The sun was setting over the shattered skyline of what was once a bustling city. Shadows stretched long and jagged, mimicking the skeletal remains of buildings silhouetted against the fiery horizon. Clara tightened her grip on the baseball bat, her knuckles white and trembling, as she scanned the deserted street for movement. The world had turned upside down six months ago, and she was still struggling to find her place in it.
Six months earlier, Clara had been an ordinary high school senior, worried about prom dresses and college applications. Now, she was scavenging for canned food and clean water, dodging the undead and the occasional hostile survivor. The outbreak had spread fast, faster than anyone could have imagined. A single bite, a single scratch, and a person would turn within hours. The virus—or whatever it was—had no cure and no mercy.
Clara ducked into an abandoned grocery store, her boots crunching on shattered glass. The air inside was stale, carrying the metallic tang of blood and decay. She wrinkled her nose but pressed on, her bat raised and ready. Shelves were toppled, their contents looted long ago, but Clara had learned to look in the overlooked places. She crouched and reached into a narrow gap beneath a counter, her fingers brushing against something cool and metallic. She pulled out a can of soup, her heart leaping with relief. Chicken noodle, a luxury in this nightmare.
A low, guttural moan echoed from the back of the store, sending a chill down Clara’s spine. She froze, every muscle in her body screaming at her to run, but she forced herself to remain still and listen. The moan came again, closer this time. Clara backed away slowly, her eyes darting to the exits. A shadow moved in the corner of her vision, and then she saw it: a zombie, its skin gray and peeling, its eyes milky and unseeing. It shuffled toward her, its movements jerky and uncoordinated but relentless.
Clara clenched her jaw and gripped the bat tighter. She had faced these things before, and she knew what had to be done. With a deep breath, she stepped forward and swung the bat with all her strength. The impact reverberated through her arms as the zombie’s skull cracked and it collapsed to the floor. Clara didn’t wait to see if it was truly down; she swung again, ensuring it wouldn’t get back up. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she wiped her forehead, smearing sweat and grime across her face.
“You’re getting better at this,” she muttered to herself, though the words felt hollow. There was no getting “better” at surviving the apocalypse; there was only surviving.
Clara stuffed the can of soup into her backpack and left the store, her senses on high alert. The streets were eerily quiet, save for the occasional distant scream or the sound of something shuffling through debris. She had learned to navigate the city by staying in the shadows, avoiding open spaces where she could be spotted. The undead weren’t the only threat; desperate people were just as dangerous, if not more so.
Her destination was an old office building she had been using as a shelter. It wasn’t much, but it was sturdy and had a working lock on the door. Clara climbed the stairs to the third floor, careful to avoid the ones that creaked, and slipped into her makeshift haven. The room was small and sparsely furnished, with a mattress on the floor and a pile of supplies in the corner. Clara locked the door behind her and sank onto the mattress, her bat still within arm’s reach.
As she ate the soup cold from the can, her thoughts drifted to her family. Her parents and younger brother had been with her when the outbreak began, but they had been separated in the chaos. Clara didn’t know if they were alive or dead, but she clung to the hope that they were out there somewhere, waiting for her to find them. It was that hope that kept her going, even when the odds seemed insurmountable.
The next morning, Clara woke to the sound of footsteps outside her door. She grabbed her bat and held her breath, listening intently. The footsteps were deliberate, too steady to belong to a zombie. A voice called out, low and cautious. “Hello? Is anyone in there? I’m not infected.”
Clara hesitated. Trusting strangers was a gamble, but she couldn’t ignore the possibility of finding an ally. She moved to the door and called back, “Who are you?”
“My name’s Jake,” the voice replied. “I’m just looking for a safe place to rest. I won’t hurt you, I swear.”
Clara unlocked the door but kept the bat at the ready as she opened it a crack. The man standing on the other side looked exhausted, his clothes torn and dirty, his face pale and gaunt. He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “See? No weapons.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Clara stepped aside and let him in, locking the door behind him. Jake slumped against the wall, his breathing heavy. “Thank you. I haven’t slept in days.”
Clara studied him warily. “Where are you coming from?”
“The outskirts,” Jake said. “It’s worse out there. The horde is moving through, and they’re destroying everything in their path. I barely made it out.”
Clara’s stomach twisted. If the horde was heading toward the city, she’d have to move soon. Staying in one place too long was already a risk, but a horde meant certain death.
“Do you have a plan?” Jake asked, breaking her train of thought.
Clara shook her head. “I was hoping to find a car or something, but gas is nearly impossible to come by.”
“There’s a military safe zone about fifty miles north,” Jake said. “At least, that’s what I heard. If we can find transportation, we might have a chance.”
It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was better than nothing. Clara nodded. “All right. We’ll leave at first light.”
The next day, the two set out together, sticking to the back alleys and side streets to avoid detection. Jake proved to be resourceful, pointing out potential hazards and helping Clara navigate the treacherous terrain. They found an old bicycle shop and managed to salvage two working bikes, which made their journey faster but not without its dangers. The undead were everywhere, their moans a constant reminder of the peril they faced.
As they neared the edge of the city, the sound of the horde reached them: a low, rumbling cacophony of growls and shuffling feet. Clara’s heart pounded as she pedaled harder, her legs burning with the effort. Jake was right behind her, urging her on. “We’re almost there!”
The safe zone came into view just as the sun was setting. A tall chain-link fence topped with barbed wire surrounded the perimeter, and armed guards patrolled the entrance. Clara’s relief was short-lived as a guard raised his weapon and shouted, “Stop! Identify yourselves!”
“We’re survivors!” Clara called out, her voice hoarse. “We’re not infected!”
The guards inspected them thoroughly before opening the gate and letting them in. Clara and Jake collapsed onto the ground, their exhaustion finally catching up with them. For the first time in months, Clara felt a glimmer of hope. The world was still broken, but here, at least, was a chance to start rebuilding.
As she sat there catching her breath, Clara vowed to keep searching for her family. The apocalypse had taken so much from her, but it hadn’t taken her will to fight. And as long as she had that, she knew she could survive.