Chapter 1: The Last Survivors

The city was silent.

Owen walked through the abandoned streets, his boots crunching against scattered debris and dried blood. The smell of decay was thick in the air, but he barely noticed it anymore. A month ago, the scent of rotting corpses and old, dried blood would have turned his stomach. Now, it was just part of the world he lived in.

His fingers brushed against his lips, wiping away the remnants of his last meal. The hunger was never truly gone, but he had learned how to control it. The flesh of another monster had dulled the gnawing emptiness inside him, at least for a while. It had become routine—hunt, feed, survive.

Owen caught his reflection in a shattered car window. His once brown hair had turned completely white, the strands messy and unkempt from weeks of living like a predator in a world of monsters. His golden eyes stared back at him—unnatural, eerie, glowing faintly in the dim light.

He wasn’t human anymore.

He had come to accept it.

The abandoned grocery store was just ahead. It had become his temporary shelter, a place to return to after each hunt. He didn’t know why he still bothered—maybe it was the illusion of normalcy, the desperate attempt to cling to something familiar.

But as he stepped inside, something felt different.

His nostrils flared.

A fresh scent. Meat.

His stomach wasn’t even empty, yet his mouth watered at the smell. This wasn’t the lingering scent of rotting corpses or old blood. This was alive.

His senses sharpened, his ears twitching at the faintest noise. And then, he heard them.

Voices.

Three of them.

He closed his eyes, focusing on the sound. It was distant, but clear—his hearing had become far better than any human’s.

“Holy shit, we actually found food.”

“Don’t jinx it, man. Just take what we can carry.”

“This is the first real jackpot we’ve hit in days.”

Owen’s eyes narrowed. Survivors.

He moved without thinking, his body slipping through the aisles like a shadow. His feet made no sound, his breathing steady. He had spent so long believing he was the only one left, that there was no one else alive. Yet here they were—humans, oblivious to the creatures roaming nearby, completely unaware of the danger they had just walked into.

Owen crouched near the end of the aisle, peering between the shelves. He could see them now. Three people, all stuffing their backpacks with whatever food and drinks remained.

One was a guy with a makeshift spear—nothing more than a knife duct-taped to a broom handle. Another, a woman, had a baseball bat slung over her shoulder. The last was a younger boy with a crowbar, his nervous eyes darting around as if expecting something to jump out at them.

They had no idea what was coming.

Then it happened.

A can slipped from one of their hands, hitting the floor with a metallic clank before rolling across the tile.

The store fell into complete silence.

Then came the screeches.

Four of them.

“Shit, Ghouls!” One of the three shouted.

Owen’s body tensed. He knew those sounds well—the guttural, inhuman cries of monsters who had caught the scent of fresh blood.

The three survivors froze, fear flashing across their faces. The guy with the broom-handle spear gripped his weapon tighter. The girl with the bat sucked in a sharp breath. The younger boy’s hands trembled on his crowbar.

They were preparing to fight.

They wouldn’t stand a chance.

Owen moved before they could even see what was coming.

His body blurred into motion, faster than any human could react. He slipped between the aisles, his footsteps utterly silent. He didn’t hesitate.

The first creature barely had time to react before his hand plunged into its chest. His nails, now razor-sharp claws, sliced through its rotting flesh like paper. He gripped its heart and ripped it free with a sickening squelch. The creature gurgled once before collapsing.

The second monster lunged at him, its jagged teeth snapping. Owen ducked low, his movements almost inhumanly fluid. He surged forward, shoving his arm straight through its ribs, feeling the warmth of dead black blood coat his skin as he crushed its heart.

The third and fourth barely had time to screech before he was on them, his claws carving through their decayed bodies. Blood splattered across the floor, the scent rich and intoxicating, but Owen ignored it.

It was over in seconds.

He exhaled sharply, flicking the blood from his fingers. His golden eyes darted toward the three survivors, who had remained frozen in place.

They were staring at him.

Owen quickly wiped the remaining blood from his face, stepping out from the shadows as he forced himself to slow his breathing. He had to appear normal. He couldn’t let them know what he was.

For a long moment, no one spoke. The three were still gripping their weapons, their eyes flicking between the shredded bodies of the creatures and the man who had just torn them apart with his bare hands.

“…Holy shit,” the woman muttered.

The guy with the spear swallowed hard. “You—what the hell was that? How did you do that?”

Owen hesitated. He needed an excuse—something believable.

Instead, he asked, “Why’d you call them that?”

The three exchanged glances.

“What?” the younger boy asked.

“You called them Ghouls,” Owen said. “Why?”

The guy with the makeshift spear frowned. “That’s what they are. Or, at least, that’s what everyone started calling them. It came from the national defense alert—before everything went to shit, they were trying to name these things. Undead was too broad, so they settled on ‘Ghouls’ before the emergency broadcasts stopped.”

Owen nodded slowly, processing that information. He had spent the last month alone, completely cut off from any kind of news. It made sense that the world had already started labeling the creatures.

The woman stepped forward slightly, still eyeing him with suspicion. “That still doesn’t explain how you took them down like that. You just—” she gestured at the bodies, “—ripped through them like they were nothing.”

Owen let out a small breath and forced a casual shrug. “Their skin is rotting. It wasn’t that hard.”

She didn’t seem convinced, but she didn’t press the issue.

The younger boy, who looked no older than eighteen, suddenly perked up. “Wait… does that mean you’re a survivor, too?”

Owen hesitated. He was not the same as them. But he couldn’t exactly tell them the truth.

“…Yeah,” he finally said. “Guess I am.”

The guy with the spear exchanged looks with the others before glancing back at Owen. “Listen… we’re looking for a new base. We had a place, but it got overrun a few days ago. We need somewhere safe. Are you alone?”

Owen’s muscles tensed.

They were offering him a place among them.

A part of him wanted to refuse. It would be easier, safer, to stay on his own. But at the same time… he had been alone for so long. And the idea of staying with people, even if they weren’t like him, felt…

Tempting.

He swallowed down the unease rising in his throat. “Where are you guys headed?”

The woman shrugged. “No clue yet. We’re just looking for somewhere to survive.”

Owen glanced at the three of them. Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he nodded.

“…Alright,” he said. “I’ll go with you.”

For better or worse, he had just made a choice.

He just hoped he wouldn’t regret it.

---

Owen knelt near the front entrance, gripping a hammer in one hand and a wooden plank in the other. He lined it up against the doorframe, holding it steady as Mark drove in the nails. The rhythmic pounding of metal against wood echoed through the empty grocery store, a stark contrast to the eerie silence outside.

Mark, the older man who had introduced himself as their leader, worked efficiently. He had the look of someone who had lived through more than his fair share of hardship—salt-and-pepper hair, deep lines on his face, and sharp, calculating eyes that missed nothing. Owen could tell right away that Mark was the kind of man people naturally followed, the kind who took charge when no one else could.

“You’re pretty handy,” Mark said, driving in another nail. “You do this kind of work before the world went to hell?”

Owen let out a dry chuckle. “Not exactly.” He wiped his hands on his jeans, careful to keep his nails from cutting through the fabric. “Did some construction work when I was younger, but nothing serious. Mostly just odd jobs.”

“Odd jobs, huh?” Mark smirked. “Guess that makes you better off than half the people we got back at camp. Most of ‘em were either office workers or college kids. Not a lot of useful skills when you’re running for your life.”

Owen hummed in response, focusing on securing another board over the shattered window. He had been so used to being alone, it felt strange having someone to talk to again. It almost felt… normal.

Almost.

They worked in silence for a few minutes before Mark spoke again. “Gotta say, you handled those Ghouls back there like a damn pro. That’s not something I see every day.”

Owen tensed slightly but forced himself to relax. “Like I said, their skin was rotting. Just got lucky, I guess.”

Mark nodded, standing back to inspect their work. “Yeah, maybe. Usually, those things have skin like goddamn leather. Ain’t easy putting ‘em down unless you take out the head. But hey, we’ll take whatever luck we can get.”

Owen let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. He knew the truth. Ghouls were tough—he had seen bullets barely do anything to them before. But his body? It was something else entirely.

A few days ago, he had found an old kitchen knife and decided to test something. He pressed the blade against his forearm and applied pressure—just enough to see if it would cut. Instead, the metal snapped like it was made of brittle plastic.

His skin was stronger than a normal Ghoul’s.

He had no idea why.

And he wasn’t about to start explaining that to Mark.

Instead, he shifted the topic. “What about you? What were you doing before all this?”

Mark sighed, leaning against the boarded-up window. “Does it even matter anymore?” He rubbed a hand over his face, as if shaking off old memories. “Worked as a mechanic. Owned a small garage on the west side of town. Spent most of my days fixing up cars and overcharging rich assholes who didn’t know a damn thing about engines.”

Owen chuckled. “Sounds like a decent life.”

Mark gave a humorless smile. “Yeah, well. Doesn’t mean shit now, does it?” He exhaled sharply. “Everything changed so fast. One second, we were hearing rumors about some new virus overseas, the next thing we knew, people were tearing each other apart in the streets.”

Owen remained quiet, letting Mark continue.

“At first, I stayed in my shop. Thought maybe the military would get things under control.” He shook his head. “That was a joke. Took me less than a week to realize no one was coming to save us.”

Owen frowned. He had been unconscious during those first few days of the outbreak, missing the chaos as civilization collapsed around him. He had no idea how bad it had truly been.

Mark continued, “I started looking for survivors. Found most of ‘em in an old apartment building next to this grocery store. Some were hiding alone, scared outta their minds. Others were in groups, trying to fight back.”

He clenched his jaw. “We thought we could fortify the place, block off the stairwells and keep those things from getting in. Didn’t work. Ghouls broke through our defenses like they were made of paper.”

Owen could hear the bitterness in his voice.

“That’s how we lost most of our people,” Mark admitted quietly. “Parents trying to protect their kids. Friends who refused to leave each other behind. We started with sixty-seven people. Now, we’re down to twenty-four.”

Owen swallowed hard. “The kids…?”

Mark sighed heavily. “Most of their parents are dead. The only reason any of them made it was because we locked ourselves in a few apartments and broke through the walls to connect them. Ghouls got the rest.”

Owen couldn’t imagine what that must have been like—being trapped in an apartment, listening to the sounds of people being torn apart on the other side of the door.

Mark straightened, rolling his shoulders. “When we ran out of food, we knew we had to move. Tied together some makeshift ropes and climbed out a window. Made our way here through the employee entrance, hoping to grab what we could.”

A humorless chuckle escaped his lips. “And then you showed up.”

Owen absorbed the story in silence, unsure of what to say. He had been convinced there were no survivors left, that he was the only one still walking around. But now, he knew there were at least twenty-four people still fighting to live.

Twenty-four people relying on Mark to lead them.

And now, Mark was offering him a place among them.

“You could’ve just left me behind,” Owen pointed out.

Mark scoffed. “Yeah, well, that’d be a pretty shitty way to repay you after you saved our asses.” He glanced at Owen. “Besides, you seem like the kind of guy who can handle himself. We need people like that.”

Owen hesitated. He wanted to say yes. A part of him ached to be around people again, to feel like he wasn’t just some monster lurking in the ruins of a dead world.

But he wasn’t like them. He wasn’t human.

What if they found out? What if they turned on him?

Mark must’ve noticed his hesitation because he sighed. “Listen, kid. I’m not gonna force you. You can walk away if you want. But if you do, you’ll be out there alone again. And I don’t think that’s what you want.”

Owen clenched his fists. Mark was right—he didn’t want to be alone anymore.

Even if it meant lying.

Even if it meant pretending to be something he wasn’t.

Finally, he nodded. “Alright. I’ll go with you.”

Mark gave him a firm pat on the shoulder. “Good. Welcome to the group.”

Owen forced a small smile.

For now, he was just another survivor.

But deep down, he knew the truth.

He wasn’t one of them.

And he never would be.

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