. The doors slammed shut, and the vehicle roared forward, leaving the horde of zombies behind.
Corey and Ornelas lay on the floor of the vehicle, panting heavily, their bodies trembling with adrenaline. They had made it, but just barely.
As the vehicle sped away, Corey looked up to see their saviour—a woman, her face hardened by years of survival, her hands steady on the wheel.
“You boys okay?” she asked, glancing at them through the rear view mirror.
Corey nodded, still catching his breath. “Yeah… thanks. We didn’t think we were going to make it.”
The woman smirked, her eyes flicking back to the road. “You’ve got good timing. Name’s Palesa. Welcome to the resistance.”
Corey exchanged a glance with Ornelas, who looked just as confused as he felt. The resistance? He had thought the city was empty, that they were the last ones left. But now, as they sped through the streets in the armoured vehicle, hope began to flicker in his chest.
Maybe they weren’t alone after all.