Date: April 18th, 2027
Place: New York City – Lower East Side – Elias' Apartment Building
---
Henry's apartment was a fortress of desperation.
The walls were stripped bare, furniture stacked into crude barricades. Nails jutted from planks hammered across the windows, sealing out the dying light. Tools lay scattered across the floor—hammers, crowbars, drills.
It smelled of sweat and iron.
Henry moved stiffly, his shoulders hunched, the weight of exhaustion etched into his every step. He gestured toward the overturned table in the corner. "Sit, if you want. Don't touch anything that isn't yours."
Miguel muttered under his breath, "Nice welcome."
Claire hesitated at the doorway, her hazel eyes darting nervously around the barricades. Her hands twisted in the sleeves of her hoodie.
I sat first, hammer across my knees, steady. Miguel followed reluctantly, dropping onto the floor with a grunt. Claire sat beside me, shoulders tense.
Henry remained standing, arms crossed, gaze sharp. He studied us in silence for a long time, his eyes lingering on each of us like he was weighing our worth.
Finally, he spoke.
"You look too clean." His gravelly voice was low, hard. "Not enough blood on you to have made it this far."
Miguel bristled instantly. "The hell's that supposed to mean? We killed one of those big freaks upstairs. You think we strolled in here singing songs?"
Henry's lips curled into something between a smirk and a snarl. "Big talk. Maybe you got lucky."
Miguel surged to his feet, wrench in hand. "Say that again, viejo—"
I raised a hand, my voice calm but firm. "Sit."
Miguel's jaw clenched, but after a tense moment, he sat again, muttering curses under his breath.
Henry's gaze shifted to me. "And you. You sit there calm, like you've got it all figured out. That worries me more than his temper."
I met his eyes steadily. "I don't have it figured out. I just know panicking won't help."
Henry snorted. "That's what you think. Panic's the only honest reaction left in this world."
Claire's voice trembled as she spoke up. "That's not true."
Both men looked at her. She flinched but kept going, her voice gaining strength. "If… if all we do is panic, we'll die. We have to try. Even if it's hard. Even if it's scary."
Henry stared at her for a long moment. Then he barked a laugh, humorless. "You've got fire, girl. I'll give you that. But fire burns out quick in the dark."
Claire's hands balled into fists in her sleeves. She opened her mouth to reply, but I put a hand lightly on her shoulder. Not to silence her, but to steady her.
Henry's eyes lingered on the gesture, narrowing slightly.
"You care too much," he said flatly.
"Maybe," I answered.
His gaze hardened. "That'll get you killed."
"Then I'll die knowing I didn't leave people behind."
The silence after that was sharp, cutting. Miguel glanced between us, lips quirking faintly as if amused. Claire's eyes softened, her breath trembling but steady.
Henry finally looked away, grunting. "You talk like a damn fool. But fools don't last long. If you're still here, maybe there's something to it."
He shuffled to the corner, lowering himself onto a chair with a groan. His joints cracked as he sat, leaning back heavily.
---
We rested in uneasy silence for a while. Miguel dug through his Inventory, pulling out his salvaged bag of chips. He tore them open, crunching loudly.
Henry eyed him. "Really? You're wasting food already?"
Miguel snorted. "Wasting? It's chips, viejo. Not a goddamn steak. Besides, better eaten than rotting."
"Inventory keeps it fresh," Henry muttered. "If you'd bothered to test it."
Miguel froze, crumbs on his lip. "Wait—you knew about that already?"
Henry smirked faintly. "Course I did. What kind of foreman would I be if I didn't figure out how to store my damn tools?"
Miguel's jaw dropped. "And you didn't think to tell us?!"
Henry shrugged. "Not my job to educate every stray that stumbles in. You figured it out, didn't you?"
Miguel cursed under his breath, crunching louder in petty defiance.
Claire leaned closer to me, whispering, "He's… difficult."
I kept my voice low. "He's scared. This is how he survives."
Her hazel eyes lingered on Henry's hunched frame, the bitterness in his expression. "He's alone."
I didn't answer. She wasn't wrong.
---
After a while, Henry spoke again, his voice softer but still edged.
"You really think sticking together makes a difference?"
"Yes," I said.
He studied me, his gray eyes sharp, almost desperate. "Why?"
"Because alone, we're already dead. Together, we've got a chance."
His jaw clenched, his gaze dropping to the floor. For the first time, the bitterness cracked.
"My crew… they didn't last a day. Got torn apart when the first wave hit. I told 'em to stick close, but they panicked. Ran. Left me swinging a crowbar while they screamed." His voice grew rougher. "I buried what was left of two of them myself. The others… I don't even know."
The room was quiet but for his ragged breathing.
Miguel shifted uncomfortably, setting his chips aside. Claire's eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
Henry finally looked back at me, his expression hard again, like a wall slammed back into place. "So don't talk to me about togetherness. It's a nice idea. But it doesn't last."
I didn't argue. I just sat steady, hammer across my knees, meeting his gaze without flinching.
"Then we'll prove it," I said simply.
Henry stared at me for a long time. His lips pressed into a thin line.
Finally, he grunted. "We'll see."
---
That night, we stayed in Henry's barricaded room. The air was thick with tension, but beneath it, a fragile thread had formed.
Miguel sprawled on the floor, snoring softly. Claire sat curled against the couch, her eyes heavy but refusing to close completely. I leaned against the wall, hammer in reach, my gaze fixed on the door.
Henry sat opposite me, arms crossed, studying me through half-lidded eyes.
"You're either the stupidest man alive," he muttered, "or the only one left with a spine."
"Does it matter which?" I asked.
Henry chuckled, low and bitter. But for the first time, there was the faintest trace of respect in his eyes.
---