Hope is a dangerous thing.
For hours after hearing the voice from the radio, Thomas couldn't rest. He dismantled the back of the portable radio, removed its old batteries, and rummaged through the messy shelves until he found a new set of batteries still in their plastic wrapping. With hands trembling slightly from anticipation, he installed them.
The result was the same. Endless static.
He didn't give up. He spent the rest of the day trying every frequency, turning the dial with painfully slow movements, hoping to catch that miraculous signal again. But there was nothing.
A day passed. Thomas rationed his food, eating only when hunger became unbearable. He spent most of his time sitting silently in the darkest corner of the store, conserving energy, occasionally turning on the radio with dwindling hope. The radio's silence felt heavier than the silence outside.
On the second day, as he opened and finished his last can of sardines, that hope finally extinguished, leaving a cold emptiness within him. He was alone again. Truly alone.
The returning gnawing hunger forced him to get up. He returned to his vantage point near the dirty front window. His gaze swept past the sprawling parking lot, fixed on a much larger building: a supermarket with a faded logo. That place was a fortress promising abundant supplies, a treasure trove in this dead world.
The risk was far greater, but the reward was worth it. He knew he couldn't hide in this small store forever. He had to move. He had to go there.
Planning was a luxury. And right now, Thomas was trying to buy that luxury with time he didn't have. For hours, he observed the parking lot from behind the filthy window. The number of creatures out there was far more than he had ever faced, wandering aimlessly among the abandoned cars. Running straight across was an invitation to be torn apart.
He needed a distraction. Something big, something noisy. His eyes scanned the gray concrete landscape, searching for possibilities. And he found it. In the farthest corner of the parking lot, a dull red fire hydrant stood like a small monument.
Perfect. The sound of exploding, gushing water would draw them all like moths to a flame.
But how? He couldn't throw something this far to break it. Trying to get close enough to manually damage it would be suicide.
That's when the whisper came. A tempting and dangerous thought, rising from the darkest depths of his despair. His power.
"No," he thought quickly, trying to dismiss the idea. "Too risky."
But the whisper wouldn't leave. It kept coaxing. Think of the shelves filled with food. Unlimited drinking water. Maybe medicine. All could be yours. It just takes one small wish. Targeted. 'I want that hydrant to explode.' Simple.
He felt cold sweat bead on his temples. He knew it was a bad idea, a gamble he was likely to lose. But the image of himself starving to death in this small store was far more terrifying than the risk of failure. Desperation was a powerful motivator.
With a long sigh, he made his decision. He would try. He had to try.
Thomas pushed the grocery store door open, slipping out into the scorching heat. He moved quickly, his body hunched low, running from car to car until he reached a large van that offered him perfect concealment with a direct view of the hydrant.
His heart pounded, not just from the run, but from the terrifying anticipation. He leaned against the deflated tire of the van, closed his eyes, and tried to steady his breathing. He focused his entire will, visualizing the hydrant in his mind, imagining its metal cracking and water gushing out with tremendous force. He gathered all his remaining energy and desperation into one point.
"I want that fire hydrant to explode," he whispered, the words barely audible.
The familiar, painful wave of energy drained out of him. This time it felt stronger, like something was forcibly pulled from the core of his being, making him dizzy to the point of nausea. He staggered, his hand pressing against the side of the van to keep himself from falling.
With bated breath, he opened his eyes.
Nothing.
The red hydrant still stood there, intact and silent under the blazing sun. No sound of water. No gush. Only mocking silence. His power had failed. Completely.
A cold despair hit him harder than the physical effects of his power. As he gasped from a mixture of exhaustion and disappointment, a small pebble dislodged from under his shoe. The tiny scraping sound seemed deafening to him.
And apparently, to other ears too.
About twenty meters to his left, one of the creatures that had been wandering aimlessly stopped. Its drooping head slowly lifted and turned, its empty gaze now fixed directly on his hiding spot. The creature began to walk towards him.
A cold panic jolted Thomas from his disappointment. No time for regret. The creature was getting closer, and in his weakened state, fighting was not an option. He had to run, but where?
He shuffled away from the van, his eyes wildly searching for an escape. Then he saw it. An old sedan parked on a gentle incline, its window open a few centimeters. A crazy, desperate idea formed.
Ignoring his dizziness, he slipped to the side of the car. With difficulty, he pushed his arm through the window crack, fumbling in the darkness until his fingers found the parking brake release lever. He pulled it with all his might. With a soft groan, he pushed the car with his shoulder. The car began to roll, slowly at first, then picking up speed down the incline.
CRACK!
The loud crash of metal echoed throughout the parking lot as the sedan slammed into the back of a truck. His emergency plan worked. All the creatures nearby, including the one that had been walking towards him, uniformly turned and moved towards the source of the noise.
That was his chance.
Thomas wasted no time. He mustered his last remnants of strength and ran. He ran across the open asphalt towards the large supermarket entrance. He didn't try to open the door; he simply slammed into it with his full weight.
The glass doors burst open and Thomas tumbled onto the cold linoleum floor inside. He lay there, gasping for breath, his lungs burning, and every muscle in his body screaming in pain from the extreme exhaustion caused by his power's failure.
He made it. He was inside.
As his blurred vision began to focus in the vast darkness of the supermarket, a sound broke the silence. A low, wet groan, coming from one of the aisles, very close to him.
He wasn't alone.
The momentary relief of making it inside this fortress vanished instantly, replaced by familiar terror. His body, crushed by extreme exhaustion, screamed in protest, but the instinct to survive was stronger.
With movements that felt slow and painful, he forced himself to crawl, silently dragging his body behind the first row of gondola shelves he could reach. The supermarket was vast and dark, like a man-made cave. The only light came from a few dimly lit ceiling panels, creating long shadows that danced like ghosts.
He held his breath, trying to listen.
Shuffle... shuffle...
A soft, wet dragging sound came from one of the aisles ahead of him. Thomas's heart pounded so loudly he feared the creature could hear it. He had to move, find a safer place. Crawling, he passed an aisle filled with household appliances. On the bottom shelf, his eyes caught several old, rusty, dusty cans of paint, forgotten by time.
He hid at the end of an aisle filled with dog food, hunkering down among large sacks. For a moment, he felt safe. The shuffling sound seemed to recede. Maybe the creature was passing him by.
As he tried to shift his position for a little more comfort, his elbow accidentally nudged a can of dog food placed on an unstable stack.
CLANG!
The sound of the can falling to the floor was like an explosion in the dead silence. Thomas froze, his eyes wide with horror. The shuffling sound in the next aisle stopped. Silence. Then, the sound started again, this time much closer, and coming directly towards him.
A dark silhouette appeared at the end of his aisle, blocking his only exit. The creature began to walk towards him, its steps slow but relentless.
Thomas scrambled backward in a panic, but his back soon hit the cold, solid back wall of the supermarket. A dead end. He was cornered. No escape, and no weapon in his hand.
His eyes desperately scanned his surroundings. Through a gap in the shelves, he could see the next aisle, where he had seen those old paint cans. A crazy idea, an impossible gamble, flashed through his terror-stricken mind.
"No, it won't work," he thought, remembering the failure in the parking lot.
But the creature was getting closer, its groan now clearly audible.
"There's no other choice!" the other side of his mind screamed.
He swallowed his fear. This was his last gamble. He would stake the last remnants of his consciousness on one absurd little miracle.
The creature was only a few meters away now. Its low, wet groan filled the narrow aisle. Holding his breath, Thomas ignored his fear and focused all his remaining will on one point: the rusty paint can in the next aisle. He didn't ask for an explosion. He didn't ask for anything complicated. His request was very simple, very specific.
"I want this paint can to spill right in front of it."
He felt a slight draw of energy from his body, a sharp, brief tug, nothing compared to the pain he had experienced before. Instantly, the rusty lid of the paint can popped into the air. The can tumbled from the shelf, and its thick, dark contents spilled onto the linoleum floor, creating a slick puddle directly in the creature's path.
Mindless and with no awareness to avoid, the creature's foot stepped directly into the middle of the paint puddle.
Its foot slipped.
Its already poor balance completely unraveled. It swung its arms wildly, trying to steady itself, but failed completely. With a loud, wet THUD, the creature fell sprawling onto the floor, momentarily unable to move as it tried to get up from the sticky floor.
That was the chance Thomas needed.
Without hesitation, he lunged forward. His hand grabbed the screwdriver he had tucked into his belt after the previous fight. He leaped onto the back of the crawling creature and plunged the tip of the screwdriver with all his might into the back of its skull. The creature stiffened for a moment, then went limp in the puddle of paint.
Thomas stood panting, staring at his handiwork. And in the vast silence of the supermarket, a brilliant understanding illuminated his mind. The hydrant, a large and complex request, failed completely at great cost. The paint can, a small, simple, and specific request, succeeded at very little cost.
He finally understood. Simple. Specific. That was the key.
For a long time, Thomas just stood there, panting in the silence. An immense relief washed over him, so strong it made his legs feel weak. He leaned against the shelf, allowing himself to savor that moment of victory. He had not only survived, he had also learned.
After a few minutes, he forced himself to move. With this new discovery about his power, he no longer felt completely helpless. He took out the flashlight from the backpack he had brought from the grocery store, switched it on, and began the daunting task: clearing and securing his new fortress. Carefully, he combed every aisle, every dark corner, and every storage room in the vast supermarket. Empty. He was alone. He then dragged several heavy pallets of goods to barricade the main entrance, creating a solid barrier.
His newfound sense of security gave him room to think beyond just food and water. He searched for other supplies, perhaps a first-aid kit or better clothes. This search led him to a small manager's office at the back of the store. The office was a mess, papers strewn everywhere. But on a table, laid out as if waiting for him, was an invaluable treasure. A large, detailed map of the state of Georgia.
He cleared the table and spread the map under his flashlight's beam. His eyes traced the lines representing roads and cities, names from a once-normal world. And there, his dirty finger stopped at a thick blue line leading south from downtown Atlanta: Interstate 85.
An escape route. A clear path.
A hope, stronger and more real than the one the radio had offered, now swelled in his chest. It was no longer just a vague dream of an evacuation center; this was a path he could see, a road he could take to get out of this hell.