Date: April 18th, 2027
Place: New York City – Lower East Side – Elias' Apartment Building
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The voice came again.
"Come on, you bastards!"
It was muffled through the door, but the anger in it was clear—raw, defiant, alive. The sound of furniture scraping followed, then the crash of something heavy slamming against a wall.
Claire's eyes flicked to me, wide. Her hand tightened around the stake at her side. "He's in trouble," she whispered.
I raised a hand for silence. My ear pressed against the door. Groans echoed inside, deeper, closer. The scrape of claws against wood. The sound of fists pounding into flesh.
Whoever was in there wasn't begging for help. He was fighting.
I pulled back slowly, jaw tight.
Claire's voice trembled with urgency. "We can't just—"
"We will," I cut in softly. My eyes locked on hers. "But carefully. We don't know him."
Her lips pressed tight, but she nodded.
I tightened my grip on the hammer. One sharp breath. Then I slammed my boot into the door.
The wood cracked, the hinges groaned, and the frame splintered. The door swung inward.
Chaos met us.
The apartment was wrecked—furniture overturned, glass shattered across the floor. In the middle of it, a man grappled with two zombies. He was broad-shouldered, dark-skinned, his shaved head gleaming with sweat. His biceps strained as he held one creature back by the throat, his other arm swinging wildly with a bloodied wrench.
The wrench connected with a skull, cracking it open. The zombie collapsed in a heap. The second snarled, lunging for his neck. He roared, headbutting it with brutal force, then shoved it back against the wall.
Elias charged. The hammer arced high and came down with a crunch, smashing through the creature's skull. It went limp instantly.
Silence fell.
The big man staggered, panting heavily. His chest rose and fell like a furnace. He turned, eyes locking onto me and Claire.
For a heartbeat, the three of us stared at one another in the wreckage.
"Who the hell are you?" the man growled, his voice hoarse but strong.
I kept the hammer ready, not lowering it. "Survivors. Like you."
He eyed the hammer, then Claire clutching her stake, pale and trembling but standing firm. His jaw tightened.
"Survivors, huh? Damn right we are." He spat blood onto the carpet. "Name's Miguel."
"Elias," I said. "This is Claire."
Miguel's gaze softened briefly at her, then sharpened again as it came back to me. "You came charging in without thinking. You always do that?"
"Only when it matters," I said evenly.
He huffed, almost a laugh. "Then maybe you're not completely useless."
Claire bristled faintly. "He saved your life."
Miguel's eyes flicked to her, surprised at her sudden steel. Then he smirked, tired but genuine. "Fair enough. Guess I owe him one."
I lowered the hammer slowly, but not completely. "How long have you been holding out here?"
"Since last night," Miguel said, wiping sweat from his brow. "Lost my family in the rush downstairs. Got trapped up here when these freaks came through. Been beating skulls ever since."
His voice cracked faintly on the word family, but he pushed through it, jaw tight.
Claire's eyes softened, her lips parting. "I'm sorry."
Miguel looked at her again, and for a moment the bravado slipped. He nodded once, short and sharp. "Yeah. Me too."
---
We took a moment to breathe, the three of us in the wreckage.
Miguel leaned against the wall, wiping his wrench clean on his torn shirt. He was still strong, still brash, but beneath it I could see the exhaustion—the grief gnawing at the edges.
"You two cleared this floor?" he asked.
"Most of it," I said.
"Then you know it's bad out there."
"Worse than bad," I said.
He huffed again, shaking his head. "Figures. Always thought the end of the world would be more… cinematic. Not like this."
Claire blinked. "What do you mean?"
Miguel shrugged, forcing a crooked grin. "Thought it'd be meteors. Or aliens. Something you could fight clean. Not neighbors turning into monsters in their pajamas."
Despite herself, Claire almost smiled.
I studied him carefully. "You fought well."
"Damn right I did," Miguel said, smirking. Then his expression sobered. "But I can't do it alone. You two proved that when you came through that door."
He looked between us, his dark eyes steady. "So. We stick together, or we die alone. What's it gonna be?"
I didn't hesitate. "Together."
Claire nodded instantly beside me.
Miguel grinned faintly, tired but warm. "Good. Then let's clear this damn building."
---
We rested briefly before moving again. Miguel shared a bottle of half-warm water he'd scavenged. We passed it around without a word. In that silence, the smallest seed of camaraderie rooted itself.
Claire sat closer to me now, her body no longer curled inward but leaning slightly forward, eyes sharper. Miguel sprawled against the wall, twirling the wrench in his hand like it was an extension of him.
For the first time, it wasn't just me and Claire. It was something more.
A group. Fragile, bloodstained, but alive.
And in this new world, that meant everything.
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