In the city center.
The sun was barely cracking, washing the streets in an orange glare that did little to cut the cold seeping into my clothes.
We walked in formation: Alex leading the way, his makeshift spear ready, his eyes scanning every corner like a hawk; I was in the middle alongside Amy, George, and Yuki, our improvised weapons—sticks, pipes, a knife in my case—clutched tight. Tim took the rear, his presence solid, a protective shadow.
Every step echoed on the asphalt, a constant reminder that we had left the high school, our temporary refuge, and everyone who stayed behind. The weight of that decision crushed my chest.
I had promised my father, Ron, that I would return to the shelter he'd built outside the city. Alex was here for that very reason, sent to get me out. But as we moved, I couldn't stop thinking about Marlon, Sophie, Minnie, and the rest.
Would they survive until my father's help arrived? What if it never did?
My thoughts were a whirlwind. I wanted this chaos to end, for the zombies to disappear, for the world to be the way it was two days ago. But deep down, I knew it was impossible. I'd seen it back at the high school: the blood, the screaming, the professor driven out into the hell of the streets.
Alex had taught us that this virus, like in the movies, showed no mercy. One bite, one scratch, and you were one of them. And now, outside the walls, the real world hit me with a harshness I wasn't prepared to face.
The streets were unrecognizable. Near the high school, I'd seen abandoned cars, but here, just a few blocks from downtown, the chaos was overwhelming. Overturned cars blocked intersections, their doors gaping open like silent mouths. Clothes, backpacks, rotten food, and broken toys covered the sidewalks, as if the city had vomited up the lives of its inhabitants.
The worst part was the bodies. Some were intact, faces frozen in expressions of terror; others were gnawed to the bone, dry blood smears staining the asphalt. On one corner, I saw drag marks, blood coagulated in a long, uneven trail.
My mind flashed to the image of a zombie, only half a body, dragging itself forward on broken nails. A shiver ran down my spine, and I gripped the knife tighter, resisting the urge to bolt.
"Slowly. Maintain formation," Alex murmured, his voice low but solid.
We moved with caution, sacrificing speed for security. Every creak, every shadow, made my heart hammer faster. We killed a few stragglers—wandering zombies emerging from alleys or derelict buildings.
Alex and Tim were precise, their blows swift and lethal, punching through skulls with an efficiency that felt like high school training. I did it once, too, mimicking their movement, stabbing a zombie in the temple. Dark blood splattered my arm. My stomach twisted, but I felt a strange, cold satisfaction.
"It's not so hard," I thought, surprising myself. Maybe, after a day and a half, this was what I'd expected: a world I could manage, just like at the school. How wrong I was.
Turning a corner, we ran into a group of people looting a convenience store. There were about ten of them, young and old, moving with frantic urgency. Some were carrying cans and water bottles, their faces gaunt with desperation. Others, though, had a spark in their eyes, a savage glee, like they were enjoying the chaos. They didn't look armed, but their number put me on high alert.
"We don't get involved," Alex said, pointing toward a detour through an alley.
No one protested. As we moved away, Amy whispered, "Did you see their faces? Some of them looked… happy."
George grunted, tightening his grip on the pipe. "Idiots. They don't know what's coming."
Yuki, quiet as always, just lowered her gaze, her hands trembling slightly.
As we moved further from the center, the sounds shifted. Screams and gunshots intensified, mixing with the echo of distant sirens. But there were also more zombies. Their guttural snarls boomed from the buildings, and every so often, one stumbled out from a corner, forcing us to stop and put it down.
The tension in the group was palpable. I saw the worry on Amy's face, George's scowl, and Yuki's distant look. But it was Alex's expression that chilled me: his eyes, usually cold and calculating, showed a flicker of unease. Tim, in the rear, also seemed more strained, his machete ready at all times. Something big was coming.
Turning onto another street, we hit the first real obstacle. A few meters away, a cluster of zombies—at least twenty—were surrounding a handful of people trying to escape. They were pinned against an overturned bus, their desperate screams cutting the air. Alex raised a hand, stopping us instantly.
"Inside. Now," he whispered, pointing at a store with a broken door. We slipped inside silently, crouching behind a counter covered in shattered glass. From there, I watched the scene, my heart beating so loud I feared the zombies would hear it.
The trapped people wore similarly colored clothes, maybe uniforms.
Firefighters? Cops?
The distance and the dust made it hard to tell. They fought with sticks and bars, but the zombies were too many. One figure stood out: a man who stayed behind, firing a pistol into the horde. Each shot dropped a zombie, but it also drew more.
"Run!" he yelled, his voice cracking.
His companions fled, but he had no chance. The zombies swarmed him, their snarls drowning out his screams. I watched as they dragged him down, his hands clawing at the air before he vanished under a pile of rotten bodies.
I froze, the knife shaking in my hand. I wanted to help, to run toward them, to do something. But Alex's voice in my head—"We don't get involved"—and the images from the high school held me back.
If we went, we could end up like that man. I looked at my friends: Amy had tears in her eyes, George clenched his fists with contained fury, and Yuki covered her mouth, as if trying to stifle a sob. Tim and Alex, however, maintained hard expressions, though guilt flashed in their eyes.
"We can't," Tim murmured, almost to himself. Alex said nothing, but his silence was enough.
"Why don't we do something?" I whispered, my voice trembling. "We could—"
"No, Emily," Alex cut me off, his tone low but firm. "If we go, we die. And I can't let that happen. Not to you, not to them."
His eyes met mine and my friends', and for a moment, I saw something beyond his atypical calm: fear, not for himself, but for us.
I nodded, even though my chest burned with helplessness. That man had sacrificed himself for his own, and we just watched. I imagined myself in his place, or Amy, George, Tim, Yuki… even Alex.
The idea tore me apart. But at the same time, I felt a hardness growing in me, armor forged by the horror of these last few days. I wasn't the old Emily, the one who cried over a whim my father hadn't indulged. This Emily knew that surviving meant making impossible decisions.
We waited until the zombies dispersed, drawn by the distant noise. We left the store, the air now heavier, charged with dust and the sickly-sweet smell of death. We kept moving southwest, my father's shelter a distant beacon.
But with every step, I felt like I was leaving a part of myself behind, replaced by something new, colder, harder. I looked at Alex, leading with sure steps, and wondered how much of him was already lost to this world.
And how much of me would be, before I finally made it home.
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[A/N: CHAPTER COMPLETED
Hello everyone.
I'm back here with a new chapter, albeit a short one.
Emily shows us what the city is like. Until now, we only knew the situation inside the high school walls, but what was outside was unknown.
I was planning on including a scene where the teacher Alex expelled turned into a zombie and attacked them, but it seemed too forced, although in my mind it seemed great.
By the way, I'll be back from time to time, with short chapters like this one or maybe some long ones, depending. I'm only a few weeks away from finishing replacing my dad, so I might be able to write regularly again.
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Read my other novels
#The Walking Dead: Vision of the Future. (Chapter 83)
#Vinland Kingdom: Race Against Time. (Chapter 102)
#The Walking Dead: Patient 0 - Lyra File (Chapter 9) (INTERMITTENT)
You can find them on my profile.]