Chapter 1: Alone with the Dead

Kai had forgotten what silence used to sound like.

Not the quiet of early mornings or libraries or soft-spoken conversations—the world used to hum with life, even in its stillness. This silence was heavier. Oppressive. The kind that crawled under your skin and made you question if you were still real.

The air smelled like dust and decay, the sharp tang of rusted metal, smoke, and rot. Sunlight filtered weakly through the cloud-covered sky, casting the ruined city in a dull grey wash. It hadn’t rained in days, but the air still felt damp—like the world was holding its breath.

Kai walked with purpose, but every step felt hollow. He moved through the skeleton of what used to be home. The city was a carcass now—its bones twisted steel and broken glass. Vines had started to crawl over storefronts, taking back what people abandoned in a rush. A fallen traffic light lay half-submerged in rubble, its red glow permanently dead.

He stepped over a child’s bicycle, still intact, its little pink basket crushed. Kai didn’t stop to wonder about the child.

You couldn’t let yourself wonder anymore.

His backpack creaked with the weight of salvaged supplies—a mostly empty water bottle, two cans of food, a small first aid kit. Everything was bartered with risk. Sometimes it meant crawling through tight alleyways or searching through collapsed buildings. Other times it meant facing something worse.

But today, he hadn’t seen anything. No infected. No people.

The loneliness should’ve brought him comfort by now. It didn’t.

He adjusted the crowbar on his belt, more out of habit than fear. His fingers were calloused. Hands that once typed coding projects and held pens now gripped weapons. Hands that had once held his sister’s when she was afraid.

Kai pushed the thought away and moved toward a half-burned supermarket. The automatic doors were shattered, glass crunching beneath his boots. He ducked through the entrance, flashlight in hand.

Inside, the air was thick and unmoving. Shelves were ransacked. A dark smear of dried blood painted the freezer aisle. He scanned quickly—survival had no time for hesitation.

A dented can of soup. Two dusty protein bars tucked behind a fallen cereal box. He snatched them up. As he turned the corner, his flashlight caught on something small taped to a pillar.

A child’s drawing.

It was crude but full of love—stick figures of a family holding hands. A sun in the corner. The words “Come home safe, Daddy!” scrawled beneath in looping, shaky letters.

Kai’s breath caught in his throat.

He looked away too quickly, blinking hard. His chest ached, but he refused to let the tears fall. Tears didn’t change anything. They didn’t bring people back. They didn’t stop the hunger or the groaning shadows or the nights where sleep never came.

He moved into the back of the store, hoping to find something missed. The stockroom smelled like mold. A metal shelf had collapsed under the weight of time. He ducked beneath it and paused when he saw a cracked photo frame lying in the dust.

Two teenage boys stood shoulder to shoulder, laughing at the camera. One had his head tipped back in mid-laugh, the other was leaning in, half-blushing. There was a spark of something between them—something real.

Love.

Kai reached down and brushed the dust away. The glass was shattered, but the photo was mostly intact. He hesitated… then slipped it into his jacket.

He told himself it was for the paper.

Not because it reminded him of something he would never get to have.

Outside, a loud clang shattered the silence.

Kai froze.

It came from the alley behind the store.

He extinguished the flashlight instantly and crouched low, breath held. He could feel his heart thudding wildly against his ribs.

A scrape. A groan.

Not human.

He swallowed hard and reached for the crowbar. His grip tightened, sweat making his palms slick.

It shuffled closer.