Chapter 1 — The Last Person I Wanted to See
The world had ended on a Tuesday.
No grand explosions, no warning sirens—just silence, then screaming. I remember the smell first: iron and rot, like the air itself was bleeding. By the time I reached the old school building for shelter, the streets were already crawling with them—those half-dead monsters that used to be people.
I thought I’d die alone that night.
Until he showed up.
“Move!” a voice yelled, just before a body slammed into me, knocking me behind a broken desk. Gunfire echoed through the empty hallways. I blinked up, dazed—and froze. It was Ryan Cole. My high school rival, my personal headache, the guy I swore I’d never speak to again.
Of course, fate thought it’d be funny to drop him right into my apocalypse.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I hissed.
“Saving your life, apparently,” he shot back, eyes glinting beneath his messy hair. “You’re welcome.”
Typical Ryan—arrogant even when the world was falling apart.
He grabbed my arm, dragging me toward the stairwell. “We can’t stay here. They’ll smell us.”
I hesitated, glancing at the door we’d barricaded. “I’m not leaving. This place is safe.”
“It was,” he said. “Now it’s not.”
Outside, the city was a skeleton of what it used to be. Fires burned in the distance. The wind carried faint moans—human and not. I followed him reluctantly, every nerve on edge.
We ducked into an abandoned pharmacy. The shelves were mostly empty, except for scattered pill bottles and blood-stained walls. I found a few painkillers while Ryan kept watch by the window, his knuckles white on his bat.
He looked different. Not the smug boy I used to know—his eyes were colder now, sharper, like he’d seen things no one should. “You’ve changed,” I muttered.
“So have you,” he said quietly.
For a moment, silence. Only the sound of our breathing and the wind outside. Then a thud—low, heavy. We turned. A figure staggered out from the shadows, its jaw hanging loose, eyes milky white.
“Behind you!” I screamed.
Ryan swung the bat in a clean arc, cracking the thing’s skull open. Blood splattered across the wall. He didn’t even flinch. I did.
Afterward, we sat against the counter, the reality sinking in.
“This is insane,” I whispered.
He smirked faintly. “Welcome to the apocalypse.”
The moonlight spilled through the broken glass, painting his face in silver. I hated that he looked calm—like he belonged here, in this chaos. Maybe he did. Maybe I did too.
When I finally spoke again, my voice was low. “I still don’t like you.”
He glanced at me, eyes unreadable. “Good. It’ll make surviving together more interesting.”
Outside, another scream pierced the night.
And I realized something terrifying—
Ryan might be the only person left who could keep me alive.
But he was also the last person I could trust.
Chapter 2 — Enemies Don’t Hold Hands
By dawn, the city had gone eerily quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that meant they were out there—listening, waiting. Ryan and I had holed up in an old apartment building. The walls were cracked, the floor sticky with dried blood. Every sound made me jump.
Ryan was pacing near the window, scanning the street with those sharp gray eyes. “We need to move before noon,” he said.
“To where?” I asked, tightening my jacket. “You seem to have all the brilliant ideas.”
He shot me a look. “There’s a military checkpoint near the river. If anyone’s alive, that’s where they’ll be.”
“Alive,” I repeated. The word felt foreign.
We packed what little we had—half a protein bar, one flashlight, and Ryan’s bloody bat. I’d found a small knife in the pharmacy, but I wasn’t sure I’d be brave enough to use it. He noticed the hesitation. “If you freeze,” he said, “I won’t save you twice.”
“Good,” I muttered. “I don’t plan on needing you.”
The stairwell smelled of mold and decay. We stepped carefully, each creak echoing too loud. When we reached the ground floor, I saw movement outside—a flicker of something fast. I froze. Ryan pulled me back just as a hand slammed against the glass door. The skin peeled, nails cracked. One, then two, then ten of them pressed against the window, snarling.
“They’re everywhere,” I whispered.
“Back!” Ryan hissed. “This way!”
We ran through the hallway, the sound of shattering glass chasing us. I tripped over a fallen chair, and Ryan grabbed my hand before I could fall. His grip was warm, firm—almost too steady for someone surrounded by death. For a second, our eyes met.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said roughly, pulling me up. “Move!”
We burst into the alley. The air was thick with smoke. The undead had caught the scent; their groans filled the narrow streets. I followed Ryan through twists and turns until my lungs burned. When we finally stopped, we were inside a mechanic’s garage, doors bolted shut.
My heartbeat pounded in my ears. “That was close.”
Ryan didn’t answer. He was breathing hard, face pale. He sat down, clutching his side.
“Ryan?” I knelt beside him. His hand was pressed against a deep gash near his ribs. Blood was seeping through his shirt.
“Got nicked,” he grunted. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine!” I tore off part of my sleeve, pressing it against the wound. He winced but didn’t push me away.
For a while, we stayed like that—two enemies, trapped together, pretending we didn’t care. I tried to focus on the sound of the wind, not the feel of his heartbeat under my fingers.
“Why help me?” I asked quietly.
He didn’t look at me. “Because watching you die would be boring.”
I almost laughed. Almost. But something in his voice made my chest tighten.
Outside, a low growl echoed. The garage door shuddered.
Ryan met my eyes. “We’re not alone.”
The metal began to bend.
And for the first time, I realized—
Enemies or not, I was holding his hand like my life depended on it.
Chapter 3 — Blood and Trust Don’t Mix
The banging grew louder.
Each hit rattled the garage door like thunder. Dust rained from the ceiling. I grabbed my knife, though my hands trembled so hard it might as well have been a spoon. Ryan stood up, ignoring the blood soaking through his shirt. His face was pale, but his eyes—those cold, storm-gray eyes—were locked on the shaking door.
“They’re not stopping,” I whispered.
“They never do,” he said flatly. “Find another way out.”
I searched frantically, but the windows were boarded shut. The only exit was a narrow vent near the ceiling. Too small for both of us, but maybe one could fit.
“Go,” Ryan ordered, nodding to it.
“No. You’re hurt—”
“I said go.”
Something in his tone made my chest twist. He wasn’t just being stubborn; he was ready to stay behind. To die.
“No,” I said again, stepping closer. “You’re not sacrificing yourself for me.”
His jaw clenched. “It’s not a sacrifice. It’s logic. You’re smaller—faster. You’ll make it.”
I grabbed his arm, glaring. “Then we’re both making it.”
He stared at me for a long moment, expression unreadable. Then, with a frustrated sigh, he moved toward the vent. “Fine. Help me up.”
I braced my hands under his foot, lifting him. He winced, muttering curses under his breath as he hauled himself halfway through the vent. Then he reached down, grabbing my wrist. “Your turn.”
The garage door burst open just as I grabbed his hand. The undead poured in—a tide of rotting flesh and hollow eyes. One of them lunged, grabbing my leg. I screamed. Ryan yanked me up with everything he had, dragging me through the vent just as the creature’s teeth snapped shut an inch from my boot.
We collapsed on the other side, coughing and gasping. My heart felt like it would tear out of my chest. For a long time, neither of us spoke. Just the sound of our ragged breathing and the distant howls below.
Finally, Ryan chuckled weakly. “Guess logic lost.”
“Shut up,” I said, but my voice shook. He smiled faintly, eyes half-lidded. His wound looked worse—blood soaking through the makeshift bandage.
I tore open a first-aid kit I’d found near the vent exit. My hands were clumsy, but I cleaned and wrapped the wound as best I could. Ryan winced but didn’t protest. When I finished, I sat back against the wall.
“Why are you doing this?” he murmured.
“Because I’m not you,” I said. “I don’t leave people behind.”
He laughed softly. “Still the same idiot.”
I looked away, but something in his voice—something almost fond—made my chest tighten again. Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe the exhaustion, but for a second, the apocalypse felt quieter. Smaller. Just us and the moonlight.
But peace never lasts here.
Outside, the howls started again, closer this time. Ryan reached for his bat, pushing himself up despite the pain.
“We move at sunrise,” he said.
“Where?”
“Anywhere they’re not.”
For a moment, I almost believed we could make it.
Almost.
Chapter 4 — The River of the Dead
We reached the river by noon.
The air was thick with rot and smoke. Burned-out cars littered the streets like skeletons, their windows shattered, their doors hanging open. Ryan limped beside me, his face pale but determined. The cut on his side had stopped bleeding, though every step looked like agony. I pretended not to notice—he hated pity more than pain.
The checkpoint was supposed to be ahead. At least, that’s what the old city map had said. But when we turned the corner, my stomach dropped.
The road ended in chaos.
Charred trucks. Torn tents. Blood everywhere.
And bodies—dozens of them—strewn across the cracked concrete. Some were soldiers, still gripping their rifles. Others… weren’t fully human anymore.
“God,” I whispered.
Ryan scanned the area, jaw tightening. “They didn’t stand a chance.”
He crouched near a body, checking a backpack. “Ammo’s gone. Supplies too.”
“Then why are we still here?” I asked.
“Because,” he said, holding up a small radio, “someone left this behind.”
The radio crackled weakly, static hissing like whispers. Then, faintly—
“…any survivors… sector nine… repeat, sector nine—”
Ryan’s eyes snapped up to mine. “They’re alive.”
Before I could reply, a sound cut through the air—a low groan. My grip tightened on the knife. The corpses were moving. One by one, their twitching fingers scraped the ground. Their heads jerked up, eyes cloudy and hungry.
“Run!” Ryan shouted.
We sprinted toward the bridge, our footsteps echoing on metal. The river below was dark, carrying bloated bodies downstream. The undead followed, faster than I remembered. Ryan turned, swinging his bat, crushing skulls with brutal precision. I tried to fight too, stabbing clumsily at a creature that got too close.
One grabbed my wrist, its breath hot and foul. I screamed, slashing wildly. Ryan slammed into it, sending it tumbling over the railing.
“Don’t freeze!” he yelled.
“I’m not—” Another came from behind. I barely ducked in time.
The bridge shuddered under the weight. The dead were swarming from both sides. Ryan grabbed my hand, pulling me toward a maintenance ladder leading down to the riverbank.
“This way!”
We climbed down, slipping on the rusted rungs. My foot missed once, and his hand shot out, steadying me. His fingers lingered just a moment too long.
“Still hate me?” he muttered.
“Ask me when we’re not dying!”
When we reached the bottom, the world was quiet again—except for the river’s current and our gasping breaths. Across the water, we could see smoke rising—maybe from the supposed safe zone.
“We’ll have to swim,” I said.
Ryan looked at his wound, then at me. “You first.”
I shook my head. “Together.”
We dove in. The water was freezing, black, and heavy with death. I felt something brush my leg—hands, hair, maybe bodies. I kicked harder, breaking the surface with a gasp. Ryan surfaced beside me, pale but alive. We reached the other shore, collapsing onto the mud.
For a long time, neither of us spoke. Then he said quietly, “If I die, don’t waste time burying me.”
I turned toward him, teeth chattering. “If you die, I’ll drag your corpse with me just to annoy you.”
He smiled weakly. “That’s the spirit.”
But when I looked into his eyes, I saw it—
the fear he’d never admit.
And maybe… something else.
Chapter 5 — When Enemies Become the Last Hope
Night fell fast on the other side of the river.
We found shelter in an abandoned gas station, the windows shattered and shelves overturned. Ryan lit a single candle. Its flickering glow painted his face in soft orange, making the deep scar on his cheek seem sharper. He was getting weaker. The wound on his ribs had reopened during the swim, staining his shirt a deep red.
“Take it off,” I said quietly.
He raised a brow. “You’re patching me up or flirting?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I muttered, ripping open a med kit. My hands trembled as I cleaned the wound. He hissed but didn’t move away.
When I finished, he leaned back against the wall, exhaustion written all over him. Outside, the distant groans echoed through the night—faint, but coming closer. I wanted to rest, but fear kept me awake.
“Ryan,” I whispered. “What if there’s no one left in sector nine?”
He opened his eyes slowly. “Then we keep moving. That’s what survivors do.”
I wanted to believe him. But there was something hollow in his voice. Something that said he didn’t believe it himself.
We sat in silence for a while, listening to the rain tapping against the roof. Then, out of nowhere, Ryan said, “You remember the school gym fire?”
I frowned. “You started it.”
“I saved you from it,” he corrected.
I stared. “You also caused it!”
He smirked faintly. “Details, details.”
Despite everything—the blood, the fear, the dead—I laughed. For a second, it felt like the world hadn’t ended. Like we were just two idiots arguing again.
But the sound of glass shattering cut the moment short.
Ryan was on his feet in an instant, gripping his bat. “They found us.”
The candle flickered out. Shadows moved outside the doorway—slow, dragging feet, the smell of rot seeping in.
I raised my knife, but my heart pounded too fast to aim straight. Ryan pushed me behind the counter. “Stay down.”
“I can fight—”
“You’ll die.”
He swung hard as the first one came through the door. Bones cracked, blood splattered. A second one lunged from the side, knocking him down. I didn’t think—I just moved. My knife sank into its skull. I stumbled back, breathing hard, shaking.
Ryan looked up at me, eyes wide. “Guess I’m not the only one who can save someone now.”
“Shut up and move!”
We fought our way out the back, the rain pouring in sheets. The dead followed, relentless. We ran into the trees, slipping on mud, grabbing each other when one almost fell. The forest was thick and dark—no roads, no lights, just rain and our breathing.
When we finally stopped, I realized Ryan wasn’t beside me. I turned—he was on his knees, coughing, pale as snow.
“No, no, no,” I whispered, catching him before he fell. “Don’t you dare—”
He smiled faintly, rain dripping from his lashes. “Guess logic lost again.”
I shook my head, tears mixing with the rain. “You’re not dying here.”
He brushed his thumb against my cheek. “You hated me once.”
“I still do,” I said. “Now shut up and breathe.”
He did. Barely.
As dawn broke, the rain stopped. The forest glowed gold with light. I held him, alive but fragile, in my arms. The world was ending, but for now, we’d survived.
Enemies once. Survivors now.
And maybe—just maybe—something more.
The End
(Don't forget to follow and read my new novel 'The different cards' It's a very interesting story!!! Genre: Horror | Mystery | Supernatural | Slight Romance
Description of it:
Jude wakes up every few nights in a different body — but always in the same town, where a string of disappearances has haunted generations. Each body holds a piece of a puzzle, a memory, or a card — part of a mysterious deck that binds souls together. Every time his soul shifts, the world changes slightly — faces blur, truths twist, and someone new falls in love with him… or tries to kill him.
As Jude pieces together the connection between these “different cards,” he begins to realize the horrifying truth: one of the bodies he’s entering doesn’t belong to the living.
