"Try not to eat everything," Noah said, his tone firm but calm. "We need to ration what's left. Better to have something tomorrow than nothing at all."
I nodded and opened just one protein bar. It was probably the smallest meal I'd ever had.
"You need to change your clothes. You can't stay in your uniform all day," Noah said. He sounded unusually strict.
"But I've got nothing else to wear," I replied quietly.
"That's fine," Noah said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "We'll find a shelter somewhere. This isn't the kind of place we can stay in for long."
Noah stood up, and I quickly finished the last bite of my protein bar before taking a small sip of water. I guessed we're about to head out.
"There's a forest a few miles from here," Noah said, adjusting the straps on his bag. "We'll head that way—it's safer than the city. The fewer people around, the better our chances."
I nodded. It had been about twenty hours since the chaos began. I couldn't help but wonder if there were any survivors left out there. Thinking about how fast everything fell apart… I doubted many made it through the tragedy.
I packed everything I could fit into my bag while Noah worked on the doors, turning the locks with slow precision. The creak of the hinges was barely audible, but it still made my heart race.
The moment we stepped outside, we stopped in our tracks. A cluster of the undead staggered in the distance—their eyes milky and lifeless, skin pale and stretched tight over bone, mouths dripping with fresh blood.
Noah already had his pistol drawn, the metal glinting faintly in the dim light. We both knew better than to take the same path as the undead. I stayed close behind him, instinctively wrapping my arm around his as we moved.
We kept walking, keeping a safe distance from the undead as we moved through the empty streets. Abandoned cars lined the road, one after another, stretching as far as I could see. It looked like everyone had been trapped in traffic when it all happened—stuck there, never making it out of the city.
After what felt like hours of walking, the city began to fade behind us. The air grew colder, quieter. The smell of smoke and decay was replaced by damp earth and pine. Ahead, the dark outline of the forest finally came into view—a shadowed sanctuary at the edge of the ruined world.
Noah slowed his pace, scanning the treeline. "We'll rest there," he said. "It's safer among the trees."
I didn't argue. The forest looked dark and unwelcoming, but compared to the city, it felt like the only place left that hadn't been completely consumed.
We kept walking, mile after mile, until the ruins of the city disappeared behind the curtain of trees. Out here, the quiet was almost unbearable.
Noah stopped beside a massive fallen trunk and sat down. "Let's take a quick break," he said.
I remained silent.
"What's wrong? You can talk now," Noah said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "We're far from the city. No undead are going to hear us out here."
I let out a long breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, finally feeling safe enough to breathe comfortably again.
"So… what's the plan?" I asked quietly, still keeping my voice low.
Noah looked around the forest, scanning the treeline before answering. "We'll stay here for and rest for awhile," he said. "Then we move deeper into the woods. There's an old cabin somewhere north—I saw it on the map before everything went down. If it's still standing, we can use it as shelter."
He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. "We'll need to find more food soon, too. What we have won't last another day."
I took my phone out, hoping for some kind of update—news, messages, anything. The screen flickered weakly, showing only a single bar of signal that kept disappearing."Damn," I sighed. "There's barely even a signal here."
"Why do you still need that?" Noah asked softly, nodding toward my phone.
"My father," I said, barely above a whisper. "I still don't know if he's okay. I've been checking every chance I get, but… there's been nothing."
"He's probably dead," Noah said flatly.
I froze, staring back at him in disbelief. "Don't say that! We don't even know yet!" I snapped, my voice cracking more from fear than anger.
Noah didn't say anything after that. He just looked away, staring into the dark stretch of trees ahead. The silence that followed felt heavier than before, pressing down between us like a weight neither of us could carry.
"I'm sorry," he finally muttered. "I didn't mean it like that. It's just… I've seen what's out there. It's hard to believe anyone made it out alive."
I looked down at the phone still clutched in my hand. The screen was black now, my reflection faint against the cracked glass. For a moment, I wished I'd never turned it on.
Noah stood up stretching.
"We should go before it gets dark. The forest can be dangerous at night," Noah said, his eyes scanning the treetops as the light began to fade.
I stood up, slinging my bag over my shoulder, and gathered the rest of my things. Without another word, we started walking again. The air grew colder with every step, and the shadows stretched long across the forest floor.
After what felt like hours, we finally reached a two-story cabin hidden among the trees. Its wooden walls were weathered and covered in moss, but it stood firm—silent, almost waiting for us.
Noah scanned the inside first, flashlight sweeping slowly across the room. Once he was sure no one was there, he turned back and gave me a quick signal to come in.
I stepped inside after Noah's signal, my eyes scanning the room. The furniture was spotless—no dust, no cobwebs, nothing that hinted at abandonment. Everything looked clean and carefully kept, as if someone had just been here moments ago. The air even smelled faintly of soap and wood polish… a strange contrast to the decay outside.
It felt wrong somehow. The cabin was empty, yet it didn't feel abandoned. Whoever had been here hadn't been gone for long.
Noah headed upstairs to check the second floor, leaving me alone in the living room. I set my bag down on the couch and tried to relax, but the silence pressed in from all sides. The faint creak of the house was the only sound.
After a few minutes, I realized Noah had been gone longer than expected. A knot of worry tightened in my chest. I hesitated for a moment, then pushed myself up and started toward the stairs, each step creaking softly beneath my feet.
Upstairs, there were three rooms. I checked the first one, calling Noah's name softly—but no one answered. The room was empty.
I moved to the second door, my heartbeat quickening. Still no sign of him. Just silence.
Finally, I pushed open the third door.
Noah was there—standing perfectly still. His back was to me, his eyes fixed on the bed in front of him. I followed his gaze, and my breath caught in my throat.
A woman's corpse lay on the mattress, her body pale and rigid. A pistol rested loosely in her hand, and a dark, dried stain trailed down the sheets from her temple. It looked like she'd shot herself not too long ago… but there were deep, raw bite marks on her legs.
Noah slowly turned to look at me. His face was blank, but his eyes—his eyes said everything.
I saw a handwritten letter on the bedside table.
"Date: October 15th, 2025."
My throat tightened as I continued reading.
"If anyone finds this… I couldn't fight it anymore. The bite is spreading faster than I thought. I didn't want to turn—not after what happened to my husband. Please, take care of my child. He won't leave his mama behind. His name is Ross. He's nine years old. I didn't want to leave him alone, but I couldn't bring myself to… to shoot him. He's mute, but he can hear just fine."
The last line was written with a trembling hand, the ink smeared near the end as if she had been crying, or shaking too much to write.
"Noah… there's a child here" I said, my voice trembling as I handed him the note.
He took it silently, his eyes scanning the page while I began searching the room. My heart pounded as I pulled open closets and peered under the bed, half expecting something—or someone—to move.
When Noah finished reading, he didn't say a word. He just folded the paper and slipped it into his pocket before joining me in the search.
We searched downstairs, checking every corner, every shadow the dim light could touch. Noah opened the cabinets one by one, their hinges creaking in the silence.
And then—we found him.
A small boy, crouched inside one of the lower cupboards, his knees pulled tightly to his chest. His face was pale and streaked with dirt, eyes red and swollen from crying. Silent tears streamed down his cheeks, but he didn't make a sound—not a single whimper.
He just looked at us, trembling, his breath shaky and uneven. The quiet in the room felt heavier now, broken only by the faint rustle of his movements.
He didn't speak. He couldn't. Just like the letter said.
I slowly knelt beside the cupboard, careful not to startle him. "Hey… it's okay," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "We're not here to hurt you."
I helped Ross crawl out of the cupboard slowly, keeping my movements calm. He was light—too light for his age—and his clothes hung loose on his small frame.
"It's alright now," I murmured, brushing the dust off his shoulder. "You're safe."
I wiped the tears from his cheeks with my sleeve and pulled him into a gentle hug. He froze for a second, then slowly leaned into me, his small arms wrapping weakly around my waist.
After a few moments, I loosened my grip and looked at him. "Is this your house, Ross?" I asked softly.
He hesitated, then gave a small nod. His lower lip trembled, and fresh tears welled up in his eyes. He pointed toward the stairs—toward the room where we found his mother.
My heart sank.
"I know… shhh, I know," I whispered, brushing his hair gently as he clung to me. "You must be hungry… are you hungry, Ross?"
He blinked up at me, tears still clinging to his lashes. After a moment, he nodded—just once, timid and small.
"Okay," I said softly, forcing a faint smile. "We'll get you something to eat, alright?"
Noah stood quietly by the doorway, watching us. There was something in his expression—something softer than I'd ever seen before. He gave a small nod, then turned toward the kitchen to look for food.
I stayed with Ross while Noah moved around the kitchen. The soft hum of the refrigerator broke the silence—a strange, almost comforting sound in a world that had gone quiet.
The lights still worked, faint but steady, casting a warm glow across the small living room. It felt almost unreal… like the chaos outside had never reached this place.
Ross sat beside me on the couch. His eyes followed Noah's every move as he opened the fridge. Somehow, it still had vegetables and a few packs of meat left.
Noah set a pan on the stove, the faint hiss of gas filling the air before the click of the lighter sparked it to life. The smell of cooking meat began to drift through the room, rich and warm.
For a moment, everything felt… normal.
Ross leaned against me, his small frame trembling less than before. I brushed a hand through his hair and whispered, "See? It's going to be okay."
After Ross finally calmed down, Noah set the table. The faint clatter of plates and silverware echoed softly through the cabin, oddly comforting against the quiet outside.
He placed three portions on the table—simple, but warm. Cooked meat, a few slices of vegetables, and some rice he found stored in the pantry. It smelled better than anything I'd eaten in days.
"Come on," Noah said gently, gesturing for us to sit. "It's not much, but it's food."
I helped Ross onto one of the chairs. He stared at the plate for a moment, almost unsure if he was allowed to eat. Then, slowly, he began picking at the food, small bites at first—hesitant, quiet.
I watched him, feeling a strange ache in my chest. He was just a child—alone, scared, clinging to whatever pieces of normal life still existed.
Noah sat down across from us, leaning back in his chair. "Guess we got lucky this time," he murmured. "A working kitchen, power still on… feels almost wrong."
I nodded quietly. The cabin was too peaceful. Almost too normal. And that, somehow, was the most unsettling part of all.
If only Ross could tell me what happened to his mother… maybe we'd understand what really happened here.
He ate in silence, eyes fixed on his plate, never looking up. Every so often, his small hands would tremble, and he'd grip his fork tighter—like he was trying to keep himself from remembering something.
I wanted to ask. I wanted to know. But looking at him now, fragile and broken, I couldn't bring myself to. Whatever he saw… it wasn't something a child should ever have to put into words.
Noah watched him too, his usual hard expression softening. "Let him eat," he whispered quietly to me. "He's been through enough."
Noah and I quietly started eating our food. Neither of us said much—just the soft clinking of utensils against the plates and the faint crackle from the stove still cooling down. The meal was simple, but it tasted like the best thing I'd had in days.
When we were done, we moved to the living room. The lights were dim, flickering every now and then as if the power was struggling to hold on. I sat down on the couch, and Ross curled up beside me, resting his head on my lap.
Before long, his breathing slowed. He was asleep—finally, peacefully asleep. I brushed a hand through his hair, careful not to wake him.
Noah sat across from us, leaning back in the armchair with a tired sigh. For once, there was no urgency, no fear. Just the faint hum of electricity, the quiet of the cabin, and the sound of rain starting to fall outside.
"You know we have to bury his mother, right?" I said softly, careful not to wake Ross. My voice wavered, but I tried to sound steady. "Before he wakes up."
Noah looked at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded slowly, exhaling through his nose.
"Yeah," he murmured. "I was thinking the same thing."
He stood up, stretching his sore shoulders before glancing toward the stairs. "We'll do it quietly. He doesn't need to see that."
I looked down at Ross—his small hand still clutching the torn stuffed bear, his face peaceful for the first time since we found him. My chest tightened. "He's just a kid," I whispered. "He shouldn't have to lose everything."
Noah's voice came out low, rough. "In this world, everyone already has."