Miku pressed herself flat to the ground, the rough gravel biting into her palms.
She had to move quietly, inch by inch, and pray none of them would notice her.
Her jeans and white shirt—both filthy from days without washing—stuck to her skin.
The dirt and sweat helped her blend into the dusty ground, but it didn’t stop her heart from hamring in her chest.
Her long black hair brushed the dirt as she crawled. Each movent was painfully slow.
One of the zombies turned its head suddenly, sniffing the air, and Miku froze completely.
The seconds dragged on. Then, at last, it turned away. She exhaled softly and kept crawling.
The first house she reached was locked. She tugged at the door handle gently—no response.
The curtains were drawn, and there was no sign of life.
She tried peeking through a window but saw only darkness inside.
The second house was the sa, its doors barricaded with furniture she could see through a narrow crack. Whoever lived there had either fled or... didn’t make it.
Her stomach growled, loud enough to make her flinch.
She pressed a hand over her abdon, forcing herself to stay calm.
Finally, the third house ca into view—a two-story ho with the front door slightly ajar.
The wind creaked it open and closed slowly.
Miku hesitated, watching for several long monts. No sound, no movent.
She gripped the small knife she carried and crept forward.
The door made a faint squeal as she pushed it open. She froze again. Nothing.
She slipped inside, closing it gently behind her.
The air was heavy and stale, the sll of dust and old food filling her nose.
A toppled lamp lay on the floor, and muddy footprints trailed across the living room carpet.
Soone had been here—but not recently.
Her eyes darted around the dim interior as she moved toward the kitchen.
Then she saw it: a counter lined with half-opened drawers, a few cans of food, packets of noodles, and bottles of water still sealed.
For a mont, she thought she was hallucinating. Her throat tightened as tears filled her eyes.
"Thank you, God... thank you," she whispered, falling to her knees.
She hurried to gather what she could.
Every sound felt too loud—the rustle of plastic, the clink of tal against the counter.
She packed carefully: instant noodles, canned fruit, crackers, water bottles.
She avoided anything that would need to be cooked or slled too strong.
The last thing she wanted was the scent of at or smoke drawing the undead—or worse, other desperate survivors.
When her bag was full, she slung it over her shoulder and retraced her steps.
Every creak in the floorboards made her jump.
She reached the door, took one last look around, and whispered another quiet prayer before slipping out.
The crawl back felt even longer.
The sun was lower now, and the shadows stretched across the cracked pavent.
The moans of the undead drifted faintly through the air.
She kept her movents slow and steady, never daring to look back.
By the ti she reached her house, the sky was painted in orange and red.
Her hands were shaking as she closed the door behind her and locked it.
Then she turned—and saw her husband staring at her in disbelief.
"Miku... you did it," he whispered weakly.
She dropped the bag on the table and pulled out the food one piece at a ti.
For a mont, they just looked at it—the small, precious miracle she had brought back.
Tears welled in both their eyes.
They ate slowly that night, cherishing every bite.
The noodles were dry, the fruit slightly sour, but it was the best al they’d had in weeks.
Between bites, Miku kept glancing at her husband, his pale face softening with each swallow.
For the first ti in a long while, hope flickered between them.
It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make them believe—just for one night—that maybe, sohow, they could survive this world together.
***
Miku continued to scavenge for the couple. She was getting better at this—moving quickly and quietly, practically dancing around the slow, shambling figures of the undead.
Foraging runs had beco routine, and she was exceptionally good at remaining unseen by the zombies.
What she hadn’t yet realized, what she hadn’t prepared for, was that the true danger lurked not in the rotting streets or in the moaning crowds, but in the calculated cruelty of fellow human survivors.
The living dead were a threat you could run from; the living were far more insidious.
***
"I saw the bitch go inside," a man nad Rick whispered, his breath ragged, the sound harsh in the afternoon stillness.
He signaled to the four shadows huddled behind him.
They were a pack, ard with the tools of their previous lives—heavy butcher knives and rusted axes.
They did possess a few firearms, of course, but the noise of a gun was a beacon to the infected, so those were strictly a last resort.
For quiet work, the blades were preferred.
"Are you absolutely sure that was her?" another man, shorter and twitchy, mumbled back, shifting his weight.
He kept his eyes fixed on the abandoned, two-story house.
It was nondescript—peeling paint, a sagging porch—the kind of place easy to disappear into.
"I’m sure. Long black hair, sexy ripe fra. She had a pack, too. Probably full of useful things," Rick confird, a predatory smile stretching his lips.
"So, what’s the plan now? The longer we wait, the further she gets inside."
The leader of the group, a hulking man nad Gage with a greasy beard and a cold, flat gaze, nodded slowly.
"We follow her inside," he decided, tightening his grip on the handle of his axe.
"If she’s as sexy as you say, Rick, it’s about ti I get a new girl to play with. I’m tired of the scrawny, whiny won back at the camp. This one looks... fresh and untouched."
A low, collective chuckle rippled through the group.
They didn’t even bother to scout the periter for walkers; their focus was locked entirely on Miku.
With silent, practiced malice, the five n tiptoed across the cracked lawn and slipped through the front door, letting it fall shut behind them with a soft, ominous sound.
User Comments
0 comments from readers