Ed felt nothing at first—just the heavy blackness that swallowed him whole. No sound, no pain, no fear. For a moment, he thought maybe it was over. Maybe this was what death felt like.
But then the blackness began to change.
He heard laughter.
Soft at first, then clearer. He opened his eyes—or at least he thought he did. Suddenly he was no longer on a rooftop, no longer broken and bleeding. Instead, he was standing in the middle of a wide, grassy hill under the warm sun. The air smelled clean. The world felt alive.
He knew this place. A memory.
"Catch me if you can!"
He turned and saw Ley running ahead of him, laughing as the wind caught her hair. She glanced back with a teasing smile.
Ed felt his body move on its own. He chased her, and for once, he wasn't slow or hurting. His ribs didn't ache, his legs didn't feel heavy. He was fast. Strong. Alive.
He caught her and lifted her off the ground, spinning her in a circle. Ley shrieked and laughed, hitting his shoulder lightly.
"Put me down!"
"Never!" he laughed, though his voice cracked with joy.
The dream shifted without warning. Suddenly they were in the small apartment they once shared, the smell of cooking filling the air. Ley stood at the stove, stirring a pot, while he tried to sneak food from the counter.
"Hey!" she slapped his hand with a spoon, grinning. "That's not ready yet."
"You're too slow," he said, grinning back.
She rolled her eyes. "Papa always acts like a child."
Ed chuckled. He wanted to stay here forever.
But then, another sound cut through—softer, smaller.
"Papa."
He froze.
When he turned, his chest almost broke apart.
Kia stood there, holding her worn teddy bear. Her small smile was shy, but her eyes were warm, full of innocence he thought he'd never see again.
"Kia…" His knees gave out, and he fell in front of her. He pulled her into his arms, hugging her so tightly he thought he'd never let go. "Papa's here. I've been looking everywhere for you."
She pressed her face into his chest. "Don't stop looking for me, Papa."
His throat tightened. "Never. I promise."
But as soon as he said it, the dream began to fade. The apartment dissolved into white nothing. Kia's voice echoed again, soft and fading:
"Please… don't give up, Papa."
The world shattered.
Ed's eyes snapped open.
Cold air hit his face. The rooftop stretched out around him, broken and empty. His body screamed with pain—ribs burning, head pounding, blood sticky on his side. For a second, he couldn't move. He just lay there, breathing in sharp, broken gasps.
Then the memory of Kia's voice pushed him. He couldn't stop. Not now.
He groaned, rolling onto his side, and forced himself to sit up. His ribs screamed in protest. He pressed his hand against his chest and felt wetness—blood, but not pouring. Maybe cracked ribs. Painful, but survivable.
"Damn it…" he muttered, teeth clenched.
Slowly, he crawled across the rooftop toward the edge. His arms trembled, his vision blurred, but he made it. When he looked down, he saw the rusted sheet of metal where Ley had fallen through. The roof was bent and jagged, but from here, there was no sign of blood.
Maybe she survived.
His chest rose and fell quickly. His body ached, but a small flame of hope lit inside him.
"Hold on, Ley," he whispered.
But he couldn't stay. He needed to move. He needed to live long enough to find her.
He tore strips from his shirt, wrapping them tightly around his ribs. Each pull made him hiss in pain, but he kept going. The bandage wasn't perfect, but it held him together enough to stand.
When he finally got to his feet, he staggered, sweat dripping down his face. Every step felt like it might be his last, but he kept going. The rooftop door stood ahead—rusted, half-broken.
He grabbed the handle, pulled it open—
And froze.
Three infected stood inside the stairwell. Their pale eyes snapped toward him. Their mouths opened with guttural clicks.
"Shit."
Before they could move, Ed slammed the door into them, the edge cracking against one's skull. It shrieked. The others lunged, clawing at the doorway.
"Not today!"
Ed ducked under their arms and rushed down the stairs. His ribs burned, every step jarring his bones, but adrenaline pushed him. Behind him, the infected shrieked, their bodies slamming against walls as they tried to follow.
He didn't stop. He cut corners, skipped steps, let his body crash and stumble down just to keep ahead of them. By the time he reached a lower floor, his chest heaved so hard he thought his lungs would collapse. He gripped the railing, shaking.
"I can't… fuck… I can't…"
But he had to. He forced himself to move, one step at a time, dragging his body down the stairwell until finally, the ground floor appeared.
He shoved the last door open, and sunlight blinded him.
Outside.
The ruined street stretched before him—abandoned cars, shattered glass, vines crawling through cracks. For a moment, Ed just stood there. He let the wind brush his face. He closed his eyes.
"Finally…" he whispered, almost smiling. "Finally, I'm here."
But his voice was too loud.
And the world heard him.
A shriek broke through the silence. Then another. Then more.
His stomach dropped.
Figures stumbled into the street, drawn by his voice. Two. Five. Ten. Their heads snapped toward him, pale jaws snapping.
"Oh no…" he whispered.
Then his legs moved. He ran.
Every step was torture, his ribs screaming, his lungs on fire. But adrenaline hit him like lightning, numbing everything except the need to move. He vaulted over a broken sign, shoved past an overturned trash bin, boots slamming against pavement.
Behind him, the howls grew. The horde chased.
"HyT—fuck this life! WAAAAAAAAA!" Ed roared, his voice breaking into a raw scream. He didn't care if it hurt—he needed the madness, the fire in his blood, anything to make his body keep running.
His legs pumped, his arms swung, sweat flying. He stumbled, almost fell, but forced himself upright again.
"Not yet!" he gasped, spit flying from his lips. "Not yet, damn it!"
He turned down a narrow street, praying for a way out. But when he skidded to a stop, his chest fell.
A wall of collapsed buildings blocked the way. A dead end.
His breath tore in and out, his chest aching, sweat dripping into his eyes. He turned back—the infected were already flooding the street, their pale arms reaching, their jaws snapping.
He was trapped.
For a moment, the world went quiet. Just his heartbeat, thunder in his ears.
His fists clenched. His teeth bared.
"If this is it…" he whispered, voice shaking, "then come on. Come and fucking take me."
The horde surged forward.
And Ed, roared back at them.
To be continued…