Ethan stood in the center of the cramped basement office, his body trembling from the grueling effort of his 5:00 AM trek. The heavy steel door offered a silence that was almost as suffocating as the black gas that had began to twist reality exactly one year ago. He had collapsed in a heap of exhaustion, his mind fractured by memories of the mirror shattering and the world becoming a graveyard of silence. When he finally opened his eyes, the thin, bruised light of the morning filtered through cracks in the ceiling, illuminating the thick dust motes dancing in the stagnant air.His bones ached with a deep, hollow soreness that felt permanent. His first instinct was to check his wounds; the rakes across his chest from the wolf abomination had dried into dark, jagged crusts, but the skin around them was inflamed and angry, stained with the black residue that seemed to eat away at the light. He needed to move; he couldn't stay in this basement forever, and the thirst that had driven him to the weeping pipe at dawn was already returning with a vengeance.Ethan gripped his rusted machete, the metal still pitted and cold, and began to search the house. It was a dilapidated two-story structure on the edge of the district, its windows boarded with rotting plywood and its walls peeling like dead skin. On the second floor, he pushed open a heavy oak door that groaned on its hinges. The room beyond smelled of stagnant air and slow decay.There, huddled beneath a tattered quilt, was a figure. Ethan's hand tightened on his weapon, his heart hammering against his ribs. But it wasn't an abomination. It was a woman, her face pale and sunken, her breathing coming in shallow, ragged hitches. As he stepped closer, the breath caught in his throat. He recognized her. It was Ms. Halloway, his class teacher from the world before the gas. She was only twenty-five, once full of life, but now her beauty was hollowed out by starvation, her cheekbones sharp and her eyes glazed with feverish desperation. She was dying of hunger and thirst."Ethan?" she whispered, her voice barely a thread of sound.The sight of her—the person who had once taught him about a world of logic—now rotting in this lawless void, triggered a protective fury in him. He thought of his meager supplies: the two soft drinks he had scavenged from his neighbor's room, the final remnants of his grit that he had left behind in his frantic escape from the wolf. He couldn't let her die.Without a word, Ethan turned and ran back into the corridor. He didn't care about the exhaustion or the risk of the hunt. He sprinted back toward his original apartment, his boots thundering on the cracked asphalt.The return journey was a gauntlet of terror. He had barely cleared the first block when the first abomination—a twitching, multi-limbed creature—pounced from a second-story window. Ethan rolled across the grit, the creature's claws missing his head by an inch. He ran, but as he rounded the next corner, a second beast, a hulking mass of warped muscle, blocked his path. The two creatures hissed in a terrifying, mechanical unison and began to close in together.Ethan's heart screamed against his ribs. He dodged into a narrow alleyway, but his blood scent was a loud invitation. At the end of the alley, three more abominations were gathered, their milky eyes fixing on him with predatory focus. Now, five of them were on his trail, a pack of nightmare shapes weaving through the ruins.He ran for miles, his lungs burning as if he were inhaling the black gas directly. He led the five beasts through a maze of rusted cars and collapsed masonry, using his knowledge of the shortcuts to stay one step ahead. Finally, he reached his apartment building. He scaled the fire escape with a frantic, desperate energy, his fingers raw from the freezing metal.He burst into his room, grabbed the two cans of soft drinks from their hiding place, and didn't stop to breathe. He could hear the five creatures scratching at the walls below. To lose them, he took a dangerous leap from the fire escape, vanishing into the shadows to double back toward the house where the madam waited.He finally slid the heavy bolt of the house into place, the abominations howling in frustration outside. He returned to the bedroom, his chest screaming and his body trembling. He sat on the edge of the bed and gently lifted Ms. Halloway's head. He cracked the tab of the first can, the hiss of carbonation sounding like a prayer in the silence."Careful, madam," he whispered.He held the can to her lips with agonizing slowness, letting the sugary liquid trickle into her mouth. He watched her throat move in a weak swallow, her beautiful, broken face finally showing a flicker of life.The heavy steel door of the laundry basement was bolted shut, creating a tomb-like silence that offered the only protection left in a world gone mad. Ethan stood over the bed, his chest heaving, his lungs still feeling the phantom burn of the sprint he had just endured. Outside, the five abominations were still searching, their rhythmic tapping on the pavement a reminder of how close he had come to being erased. But inside, the air was still, save for the shallow, rattling breaths of Ms. Halloway.He looked at her—the woman who had once stood before a chalkboard, radiating a sharp, untouchable intelligence. Every boy in his grade had nursed a crush on her; she was beautiful in a way that felt like a relic from a more civilized era. Now, that beauty was a haunting shadow of itself. Her skin was the color of parchment, and her eyes remained closed, her body so weak it seemed to be sinking into the mattress.Ethan knew he couldn't leave her here in this guest room. It was drafty and close to the hallway where the sounds of the night would terrify her if she woke. The main bedroom at the back of the house was larger, more secure, and held a bed that hadn't yet been reclaimed by the dust and mold of the apocalypse."I've got you, Ms. Halloway," he whispered, his voice cracking.He moved to lift her, and a surge of hesitation struck him. Despite the world ending, despite the laws of society being replaced by the law of the hunt, he still felt the ghost of the boy he used to be—the student who looked at his teacher with reverence. He was eighteen, a man by the standards of this new, cruel world, but as he reached for her, he was acutely aware of the person she was. He was incredibly careful, his movements stiff and deliberate. He slid one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her shoulders, being painstakingly mindful not to touch her "assets" or disrespect her even in her unconscious state. He handled her like a piece of shattered glass, a fragile remnant of a life that used to matter.She was terrifyingly light. The starvation had eaten away at her, leaving her as nothing more than skin and bone wrapped in a tattered dress. Ethan carried her down the hallway, his boots making no sound on the floorboards. Every step was a battle against his own exhaustion, his muscles screaming after the miles he had run and the monsters he had outlasted.He reached the main bedroom and laid her down on the large, dusty mattress. He adjusted the pillows, tucking the quilt around her chin to keep the chill of the black gas out of her lungs. For the next twenty-four hours, Ethan did not sleep. He became a ghost within the house, a silent guardian.He spent the first few hours of the day meticulously tending to her. He cracked the second can of soft drink—his final treasure—and began the slow, arduous process of rehydration. Every thirty minutes, he would lift her head with one hand, supporting her neck with a tenderness that felt alien to his calloused hands. With the other, he used a small piece of clean cloth dipped in the sugary liquid to moisten her cracked lips."Come on," he would mutter under his breath. "Drink. Don't let the gas win."When she finally managed to swallow a few drops on her own, a spark of hope flared in Ethan's chest. He spent the rest of the day and night watching the door and the window. He cleaned his rusted machete, the black blood of the wolf finally scraped away.The heavy steel door of the laundry basement was bolted shut, creating a tomb-like silence that offered the only protection left in a world gone mad. Ethan stood over the bed, his chest heaving, his lungs still feeling the phantom burn of the sprint he had just endured. Outside, the five abominations were still searching, their rhythmic tapping on the pavement a reminder of how close he had come to being erased. But inside, the air was still, save for the shallow, rattling breaths of Ms. Halloway.He looked at her—the woman who had once stood before a chalkboard, radiating a sharp, untouchable intelligence. Every boy in his grade had nursed a crush on her; she was beautiful in a way that felt like a relic from a more civilized era. Now, that beauty was a haunting shadow of itself. Her skin was the color of parchment, and her eyes remained closed, her body so weak it seemed to be sinking into the mattress.Ethan knew he couldn't leave her here in this guest room. It was drafty and close to the hallway where the sounds of the night would terrify her if she woke. The main bedroom at the back of the house was larger, more secure, and held a bed that hadn't yet been reclaimed by the dust and mold of the apocalypse."I've got you, Ms. Halloway," he whispered, his voice cracking.He moved to lift her, and a surge of hesitation struck him. Despite the world ending, despite the laws of society being replaced by the law of the hunt, he still felt the ghost of the boy he used to be—the student who looked at his teacher with reverence. He was eighteen, a man by the standards of this new, cruel world, but as he reached for her, he was acutely aware of the person she was. He was incredibly careful, his movements stiff and deliberate. He slid one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her shoulders, being painstakingly mindful not to touch her "assets" or disrespect her even in her unconscious state. He handled her like a piece of shattered glass, a fragile remnant of a life that used to matter.She was terrifyingly light. The starvation had eaten away at her, leaving her as nothing more than skin and bone wrapped in a tattered dress. Ethan carried her down the hallway, his boots making no sound on the floorboards. Every step was a battle against his own exhaustion, his muscles screaming after the miles he had run and the monsters he had outlasted.He reached the main bedroom and laid her down on the large, dusty mattress. He adjusted the pillows, tucking the quilt around her chin to keep the chill of the black gas out of her lungs. For the next twenty-four hours, Ethan did not sleep. He became a ghost within the house, a silent guardian.He spent the first few hours of the day meticulously tending to her. He cracked the second can of soft drink—his final treasure—and began the slow, arduous process of rehydration. Every thirty minutes, he would lift her head with one hand, supporting her neck with a tenderness that felt alien to his calloused hands. With the other, he used a small piece of clean cloth dipped in the sugary liquid to moisten her cracked lips."Come on," he would mutter under his breath. "Drink. Don't let the gas win."When she finally managed to swallow a few drops on her own, a spark of hope flared in Ethan's chest. He spent the rest of the day and night watching the door and the window. He cleaned his rusted machete, the black blood of the wolf finally scraped away.
