Xenia's heart thundered in her chest as her boots pounded against the ramp's edge, rubber soles slapping against uneven concrete. The moment her foot hit the open ground, one of the undead snapped its head in her direction. Its jaw hung lopsided, twitching like a broken hinge, as its glazed eyes locked onto her movement.
It lunged—but Rafe was faster.
With a roar, he brought the kettlebell down like a hammer. The crunch of bone was sharp and final, the zombie collapsing in a heap of twitching limbs.
Then came the others.
From behind rusted vehicles and shattered kiosks, figures began to rise—half-dressed corpses, twitching abominations in faded uniforms, some missing limbs but still crawling forward with sickening resolve.
"Go!" Rafe shouted.
They broke into a sprint, weaving between collapsed fences, broken vending machines, and the skeletal remains of parked delivery trucks. Xenia ducked under the flailing arms of what looked like a former postal worker. The man's name tag still hung lopsidedly from his bloodied vest. She didn't stop to read it.
Rafe grunted as he shoulder-checked another zombie out of the way, keeping himself between Nestor and the danger.
Tenorio, bringing up the rear, raised his pistol and fired twice—clean shots. One infected dropped near Marga, blood spattering the pavement. Another went down just before Nestor stumbled.
"Keep going!" Tenorio barked, eyes scanning for more threats.
Xenia felt her legs aching, lungs burning, but the adrenaline kept her upright. The air smelled like smoke, blood, and seawater. Gunshots echoed from the distance, and behind them, the dying groans of the monsters they had narrowly outrun.
The chaos lasted five minutes.
Five long, disorienting, heart-pounding minutes.
But it felt like a lifetime.
---
The Port
They burst through the rusted front gate of the old ferry port, coughing from the effort. The pier ahead stretched into the ocean like a broken rib, leading to salvation—or something like it. Two outriggers bobbed gently in the water, tethered to the far edge of the dock. They were old, wooden, patched in places—but they floated.
That was all that mattered.
A zombie in a faded fisherman's jacket staggered from behind a pile of netting, blocking the narrow path. Its neck twisted at an unnatural angle, jaw gnashing.
Xenia instinctively reached for the flashlight clipped to her belt—her last weapon.
But before she could swing, Marga surged forward and rammed the blunt end of her broom-handle spear through the zombie's eye. One clean motion. The creature crumpled without a sound.
"I got you," Marga said, panting. Her hands trembled slightly.
They hurried down the dock.
Rafe hauled Nestor into the first boat and jumped in after him, gripping the oar with practiced hands. Marga and Tenorio climbed aboard the second.
Xenia paused at the edge of the pier, chest heaving, gaze drawn to the open sea. It shimmered under the orange light of a dying sun, endless and uncertain.
"Where to?" she asked.
"Anywhere but here," Tenorio muttered.
Xenia nodded and climbed in.
Rafe unhooked the rope from the dock post and pushed off. The boat rocked, then drifted away from land, its twin following close behind.
Behind them, Argenta smoldered—once a city, now a graveyard. Smoke rose in black pillars. Gunfire still echoed like aftershocks.
Ahead? Just the horizon.
And for now, that was enough.
---
"You heard that?" Xenia asked, breaking the silence. Her voice was hushed, her hand clenching the side of the boat.
From the distance, the faint whump-whump-whump of chopper blades echoed across the sea.
Rafe nodded. "Rescue. Or recon."
"Too bad we're already out here," Nestor muttered from behind them. "Floating like sardines in a soup pot."
"Even if we'd stayed, we weren't guaranteed to be picked up," Xenia replied, her voice level. "We'd have been gambling. With our lives."
The boats drifted side by side, the waves lapping gently at their hulls. The sky burned gold and amber as the sun sank lower. The air was colder now, thick with salt and dusk.
Day 6
Xenia squinted toward the horizon. A piece of land jutted from the water, flanked by sharp rocks and jagged cliffs. Nestled atop the rise was a cabin—small, weather-worn, but intact. Metal sheets reinforced the windows, and a dim light flickered behind shuttered glass. Barbed wire coiled along its perimeter.
It looked like the kind of place built by someone who expected the end of the world—and had stayed put when it came.
"That's our best shot," Tenorio said, steering toward it.
They rowed to shore, boots crunching on gravel as they hauled the boats up the bank. The scent of seaweed and old fish filled the air.
"Eyes open," Rafe warned.
They moved up a narrow trail, their footfalls muffled by moss and sand. The cabin came into full view—patched with scrap metal, planks nailed haphazardly over doors and windows. A lookout perch stood above the roof, built from old scaffolding and rusted bolts.
Tenorio reached the front door. He knocked once.
No answer.
He tried the handle. Locked.
"Somebody's home," Marga said, peering around the side.
Suddenly, a red light flicked on above the door. A mechanical clack echoed, and a rectangular slot slid open, revealing a narrow peephole.
Behind it, a shadow moved.
Then a voice—rough, old, and cautious.
"Bitten or not?"
No one moved.
Even the wind held its breath.
Xenia stepped forward. "We're not. We made it from Argenta. No bites. No scratches. Just five tired survivors."
A long pause. The man behind the door didn't answer right away.
"Argenta's gone," he said finally.
"We know," Rafe replied. "That's why we left."
Another pause.
Then the sound of locks shifting—metal scraping against metal. The door creaked open a few inches. A grizzled man stared back, eyes sharp, gray beard thick and tangled. A shotgun rested just behind his shoulder.
"Five of you?"
"Yes," Xenia said.
"Armed?"
"A little. Improvised mostly."
"You follow rules?"
"If they keep us alive? Yes," Tenorio replied.
The man studied each of their faces. He wasn't just assessing—he was measuring trust.
Finally, he opened the door wider.
"Then come in," he said. "Sun's going down. And out here, the dark don't forgive mistakes."
They stepped inside.
And for the first time in days, the door closed behind them.