The rain had finally stopped. What was left of it dripped from the rusted metal roof of the checkpoint sign, pooling in the cracks of the asphalt road. The old green sign still read Camp Halston – U.S. Army Outpost, but the letters were faded and scarred by years of weather and war.
Eli Mercer raised his hand, signaling his sister to stop. His fingers, gloved in tattered leather, cut the air with silent precision—old military habits he couldn't shake. His gray-green eyes scanned the outpost ahead: the collapsed watchtower, the sandbags half-swallowed by weeds, and the slow, staggering silhouettes of the dead moving between them.
"Two... no, three walkers," Eli whispered. His voice was low, controlled, the kind that once gave orders that meant life or death.
Beside him, 14-year-old Nora Mercer crouched behind an old supply crate, clutching a battered compass in one hand and a small hunting knife in the other. She didn't flinch at the mention of walkers. Instead, she adjusted the strap of her pack and looked at the map she had drawn herself—pencil lines traced over smudges of mud and blood.
"Wind's moving east," she murmured, more to herself than him. "If we stay low and move behind those Humvees, they won't catch our scent."
Eli looked at her—at the sharpness in her hazel eyes, the same focus he used to see in their father. He nodded once. "You're right. We'll do it your way."
Nora smiled faintly, pride flickering beneath her exhaustion. Her brother didn't often say that.
The two slipped from their cover and began to move. Their boots made no sound against the wet ground. The outpost's gates hung open, twisted metal creaking faintly in the breeze. The first walker—a soldier, or what was left of one—dragged itself toward them, its uniform dark with rot.
Eli motioned for her to stay back. He unsheathed his knife, the same one his mother had given him before his last tour. The blade slid through air and flesh alike, ending the soldier's restless shamble with a soft crunch.
The other two walkers turned at the sound, low groans bubbling up from their ruined throats. Nora took a breath and scanned their surroundings.
"Left one's slower," she whispered. "Take the fast one first. I'll distract the other."
Before he could argue, she picked up a small rock and tossed it past the walker. The sound clattered off a metal drum, pulling its attention just long enough for Eli to close the distance. His movements were practiced, efficient. He buried the knife into the skull, twisting once. The walker dropped.
When silence settled again, only the soft drip of rain remained.
Eli wiped his blade clean on his sleeve. "You shouldn't take risks like that," he said quietly.
Nora shrugged. "You taught me to think ahead. That's all I did."
He wanted to argue—but she wasn't wrong.
They made their way deeper into the outpost. A line of broken tents flapped in the wind. Crates of ammo were stacked and forgotten. The smell of gun oil and decay mixed in the air.
"Looks like they pulled out fast," Nora said. "Maybe left something behind."
Eli crouched near a collapsed tent, finding a crate labeled MREs – Chicken Stew. He cracked it open—three packs remained. A miracle, almost.
"Dinner," he muttered, tossing one to her.
She grinned and caught it. "You're spoiling me."
For a moment, the outpost almost felt... safe. But Eli had seen enough battlefields to know better. Safety didn't last—not in this world.
They set up a small camp in one of the less damaged barracks, doors barricaded, fire low. The orange glow flickered across Eli's scarred hands as he stirred a dented pot of stew.
Nora sat across from him, her compass open beside the map. "We're about a day's walk from the river," she said. "If we follow it north, there's an old highway that should take us toward the coast."
Eli nodded, though his eyes were far away. "Dad used to talk about the coast," he said quietly. "Said if everything ever went to hell, the water would be the only thing that couldn't burn."
She smiled sadly. "You think he made it out there?"
Eli looked at the fire. "I think he'd want us to."
A low thump interrupted the quiet. They froze. Another sound—a faint shuffling—echoed from somewhere beyond the wall.
Nora grabbed her knife. Eli rose silently, motioning her behind him.
The noise came again, closer this time. Eli raised his weapon, ready—
The door shook once, then twice. And then a voice.
"Anyone alive in there?"
Eli and Nora exchanged a look. A human voice was rarer than food these days. Rarer than trust.
He whispered, "Stay quiet."
But Nora hesitated. "Eli, what if they need help?"
He sighed, eyes narrowing toward the door. His soldier's instinct told him trap. His brother's heart whispered hope.
And for the first time that night, Eli didn't know which one to listen to.