The neighborhood they cut through looked like it had been emptied overnight. Cars still lined the streets, some with their doors hanging open, others smashed against curbs as though the drivers never slowed down. Curtains fluttered from broken windows, the smell of rot clung to the air. Somewhere a dog barked once, sharp and panicked, then nothing.
Michael moved first, rifle held low, every step deliberate. Sarah and Lena followed close, their packs smaller but heavy enough to bow their shoulders. It was day eight since the world fell apart Michael had stopped keeping track of hours. Days mattered now, not clocks.
They'd heard the broadcast the day before: a quarantine zone was still holding in Houston. Army voices, strained but disciplined, repeating the coordinates. It was the closest thing to hope any of them had.
Sarah whispered, "Do you think it's real?"
Michael didn't slow. "It's real enough to risk. If it's a lie, we'll know when we get there. If it's true, it's a roof and food."
Lena, walking at the back, added softly, "And soldiers with guns."
"Good," Michael said. "That means rules. Rules keep people alive."
They crossed into a row of duplexes, the kind where lawns bled into each other without fences. Michael raised a hand, signaling halt. Both girls froze immediately, like they'd been drilled for weeks instead of days. He was proud of that.
"Stay here," he murmured, slipping into one of the houses.
The place smelled of mildew and smoke. Magazines littered the hallway, a child's bicycle lay overturned in the living room. Michael's eyes flicked over everything, cataloging without conscious effort. His system blinked faintly.
> [New Blueprint Available: Spike Bomb.]
[Materials required: Nails (x50), Container, Explosive Base.]
Michael crouched by an overturned toolbox. Nails scattered across the floor, an old metal can wedged beneath it. He pocketed both, his mind already turning. In the kitchen he found cleaning chemicals, strong enough to strip paint. Dangerous enough for his needs.
When he rejoined the girls outside, Sarah looked at him expectantly. "Anything?"
"Yeah," Michael said, patting his pack. "Something I picked up overseas. Improvised crowd control."
It wasn't a lie, not exactly.
They pressed on until they reached a grocery store. Its windows were spiderwebbed with cracks, one corner smashed wide enough to crawl through. Michael studied it, jaw tight. Places like this were magnets for the living and the dead.
"We check fast. In and out," he said.
Inside, the air was sour. Shelves stood half empty, looted but not stripped clean. Cans rattled somewhere deeper in the dark. Michael's hand shot up, signaling silence. Sarah held her breath, eyes wide. Lena clutched her knife in white knuckles.
The sound came again a dragging shuffle. Then another.
Michael crouched low, whispered, "Runners. Two, maybe three. Stay behind me. Don't speak unless you have to."
They moved aisle by aisle. At the end of the third, the first infected appeared. A man once, his jaw unhinged and streaked with blood, clothes soaked dark. He twitched like a puppet on broken strings, then bolted straight toward them.
Michael didn't hesitate. One step forward, blade flashing. The knife buried under the man's chin, snapping his head back. Michael shoved the body aside before its momentum could topple him.
Another scream tore through the store. Two more runners burst from the back, sprinting full tilt.
"Move!" Michael barked, herding Sarah and Lena behind a checkout counter.
One runner vaulted the belt, teeth snapping. Sarah, eyes wide, rammed her knife forward like Michael had taught her. The blade sank into its throat. The creature convulsed, choking on its own blood before collapsing. Sarah fell back, breathing hard, her hands shaking.
Michael didn't have time to praise her. The last runner was on him. He slammed it into a shelf, grappled, teeth inches from his face. With a grunt, he smashed its head into the metal edge again and again until it stopped moving.
The store fell quiet but for their ragged breathing.
Sarah stared at the corpse at her feet, chest heaving. "I… I killed it."
Michael crouched beside her, steadying her wrist. "You did what you had to. Fear kept you moving, control made you strike. That's how you live."
She nodded, trembling but proud. Lena touched her shoulder, whispering, "You saved me."
They scavenged fast after that. Canned beans, a half-crushed box of cereal, bottled water. Not much, but enough.
As they left, Michael paused by a trash bin, pulling the nails and can from his pack. He poured chemicals carefully, stuffed cloth inside, tightened the lid. Crude, ugly, but effective.
Sarah wrinkled her nose. "What is that?"
"Spike Bomb," he said, tying it to his belt. "You throw it, it blows sharp enough to shred anything close. Doesn't care if it's dead or alive."
Lena frowned. "That's… terrifying."
"Good," Michael replied. "That means it'll work."
The sun dipped lower, shadows stretching long across the ruined streets. They were crossing an alley when the system blinked.
> [Multiple Threats Detected: 12 within 80m.]
Michael's stomach dropped. He spun, scanning rooftops, doorways, side streets. Then he heard it the guttural cries, the slap of feet against pavement.
"Infected. Move!" he barked.
They sprinted, boots pounding cracked asphalt. Sarah gasped, Lena stumbled, but Michael kept them moving. The horde was fast, drawn by noise and scent.
At the mouth of another alley, three runners cut them off. Michael shoved Sarah and Lena back. "Behind me!"
His rifle cracked once, dropping the first. The second slammed into him, claws raking his shoulder. He drove his knife up under its ribs, twisting hard. Blood sprayed his face, but he didn't slow. The third runner lunged Michael ducked, kicked its legs out, and crushed its skull against the curb.
More were coming. Too many.
Michael yanked the Spike Bomb from his belt, lit the cloth fuse, and hurled it down the street.
The explosion thundered. Shrapnel screamed through the air, nails tearing through flesh and bone. The front half of the horde collapsed in a spray of gore, the rest staggering back in confusion.
"Go!" Michael roared, dragging Sarah and Lena into a side passage.
They didn't stop running until their lungs burned and their legs felt like fire. Finally they burst into an abandoned mechanic's garage, slamming the door shut behind them. Michael wedged a tire iron through the handle, chest heaving.
Sarah slumped to the floor, face pale. "That… that was so many."
Lena hugged her knees, trembling. "We're dead if they find us again."
Michael crouched, forcing his voice calm. "We lived because we stayed together. Because you listened. That's how we'll keep living." He looked at Sarah. "You did good back there. Don't ever forget it."
Sarah swallowed hard, but her chin lifted. "I won't."
Michael turned away, wiping blood from his knife, eyes hard.
The system blinked faintly again.
> [Threat neutralized. Efficiency rating: 87%.]
[Survivor Tier I progression: 60%.]
He ignored it. To Sarah and Lena, it was all discipline, all training. Nothing more.
Night settled over the garage, the city beyond alive with distant screams. They huddled close, fireless, silent.
Michael sat against the door, rifle across his lap, eyes never closing.
The fight was over. For tonight.
Tomorrow, it would start again.