The road stretched endlessly before them, cracked and broken, littered with abandoned cars that leaned like tombstones marking a graveyard of lives cut short. The further they got from the city, the more silence swallowed the world. But it wasn't peaceful silence. It was watchful. Hungry.
Michael walked ahead, rifle slung across his chest, eyes always moving. Every shadow could hide something. Every gust of wind in the tall grass made his muscles tighten. Behind him, Sarah trailed close, gripping the back of his jacket like a lifeline.
She was quiet, but he could feel the storm brewing inside her. He'd seen that look before young recruits on their first patrol, faces pale, lips pressed thin, waiting for something to lunge at them from the dark. Except Sarah wasn't a soldier. She was a girl whose world had been torn apart in a single night.
Michael adjusted his pace so she wouldn't fall behind. "Keep your steps light," he murmured, his voice low but steady. "Don't drag your feet. The less noise we make, the harder it is for anything to track us."
Sarah nodded quickly, trying to mimic the rhythm of his walk. He glanced back once, saw her concentrating hard, and gave her the faintest hint of a nod. A small gesture, but enough.
They walked for hours. The sun dipped low, turning the sky a molten orange, and Michael spotted it in the distance a farmhouse, leaning against the horizon. The roof sagged, windows cracked, but the walls still stood. Shelter, at least for the night.
Sarah noticed it too. "There?"
"There," he confirmed, his voice calm but firm, as if he had already measured every angle of danger.
Crossing the field, Michael kept the rifle ready. His mind ticked through the checklist he'd drilled into squads countless times approach low ground, sweep for movement, check for noise inside. Every step was calculated. He didn't let Sarah see the tension running under his skin. Fear was contagious. So was confidence.
At the porch, he raised a finger to his lips. Sarah froze, wide-eyed. Good she listened. He nodded once, then pushed the door open slow. The hinges groaned too loud. Michael's jaw clenched, but he stepped inside, rifle sweeping left to right.
The air hit him first. Stale. Then another layer beneath it rot.
He raised a hand. Sarah stayed in the doorway, silent.
Michael's boots creaked against warped floorboards as he moved. He checked the living room, the kitchen. Empty. Just dust and broken furniture. He started for the stairs when a low, wet dragging sound came from the hallway closet.
Michael's stomach tightened.
The door burst open. A runner lunged, eyes wild, veins blackened. Its jaw snapped inches from his face.
He fired once, the shot cracking like thunder in the hollow house. The bullet tore through its shoulder but the thing kept coming, slamming him back against the wall. Its strength was raw, desperate, fueled by whatever hell the fungus had turned it into.
Michael braced the rifle sideways across its chest, keeping the snapping teeth away from his throat. His muscles strained. He reached for his pistol but couldn't angle it free.
"Michael!" Sarah's voice cut sharp, panicked.
The runner clawed at him, spit flying. He felt his grip slipping.
Then thunk. The runner jerked, knife blade sticking from its neck. Sarah stood behind it, both hands clenched on the handle, shaking but fierce.
"Move!" she shouted, her voice cracking with fear and fury.
Michael twisted, kicked the creature back. Sarah yanked the knife sideways. The runner collapsed in a wet choke, twitching once before lying still.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Sarah stood frozen, knife in her trembling hands. Her breath came fast, shallow. The body lay at her feet, its blood pooling dark against the wood.
Michael stepped forward, resting a firm hand on her shoulder. "Look at me," he said, voice low but commanding.
Her eyes snapped up, wild with shock.
"You saved my life. Understand that. What you did " he nodded at the corpse " was survival. Nothing more, nothing less."
Her lip trembled. "I… I didn't even think. I just—"
"That's good," Michael interrupted, his tone steady, controlled. "Thinking gets you killed when you don't have time. You acted. That's instinct. And instinct can be sharpened."
He crouched, pried the knife from the runner's neck, and pressed it back into her hand. His grip closed firm over hers. "Hold it like this. Tight. Always point the blade away from yourself. If you strike, strike hard. Half-measures get you killed. Commit."
Sarah swallowed hard, nodding.
Michael's voice softened, but only slightly. "This is the world now. It doesn't care that you're a kid. It doesn't care that you're scared. It will tear you apart if you let it. So you have two choices freeze and die, or fight and live."
Her knuckles whitened on the knife handle. "Fight," she whispered.
"Say it louder."
"Fight."
"Good." He gave a single, sharp nod, the same he used to give recruits when they passed their first test. "You remember that. Every day from now on."
Together, they dragged the runner's body outside and dumped it in the field. Michael cleaned the knife on his sleeve before handing it back to her.
That night, they sat near the empty fireplace, eating cold canned peaches. Sarah pushed hers around with the spoon, appetite gone.
Michael watched her for a moment, then spoke. "When I was younger, first deployed, I froze the first time I saw someone die. My squad leader pulled me aside after and told me this: 'Fear never leaves you. You just learn how to make it move your body instead of lock it up.'" He leaned closer, his gaze steady. "That's the lesson, Sarah. Fear isn't weakness. It's fuel. You use it, or it uses you."
Sarah stared at him, eyes still wet but burning now with something else. Determination.
She finally took a bite of the peaches, chewing slow.
Later, under a torn blanket, she curled up near the wall, knife clutched in her hand as she drifted into uneasy sleep.
Michael sat by the window, rifle resting across his knees. He kept watch, eyes on the tree line, mind turning over everything.
She was young. Fragile in ways she didn't even understand yet. But tonight, he'd seen something else in her. Fire.
The world would try to burn that fire out of her. But maybe, just maybe, he could help forge it into steel.
And if he failed? Then she would die like so many others. He couldn't let that happen.
Not again.