The city was quieter now. Not safe—never safe—but the streets no longer crawled with the dead. Xiu and Larry had turned scavenging into a routine, moving block by block, clearing out buildings with the efficiency of men who knew the stakes. The knife in Xiu's hand was familiar now, the weight of it comforting. Larry carried a crowbar, swinging it with the kind of reckless confidence only a kid who'd survived hell could muster.
They'd found a bank yesterday. Not for the money—useless here—but for the vault. Thick walls, heavy doors. A good place to sleep when the nights grew long and the distant howls too close.
"Think we got everything from the east side?" Larry kicked a pebble, watching it skitter across the pavement.
Xiu shrugged, adjusting the straps of his backpack. "Enough to last. Found another stash of canned peaches in that last house. You'd think people hoarded them like gold."
Larry grinned. "Better than the beans."
"Anything's better than the beans."
They walked in comfortable silence for a while, the rhythm of their footsteps echoing faintly in the empty streets. The sun hung low, painting the broken skyline in shades of orange and red. It was almost peaceful, if you ignored the bloodstains on the sidewalks.
Back in the real world, Chen stared at the velvet box Xiu had just slid across the table. Inside, a gold pocket watch, intricate engravings worn but still visible.
"This is real?" Chen flipped it open, squinting at the craftsmanship.
"Real enough to sell," Xiu said, leaning back in his chair. The café around them buzzed with noise, students hunched over laptops, couples murmuring over coffee. Normalcy. It felt strange now.
Chen whistled low. "Where the hell are you getting this stuff?"
"Got a deal with some guy. Imports." Xiu kept his voice casual, eyes scanning the room out of habit. "Foreign collector. Pays well for antiques."
"Sketchy as hell," Chen muttered, but he pocketed the watch anyway. "You're lucky I know a guy who doesn't ask questions."
Xiu smirked. "That's why I keep you around."
Chen rolled his eyes but didn't push. They'd been friends too long for that.
The bank vault was cool, the air thick with the scent of old metal and dust. Larry had dragged in a pair of mattresses from a nearby furniture store, along with a stack of blankets that didn't smell like death. It wasn't home, but it was close.
Xiu dropped his bag by the door, listening to the clink of glass inside. Medicine this time. Antibiotics, painkillers. Worth more than gold in either world.
Larry flopped onto his mattress, tossing a can of soda between his hands. "You think we'll ever run out of stuff to find?"
"Hope not," Xiu said. He pulled out a map they'd salvaged from a gas station, the edges frayed. Red X's marked cleared areas. The city was slowly turning from a graveyard into a hunting ground.
Larry sat up, peering over his shoulder. "What's next?"
"North. Past the river. Less picked over."
"More zombies?"
"Probably."
Larry cracked open the soda, grinning. "Better pack extra ammo."
They didn't have guns—not many, anyway—but the kid had taken to calling their makeshift weapons "ammo." Knives, pipes, anything that could crack a skull.
Xiu shook his head, but he was smiling.
The next morning, they crossed the river. The bridge was half-collapsed, but the remaining steel held. The water below was sluggish, choked with debris.
The north side of the city was different. Taller buildings, wider streets. More places to hide. More places for things to hide.
Larry nudged a skeleton with his boot. "Fresh."
Xiu frowned. The bones were clean, no rot left. But the clothes were intact, the fabric only faded, not decayed. "Not from the first wave."
"Newer?"
"Maybe."
A sound. Distant, but unmistakable. The scrape of something dragging itself across concrete.
Xiu's grip tightened on his knife. "We're not alone."
Larry hefted his crowbar, eyes sharp. "Guess we're not done yet."
They moved forward, side by side, into the shadows of the new ruins.