Chapter 4
Bella's Pov
We followed the boys down the street, keeping low and sticking to shadows. Cars sat abandoned on the road, doors open, alarms long dead. A bike lay on its side, tires still spinning like it hadn't accepted the world ended yet.
Violet kept whispering, "I hate this. I hate this. I hate this," like a zombie survival mantra.
Jesse whispered back, "Same," but her eyes stayed focused, scanning everywhere — rooftops, windows, alley mouths. If danger had a sound, Jesse would hear it first.
Alya walked close to me, hands shaking even though she tried to hide it. "Do you think the news people are okay? Like… the anchors?"
"Probably not," I muttered.
She whimpered. "That's the worst answer ever."
We passed a smashed bakery window.
Bread on the floor. A cake overturned, frosting smeared like someone fought it before dying.
Happy birthday to whoever that was.
Maybe they got cake. Lucky.
Mine's still pending.
"Careful," one boy whispered, pulling us to the side as a slow figure stumbled across the road ahead.
A lone zombie — dragging one leg, jaw hanging weird like a broken hanger hook. It sniffed the air, confused, searching.
We all froze behind a parked car.
My heart hammered so loud I swore the zombie could hear it.
Violet clamped a hand over her mouth. Alya squeezed her eyes shut.
The zombie wandered away, moaning like it lost its keys to the afterlife.
We waited. Counted ten seconds. Then moved again.
Every step felt stolen from death.
---
Finally, the boy pointed ahead.
"That's the building."
A small apartment complex. Rusty gate. Overgrown plants.
Two floors — just like he said.
Safe? Hopefully.
Murder box? Possibly.
We crept toward the door.
"Wait," Jesse whispered. "Check windows first."
Smart.
I peered in — dusty furniture, curtain half ripped, nothing moving.
The boys unlocked the side gate with a hidden spare key behind a loose brick.
"Remind me to hug your uncle later," Violet whispered.
"No hugs," one boy muttered. "He's weird."
"Okay high-five then."
"Still no."
We slipped inside the courtyard. Small fountain. Dead fish floating. Ew.
Up a narrow stairwell. Our footsteps echoed so loud I wanted to scream at the stairs to shut up.
Second floor.
Apartment 2B.
The boy inserted the key.
We all held our breath.
Click.
Door opened.
We rushed in like we were entering heaven's last Airbnb.
He locked the metal door behind us, sliding the bolt.
And for the first time all day…
Silence felt safe.
---
The apartment was small but solid.
Two couches. One bed. A tiny kitchen. A balcony that overlooked the street.
"We'll take turns keeping watch," Jesse said immediately.
"Food schedule too," Alya whispered. "We can't eat everything fast."
Violet hugged a pillow she found on the couch. "I want to bury my face and scream into this."
"Do it quietly," I warned.
She did. Very quiet little rage-muffin scream.
The boys put supplies on the table — water bottles, snacks, bandages from the store.
Alya sat on the floor and pulled her knees in. "I… I miss my mom."
Jesse put a hand on her shoulder.
"We're going to see them again."
Violet sniffled. "And if we don't, I'll adopt you. I'll be your new mom. My only rule is everyone sleeps by 10 PM and eats pancakes whenever emotionally unstable."
Alya laughed through tears. "That's… actually a really good rule."
I walked to the balcony.
City smoke in the distance. Sirens fighting for life. The world breaking piece by piece.
And here we were.
Six kids hiding in an apartment we didn't own.
On my birthday.
I gripped the railing.
No crying. Cry later when the world isn't trying to chew us.
Footsteps behind me. Jesse.
"You okay?"
"No. You?"
"No."
We nodded like that was enough.
"Think we'll survive?" she asked quietly.
"We better," I said. "I didn't fight zombies just to not taste birthday cake."
She smirked. "True."
---
Inside, Violet tried to open a water bottle and failed, so she announced, "I am done. I am retiring from life."
Alya opened it for her.
The boys sat in a corner whisper-planning escape routes.
Jesse started organizing the snacks like it was a grocery shelf job interview.
Normal stuff.
Almost comforting.
I took a breath.
Then another.
Then I shut the balcony door, sat on the floor, leaned against the couch, and whispered to myself:
"We're still here."
Not safe. But alive.
For today, that counts.
---
In the quiet, someone finally asked the question none of us wanted:
"What if… this never ends?"
No one replied.
Because we didn't know.
All we knew was Rule 1:
Stay alive.
And silently, I added a new one:
Rule 4: When the world falls apart, don't fall with it.
Even if we're scared.
Even if we cry sometimes.
Even if cake still hasn't happened.
We rest.
We breathe.
We get up again.
Because surviving isn't just running.
It's choosing to stay human in a world that forgot how.
And tomorrow?
Tomorrow we fight again.
If silence in the apocalypse is peaceful, then this one was… fake peaceful.
Like the quiet your mom gives before yelling at you for not washing dishes.
Everyone sat around the tiny living room, trying not to think about the fact that zombies wanted to munch on us like free samples at a grocery store.
Violet suddenly whispered, "So… when do we panic again? I need a schedule."
"After we sleep," Jesse replied.
"I cannot promise that."
Alya hugged a cushion. "Maybe we should check if we have a signal? News? Anything?"
Right. Phones.
We all pulled them out like addicts who hadn't touched screens in three hours.
No bars.
No Wi-Fi.
Just that one mocking symbol: ❌ No Service.
Violet threw her head back dramatically. "Modern world, WHY HAVE YOU ABANDONED MEEE—"
"Quiet," I hissed.
She froze.
Everyone did.
A low groan drifted from outside. Slow. Echoing. Like something searching.
We crouched near the window. Jesse peeked through a tiny gap in the curtain.
One zombie dragged itself down the street, limp and twitchy.
Just one.
Small blessing.
We waited until it disappeared behind a car.
Violet exhaled like she had been holding her breath since 1998.
Alya sat back. "So… no news. No help. Nothing."
"We have each other," I said.
Violet raised a hand. "And snacks."
"And snacks," I nodded. "Very important."
Jesse stretched her legs and rolled her neck. "We should check the apartment. Supplies. Doors. Windows."
"Bathroom first!" Violet squeaked. "I need to make sure zombies didn't crawl in the toilet."
Alya blinked. "Can they even do that—"
"DO NOT QUESTION THEIR CAPABILITIES," Violet declared, marching to check the bathroom like it was war.
The rest of us checked windows, locks, cupboards.
We found:
* One almost-empty water jug
* Instant noodles
* Two apples
* Half a bag of rice
* A family-size menthol oil (Violet hugged it like treasure)
* Bandages
* Scissors (we cheered)
The boys came from the bedroom.
"Bed's clean. No one in the closet."
"Good," Jesse said. "If there was, that closet would be on fire."
We sat again, this time calmer — or tired enough not to care.
A weird feeling sat in my chest. Not fear. Not relief. Something between.
Like… we made it this far. But this wasn't winning. This was… halftime.
Violet came back, pale.
"Guys."
We all jolted up.
"What?!"
She pointed to the bathroom.
"The toilet… does not flush."
Silence.
Then Jesse grabbed her pillow and threw it at her.
"VIOLENT INFORMATION IS NOT EMERGENCY NEWS!"
"It *is* for my anxiety and my bladder—"
"Use a bucket," Alya said gently.
Violet looked horrified. "Like a… medieval peasant?!"
"Yes," we all answered.
She sobbed dramatically.
---
Night started creeping in, shadows stretching across the floor.
The city outside groaned, like the world had stomach ache.
I got up and closed the curtains tighter.
"Lights off soon. We don't want to glow like 'eat me' signs."
Alya nodded. "We pick sleeping order too. Rotating guard."
Violet raised her hand. "Not it for first watch. I panic, I cry, I make emotional noises. You do not want that."
Jesse sighed. "Fine. Me and one boy first."
"Me next," I said. "I want to see the world fall apart under the moonlight."
Violet blinked. "That was poetic and concerning."
We ate quietly — chips, water, guilt.
Nobody complained. Hunger makes everything look like gourmet.
The boys sat by the window for night watch. Jesse paced slowly like a guard dog.
The rest of us got spots on the floor with blankets from the closet.
Alya whispered, voice trembling but trying to be brave:
"Do you think… people are still fighting?"
"Yeah," I whispered. "Somewhere, someone is still choosing to live."
She nodded and closed her eyes.
Violet curled into her blanket like a terrified sushi roll.
"If a zombie tries to eat me, please wake me up. I don't want to die in my sleep. That's rude."
"Noted," I whispered.
She nodded and sniffled.
"Happy birthday, Bella."
Not sarcastic.
Just soft.
My chest tightened.
"Thanks."
She reached her hand out from her blanket cocoon. I squeezed it.
Even scared humans choose kindness.
That's something.
---
The room settled.
The world hummed outside.
I sat against the wall, bat in my lap, watching the doorway, breathing quiet.
No party.
No cake.
Just survival, fear, and friends who refuse to leave each other.
We didn't know what tomorrow looked like.
But tonight…
We were here.
Alive.
A tiny flame in a world going dark.
And I swore — quietly, fiercely:
We will make it.
We will keep moving.
We will fight.
And someday, somehow…
I will get my birthday cake.
Even if I have to bake it in the apocalypse.