The morning broke colder than Michael expected. The farmhouse walls groaned with the wind, carrying a chill that made him pull the jacket tighter around Sarah's shoulders before she even stirred. She blinked awake slowly, face still pale but steadier than yesterday.
For a moment, he let her sit there on the rug, rubbing her eyes like any kid might have before all this. Just a morning, nothing more. He almost wished he could freeze it there.
But the truth pressed at him from every angle the dwindling food, the weak barricades, the system's blinking reminder he couldn't ignore.
> [Objective Pending: Establish a Shelter Base.]
[Resources Required: Lumber (x20), Metal (x10), Tools (x5).]
Michael stared at the faint text until it faded. That wasn't happening here. Not in this fragile old house where every gust of wind rattled the windows and the pantry looked emptier each time he checked it.
He needed supplies. He needed somewhere safer for Sarah. Which meant moving.
By midmorning, they were walking the dirt road away from the farmhouse. The air smelled of damp leaves and faint smoke, carried from somewhere farther east. Michael kept the rifle slung forward, one hand near the trigger. Sarah stayed close, clutching the frayed stuffed animal she'd found, its button eye dangling loose.
They didn't talk much. Words felt like they might draw the world's attention. But Sarah finally broke the silence as they came over a low rise and saw rooftops ahead.
"Is that a town?"
Michael slowed, squinting. A handful of brick buildings rose around a single intersection. A church steeple poked above them, the bell tower dark and silent. Cars lay scattered in the streets like abandoned toys, doors left open, trunks popped. Not the wreckage of months but the sharp, chaotic imprint of a single terrible night.
"Yeah," Michael murmured. "Looks like it."
Her voice was careful, almost hopeful. "Do you think there's… people?"
"Maybe," he said, though his grip on the rifle tightened. People were the hardest thing to predict right now.
The closer they got, the more signs of life flickered through. A curtain shifted in an upstairs window. Smoke curled from a chimney down the block. And when Michael and Sarah finally stepped onto the cracked pavement of Main Street, he spotted a group of three adults near a boarded-up diner. They froze when they saw him, one of them hefting a baseball bat.
Michael lifted a hand slowly. "We're just passing through. Not looking for trouble."
One of them a woman in a flannel shirt, maybe late thirties looked him over, then Sarah. Her stance softened just slightly. "You armed?"
Michael shifted the rifle enough that it was obvious. "For protection. Same as you."
The woman nodded once, wariness etched in her face. "There's not much left here. Folks are keeping to themselves. Best if you do the same."
Michael inclined his head. He didn't push. They needed food, maybe water, but trust was thinner than glass.
Sarah tugged at his sleeve as they walked past. Her whisper barely carried: "They looked scared."
"Everybody's scared," Michael answered quietly. "Remember that."
The grocery store at the corner looked half-looted, but not completely empty. Shelves were bare in places, cans scattered on the floor, but Michael still managed to find a few items peanut butter, crackers, a dented tin of peaches. He stuffed them into his pack quickly, ears straining for sounds outside.
Sarah found a box of cereal shoved behind a toppled display. She held it up like treasure, eyes bright. Michael gave her a small nod, letting her slip it into the bag. A tiny victory, but it mattered.
They left the store fast, stepping back into the gray light of day. The street was quieter now, too quiet.
That's when Michael heard it.
Not voices. Not footsteps. Something else.
A low, dragging scrape against concrete. Then another. And then the unmistakable, wet hitch of breath that no living person made.
"Stay close," Michael muttered, hand tightening on the rifle.
From the corner near the pharmacy, the first infected lurched into view. Its head twitched at an angle, face smeared with blood. Its eyes locked on them instantly, body jerking forward into that terrible half-run, half-stumble that turned into speed faster than seemed possible.
"Michael—!" Sarah's voice broke with panic.
He raised the rifle, exhaled, and fired. The shot cracked through the street, echoing off the brick walls. The infected dropped hard, its skull spraying across the pavement.
But the sound carried farther than the bullet.
Two more staggered out of an alley, drawn by the noise. A shout erupted from the diner one of the locals yelling, "Infected! They're in the town!"
Chaos ignited.
Doors slammed. Curtains ripped shut. Someone screamed as another infected burst through a side yard, sprinting full tilt. The fragile thread of order snapped in an instant.
Michael grabbed Sarah's arm. "Run!"
They sprinted down the street, Michael firing twice more over his shoulder, each recoil hammering his shoulder. One infected dropped, but the second kept coming, screeching. A local with the baseball bat swung wildly, knocking it down before it clawed him.
Sarah stumbled once, nearly falling. Michael hauled her upright, not breaking stride. "Keep going!"
They ducked between two buildings, the alley narrow and dark. Garbage cans toppled as they shoved past, the stench of rot filling the air. Sarah gasped for breath, her small legs straining to keep pace.
Michael stopped only long enough to scan ahead. At the far end, the street opened onto a strip of houses. Fewer infected there. Maybe a way out.
But behind them, more shrieks echoed. The pack was growing.
They burst out onto the street, lungs burning. Michael spotted a pickup truck parked sideways against the curb, its doors hanging open. He yanked Sarah toward it, shoved her into the back seat, and swung the rifle around.
Three infected barreled toward them from the corner.
He fired. Once. Twice. Missed the third. It slammed into the truck's hood, snarling, claws raking the metal as it tried to climb over.
Sarah screamed.
Michael jammed the rifle barrel forward, pulling the trigger point-blank. The shot blew the infected off the hood, body crumpling onto the asphalt.
Smoke curled from the muzzle. His ears rang. His chest heaved like he'd run for miles.
Silence fell again, ragged but real.
Michael glanced at Sarah. Her hands were clamped over her ears, tears streaking her face. But she was alive.
He lowered the rifle slowly, eyes sweeping the street. A few other townsfolk stumbled from hiding, wide-eyed and shaken. One man fell to his knees, clutching a bloodied arm where he'd been scratched. Others dragged a wounded woman toward the church, calling for help.
The town wasn't lost. Not yet. But the cracks were spreading.
Michael knew what he had to do. He opened the truck's door, gesturing for Sarah to climb out. "We're leaving. Now."
She slid down reluctantly, clutching his hand tight. Her voice was small, but steady enough. "We can't stay anywhere, can we?"
Michael looked down the ruined street the boarded windows, the frightened eyes peering from cracks, the smear of blood across the pavement.
"Not for long," he admitted.
And as they walked away from the town, the system flickered again at the edge of his vision:
> [Updated Objective: Seek Resources Beyond Population Centers.]
[Tip: Urban collapse accelerates infection spread. Risk Level: HIGH.]
Michael tightened his grip on Sarah's hand.
They'd survived another day. But the world was unraveling faster than even he wanted to believe.