Thirty minutes later.
The group moved through the city's outskirts, where the downtown chaos began to fade but hadn't vanished. The landscape was a patchwork of recent abandonment: scattered cars, some with doors ajar and half-packed suitcases spilled out, broken glass glittering under the sun, and fresh bloodstains that hadn't fully coagulated on the asphalt.
The air reeked of spilled gasoline and scattered trash, a stark reminder of the frantic evacuations that had occurred just two days prior. Here, far from the military cordon that had collapsed downtown, there were fewer zombies, but their presence remained a latent threat.
Alex led the group—Tim, Emily, Amy, George, Yuki, Kris, and Abi—with measured steps, his machete in one hand, his knife in the other, his senses hyper-alert to every shadow and noise.
The streets weren't deserted: human figures darted between buildings, armed with pipes, bats, makeshift knives, and even guns, their tense faces reflecting a mix of fear and sheer determination.
But Alex noticed something else: ignorance. He saw a man stagger out of a pharmacy, a bloody bite mark on his arm, acting as if it were just a superficial wound, oblivious to the fate awaiting him.
Amy, Emily's friend, moved closer to Alex, her voice shaky but curious. "That guy… he's going to turn, isn't he? He looked so… normal." Her eyes tracked the man, who was now leaning against a pole, panting.
Alex took a moment, his mind calculating how to answer without sowing more panic. "Yeah, Amy. Bites… they always end the same. But not everyone knows that yet. It's only been a short time. People still believe they can be cured." He paused, watching the man walk away, unaware of his death sentence.
They have no idea how fast this thing consumes them.
Emily, walking nearby, interjected. "How do we know so much, though? I mean, you knew from the beginning, Alex." Her tone was a blend of admiration and suspicion, an echo of the doubts they all shared about him.
Alex sidestepped the question with a shrug. "I've seen things. I learned fast… Besides, you guys only saw it starting with the disaster on Friday, but this was already happening days earlier, just less visible." He couldn't tell them about his visions, not yet. They wouldn't understand.
They advanced a few more yards when a loud bang shattered the silence: three cars screeched to a halt in front of a nearby jewelry store, kicking up dust and gravel. Hooded men jumped out, their movements fast and aggressive, firing pistols into the air. The shots echoed like thunder. The scattered crowd—people searching for food or shelter—bolted, screaming. Alex clenched his jaw.
Idiots. Those shots will draw every zombie from downtown.
Without hesitation, he pointed to a side alley. "We're leaving, now. That's not our problem." The group followed him without question, though Emily looked back, worried about the civilians.
The next half hour was a gauntlet of tension. The streets, though less congested, were riddled with dangers. At one corner, a lone zombie, its shirt stained with fresh blood, lunged at them. Alex dropped it with a precise machete strike, the skull giving way with a wet crunch.
On another street, a gaunt man tried to rob them, brandishing a switchblade, but Tim stared him down and scared him off with his own weapon. Further on, a hysterical woman tried to stop them from killing zombies, yelling that the infected were 'just sick people' and shouldn't be killed. Alex ignored her, pushing the group forward. No time for moral debates.
Finally, they reached the safe house, a two-story building on a quiet residential street. From the outside, it looked like a common house, with peeling paint from recent work and an unkempt lawn, but Alex knew it was a fortress. He and his friend David had prepared it weeks ago, guided by the visions that had tormented him. The main door, steel-reinforced, was opened by Alex using a key hidden nearby.
The interior made them gasp: the space was optimized to the maximum, with boxes stacked against the walls, labeled precisely—"Food," "Medicine," "Weapons," "Clothes." Decorative furniture had been replaced by metal shelving, and the windows, covered with resistant glass plates, had narrow slits for surveillance. It was a shelter designed for an apocalypse, capable of housing dozens, though much of the space was dedicated to resource storage.
Emily let out a whistle. "Alex, what the hell is this? Are you a bunker fanatic or something?" Her tone was light, but her eyes were searching for answers.
Kris, with Abi by her side, eyed the arsenal with a raised eyebrow. "This isn't normal," she muttered, while Abi seemed more intrigued than surprised.
"No time for questions," Alex said, his voice clipped but weary. "There are bathrooms, beds, an equipped kitchen. Do what you need to, but get some rest. We need it."
Emily, Amy, and Yuki started arguing over who would take the first shower, their voices relieved by the safety of the place. George and Tim headed to the kitchen, looking for food, while Kris and Abi explored the rest of the house, their steps echoing on the ceramic floor.
Alex collapsed into an armchair, one of the few pieces of furniture they hadn't removed, and dropped his backpack to the floor. The weight of the machete on his belt was a constant reminder of the reality outside, but here, in this shelter, he could breathe. Yet, his mind didn't rest. The encounter with Yuki at the office haunted him: the passion, the connection, the awkward aftermath.
His visions had made him prepare for a future point that hadn't yet arrived. However, that preparation had changed many things, things that didn't seem present in the visions—safe houses, routes, survival—things that didn't seem to be in the villa's refuge. Now, with Yuki, Emily, and the group depending on him, he doubted.
Can I lead them all? Do I even want to? Will this change things even more?
He thought about his options: joining Ron's group, where he would leave Emily; staying with David, his friend; returning with the survivors he rescued the first afternoon; going with Ryan and his parents; or even going back to the high school. But no option fit. I just want to survive. Is that enough? The villa from his visions felt increasingly distant, a dream crumbling under the weight of reality.
Emily pulled him from his thoughts, sitting beside him. "Alex, this place… how did you prepare it? It's like you knew this was coming." Her voice was soft but loaded with curiosity.
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just got lucky, Emily. David and I… we thought of the worst-case scenario and prepared accordingly." He couldn't talk about the visions, not when he barely understood them himself.
She looked at him, not entirely convinced, but nodded. "Well, thank you. You saved us again." She got up, joining Amy and Yuki, who were laughing while debating about the hot water.
Alex leaned back, staring at the ceiling. The safe house was a respite, but not a solution. Outside, the zombies were still moving, and the world was still collapsing. His visions had brought him here, but the future was a blurred canvas.
What next, Alex?
For now, he could only lead, protect, and hope the answer arrived before the dead did.
One hour later.
The safe house was an improbable oasis in a collapsing world. The doors, reinforced with steel plates, vibrated slightly with the echo of distant growls, but inside reigned a fragile, almost surreal calm. The ceramic floor creaked underfoot, and the boxes stacked against the walls—labeled with black markers: "Food," "Medicine," "Weapons"—were a testament to Alex and David's obsessive preparation.
Alex stepped out of the shower, the hot water still steaming on his skin, a luxury that made him feel human again. The muscles in his arms and legs throbbed, exhausted by the constant exertion, and the bite marks on his body—teeth that hadn't reached his flesh, thanks to his thick clothes—reminded him how close he had been to the end.
He dried himself quickly, the rub of the towel soothing the sore spots on his body. He put on a loose t-shirt and sweatpants, a contrast to the heavy-duty clothes that had protected him on the streets.
As he went downstairs, the murmur of voices greeted him. Emily and Tim were in front of the TV, flipping channels in frustration. Amy and George, sitting in a corner, were on the phone, their voices low but urgent, trying to contact family. Kris and Abi, on the sofa, shared a bag of chips, their faces relaxed but alert.
Alex approached the TV, where the news painted a desolate picture. A foreign channel spoke of curfews, its optimistic tone assuring that 'the situation would stabilize soon.'
Lies to calm people down, Alex thought, his jaw tight.
Another, more strident channel showed a commentator gesticulating wildly. "This is the work of foreign labs! Biological weapons, I told you!" Alex shook his head.
Nobody knows anything. They're either pretending not to, or they're just speculating.
A third, more serious channel explained the behavior of the infected: "They are clinically dead. A bite means conversion. Eliminate them if necessary." Before they finished, the signal cut out, replaced by an error message.
Kris, crunching a cracker, let out a bitter laugh. "How convenient. Someone doesn't want you asking questions."
"Do you think they shut them down on purpose?" Abi asked, her eyes narrowed, more curious than cynical.
"Obviously," Kris replied, shrugging. "The truth doesn't sell hope."
The silence that followed was heavy. Emily changed the channel, but those still broadcasting only repeated empty promises. Tired, everyone started talking about dinner.
"So, what now? Do we eat or what?" George said, rubbing his stomach. "That bacon I smelled earlier is killing me."
Alex, knowing no one else in the group had culinary experience, headed for the kitchen. "I'll take care of it," he said, his voice firm but worn.
Yuki, still self-conscious after what they had shared, looked up. "I'll help you," she murmured, following him with tentative steps.
In the kitchen, surrounded by cans and packets, they worked in silence, preparing noodles with egg, bacon, and tomato. The warm aroma contrasted with the cold air filtering through the vents. Yuki carefully sliced the bacon, avoiding looking directly at him, while Alex stirred the noodles.
Twenty minutes later, everyone was seated at the table, the plates steaming with noodles and soda bubbling in glasses. The food, simple but comforting, brought out tired smiles. Emily broke the silence, recounting how they had survived in the high school, barricaded in a classroom, listening to their classmates' screams.
"It was like a horror movie," she said, her voice trembling. "But Alex got us out of there. And he even secured the place for those who stayed." Everyone nodded, their eyes landing on him with a mix of gratitude and curiosity.
Kris spoke up, her tone casual but calculated. "We tried to escape downtown on Friday. We were trapped, running, when these two brothers saved us. They killed the zombies without batting an eye, but they were… rough. We split up after an argument."
Just as Alex was about to mention the survivors he rescued in the northeast, a roar of engines cut through the air. Voices amplified by loudspeakers resonated, a military tone warning about the curfew and the consequences of violating it.
The group froze, rushing to the windows. Through the curtain slits, they saw military trucks passing slowly, their searchlights sweeping the alleys. Soldiers armed with heavy machine guns guarded from the rooftops, their silhouettes outlined against the purple twilight sky. Alex felt a shiver.
This isn't over.
The safe house was a haven, but the world outside was still at war, a war very different from what the world has seen.
They returned to the table, the mood somber. Alex sank into his thoughts. Two days ago, at this time, he was responding to Ron's desperate call, promising to rescue Emily. He had saved others before, and now he was here, in the safe house, thinking about the future.
What do I do after I drop Emily off with Ron?
He couldn't join any group without questioning it: Ron, David, the survivors in the northeast, Ryan, the high school. Every option tied him down, and Alex, deep down, just wanted to survive, and he knew he could do it on his own.
"Alex? Are you okay?" Yuki's voice pulled him out of his reverie. She was beside him, her gaze soft but concerned.
"Yeah, just… thinking," he replied, forcing a smile. "We need to plan the next step."
Tim nodded from across the table. "Taking Emily to her father, right?"
Alex nodded and replied: "If we're going to Ron's refuge, the military's movement changes things… We could wait here a day, or if the military doesn't show up again, we can keep moving further southwest."
Emily looked at him, her trust in him unwavering. "You always have a plan, Alex. We trust you."
Kris, with a hint of sarcasm, added: "Yeah, the guy with the bunker house. What else are you hiding?" Abi laughed, but her eyes were cold, assessing him.
Alex ignored the comment but felt the weight of their gazes.
I'm not a hero. I'm just improvising.
The safe house offered them a reprieve, but the engines and loudspeakers outside were a reminder: the apocalypse wasn't waiting. While the others talked, Alex stood up, checking his machete and radio.
One step at a time. Get Emily to Ron. Then… we'll see.
But inside, the doubt grew, and the villa from his visions felt more like a mirage than a certainty.
.
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[A/N: CHAPTER COMPLETED
Hello everyone.
I'm not going to lie, this chapter was more to finish the idea and leave you at the safe house. I didn't want to include more zombie fight scenes because it felt like filler, but even with that out, the chapter is so-so.
What I do know is that the perspectives will return in the next one.
I want to see some characters moving in the first hours of the apocalypse, especially those from other fictions.
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Read my other novels
#Vinland Kingdom: Race Against Time. (Chapter 105)
#The Walking Dead: Emily's Metamorphosis. (Chapter 31) (INTERMITTENT)
#The Walking Dead: Patient 0 - Lyra File. (Chapter 11) (INTERMITTENT)
You can find them on my profile.]