The night was still.
Almost too still.
Alex's footsteps echoed down the broken street, each one slower than the last. His body was heavy, drained, his eyes dry and red from exhaustion. The moon hung low above the city — pale, distant, and cold.
Cars lay abandoned along the road. Windows shattered. Some bodies — still and covered in ash — rested where they had fallen, faces hidden beneath dust and rain. A child's toy car sat beside one of them, half buried in the mud. Alex tried not to look, but sometimes his eyes lingered. They were people once. Neighbours, strangers, someone's family.
He whispered, "I'm sorry," as he passed.
The air smelled faintly of smoke and wet concrete. The faint crackle of a fire came from somewhere far away — like the world was still burning, slowly. A billboard above flickered with half-dead light, showing the frozen face of a smiling actor from a toothpaste advert. It looked absurd in this silence.
Then, through the mist, he spotted light — faint and flickering. A small convenience stall, its sign half-broken but still glowing weakly: KwikMart — Always open.
He hesitated. The door hung crooked on its hinge but wasn't locked. Maybe whoever owned the place had run when the aliens came.
"Hope you made it out," he murmured, pushing it open.
Inside, the store was quiet. The air was thick with dust. A few snacks were scattered across the floor — chips, candy bars, half-empty bottles. The light inside flickered, humming faintly.
He dropped the alien gun on the counter and began scavenging through the shelves. He found a tin of beans, a pack of biscuits, and an old bottle of soda. It wasn't much, but it was enough.
He sat on the cold floor, back against the wall, and ate in silence. The beans were tasteless, but they filled his stomach. He washed them down with soda that had gone flat long ago.
When he was done, his eyelids grew heavy. He leaned against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. "Just for a bit," he whispered to himself. "Just a few minutes."
His eyes closed.
And the world disappeared.
He dreamt of fire — of Aunt Anna's hand slipping from his.
Then of voices crying out before they went silent.
He woke up gasping, heart pounding.
The bulb had gone out. The store was dark now, lit only by the faint blue glow of the moon through the glass. Rain pattered gently outside, a soft, lonely rhythm.
Thunder rolled in the distance.
And then—
Creaaaak.
Alex stiffened.
The sound came from the door.
He reached for the alien gun beside him, lifting it toward the shadow that moved beyond the glass. His breath came slow and careful.
The door creaked open, pushed by the wind.
Something small slipped inside.
Alex aimed the gun. His finger hovered over the trigger.
Then he saw it — not an alien, not some strange creature.
A dog.
Soaked, trembling, its fur matted flat against its skin. It looked around, cautious, then met his eyes.
Alex let out a breath and lowered the gun. "Hey," he said quietly, voice soft, unsure. "It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you."
The dog tilted its head, taking a small step forward.
"You're lost, huh?" Alex said, kneeling down slowly. "You don't belong out there."
He searched through the shelves and found a torn bag of dog food behind the counter — probably left behind in the chaos. He poured a handful into an old bowl and slid it forward.
The dog sniffed, then began eating, crunching loudly in the quiet room.
Alex smiled faintly. "Guess you're hungry too."
He leaned back, watching it eat. "You know, I used to have a dog. Back before…" He paused, glancing at the gun beside him, at the faint reflection of the outside world in the glass. "Back before everything changed."
The dog finished eating and looked up, tail wagging slightly.
"You need a name," Alex said softly. His eyes drifted to the pale gray sky through the broken window — ash from earlier still falling faintly in the air. "How about Ash?"
The dog gave a small whine, almost like approval.
Alex smiled. "Yeah… you look like an Ash."
He sat cross-legged on the floor, and slowly, Ash walked over. Alex extended a hand. The dog sniffed it, then pressed his head against it, shivering slightly.
"Easy now," Alex whispered. "You're safe. Promise."
Ash circled once, then curled up beside him, pressing his body close. Alex rested his hand gently on the dog's back, running his fingers through the damp fur.
"You did good out there," he murmured. "You made it through the worst of it."
The store's light flickered again, then steadied for a moment — long enough for Alex to see the dust floating lazily in the air, the broken reflection of himself and the dog in the cracked mirror by the counter. It was almost peaceful.
He looked toward the window. The streets outside were littered with still figures, the remnants of a city that once pulsed with life. A signpost swayed in the wind, its rusted frame creaking softly. Somewhere far off, a faint siren wailed and died out again.
Softly, almost to himself, he said, "Guess it's just us now."
Ash shifted, nuzzling closer. His warmth bled into Alex's cold, trembling hands.
"Thanks, buddy," Alex whispered, stroking him again. "You're a good one."
He lay back and watched the dog breathe, the rise and fall of its small chest. The sound of the rain softened, blending with Ash's quiet rhythm.
"Still warm," he whispered to himself, almost as if surprised.
Outside, the world was broken — but here, in this small corner of ruin, there was peace.
And as thunder rolled quietly across the city, Alex drifted into sleep again — his hand resting on Ash's fur, his last thought a silent promise:
Tomorrow, we survive again.