Phileo didn't know how long he stayed in the alley.
His chest burned as he tried to slow his breathing. Every sound made him flinch—footsteps, shouting, the crash of something breaking nearby. The town he grew up in no longer sounded like home.
He peeked around the corner.
The street was chaos.
A car had crashed into a light post. Its horn blared without stopping. Smoke drifted through the air. People ran in every direction, some crying, some yelling names that never got answered.
Phileo swallowed hard and stepped out.
He kept close to the walls, moving slowly, watching everything. His hands shook. He wiped them on his shirt, even though they weren't dirty.
"Think," he whispered. "Just think."
He needed supplies. Food. Water. Somewhere safe.
The small convenience store was still open. Its door hung crooked, glass cracked but not broken. Phileo hurried inside.
The lights were off, but sunlight came through the windows. Shelves were half empty already. Someone else had been here.
A noise came from the back of the store.
"Hello?" Phileo called, his voice thin.
No answer.
He grabbed a backpack from behind the counter and stuffed it with bottled water, snacks, and a small flashlight. His hands moved faster now, panic pushing him forward.
A loud bang hit the front door.
Phileo froze.
Another bang. The glass shook.
A shadow pressed against the door.
Phileo backed away slowly. His heart pounded so hard it felt like it would burst.
The door shattered.
A man stumbled inside, bleeding from the head. His eyes were wide, wild. For one second, Phileo felt relief.
"You okay?" Phileo asked.
The man looked at him.
Then he charged.
Phileo screamed and ran toward the back exit. The man slipped on the floor, knocking over shelves, but he got up again, faster than he should have.
Phileo burst through the back door and ran.
He didn't stop until his legs burned and his lungs begged him to slow down.
He hid behind a fence, gasping, tears running down his face without him noticing.
"There's no help," he whispered.
Sirens had stopped. No police. No ambulances. Just noise, screaming, and distant gunshots.
Phileo stared at his shaking hands.
He understood now.
Whatever this was, it wasn't going away.
And if he wanted to live, he'd have to learn how to survive on his own.