The air was thick with the scent of rot and sweat as Maarg and Jack bolted down the cracked, weed-infested street, the echo of growls and ragged snarls trailing them like a curse. Between them swung a heavy duffle bag, each of them gripping a strap tightly, their boots pounding in rhythm, breath burning in their lungs.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Jack barked, teeth clenched, sweat pouring down his temples. "I thought you said it would be an easy gathering run!" His voice cracked with frustration as he glanced over his shoulder—the horde was bigger than either of them expected, a mass of twisted limbs and hungry mouths closing in.
"I thought it would be!" Maarg yelled back, panting but composed—more composed than Jack remembered seeing him in days. The boy's face, once pale and hollow with grief, now burned with resolve. "But it would've been a waste to leave without grabbing everything from Dad's clinic!"
"Oh, you mean all ten kilograms of meds and documents that are now trying to kill us? Great plan, genius!" Jack dodged a trash can, the bag swinging dangerously close to tripping them both.
Maarg didn't reply right away. His eyes were sharp, scanning every alley, rooftop, shadow—he was thinking, planning, alive. Not just surviving, but pushing forward. Even with chaos gnashing at their heels, he looked… like himself again. Or at least like someone who wanted to keep living.
"We're near the overpass!" Maarg finally shouted. "If we can just make it past that, I know a place we can lose them!"
Jack growled but nodded, trusting Maarg more than his own instincts now. "If we die, I'm haunting your emo ass."
Maarg almost smiled. Almost.
They ran like hell.
They slammed the door shut just in time.
The rusted hinges of the old office building creaked under the sudden force, but it held—at least for now. Jack and Maarg collapsed against the cool concrete wall, breath hitching, hearts hammering in sync with the snarls and thuds just outside.
Neither of them dared to speak.
For a few long minutes, they simply crouched in silence, eyes locked on the flickering light filtering through the cracks in the boarded windows. The groans grew louder—then slowly faded as a muffled beat and distorted voice crackled to life somewhere down the street. The speaker trap was working. Again.
"God bless pre-apocalypse tech," Jack muttered, barely above a whisper.
Maarg exhaled quietly, shoulders slumping just a little. "That was too close."
The hotel came back into view as dusk bled into the sky, painting the broken windows gold and orange. It wasn't glamorous—half the windows were shattered, the roof had a nasty dip like it wanted to give in—but for now, it was home.
Sammy was up on the third floor, sleeves rolled up and her arms covered in grease and dust. She looked like a soldier more than a med student, hammering loose planks back into place and muttering something under her breath.
When she spotted them limping toward the stairwell, she rushed over with a sigh that sounded half relief, half exasperation.
"Idiots," she snapped, taking the duffel bag from them with a surprising ease. "What did I say about being back before dark?"
"We brought stuff," Jack offered like a proud child, holding up a single bottle of antiseptic and a grimy pack of gauze.
Sammy ignored him and pushed them both into the room. "Sit down. Both of you. You look like shit."
They didn't argue. The middle floor they'd claimed had been cleared out enough to make space for sleeping bags, crates, and the small camp stove Sammy had managed to rig back into working order. It smelled faintly like beans and overcooked rice, but it was warm—and warm was luxury now.
Sammy cleaned their wounds with quick, practiced hands—her touch gentle, but her scolding sharp.
"You ran into a horde?" she hissed as she patched up Maarg's shoulder. "Do you two have some kind of death wish or are you just addicted to chaos?"
Jack smirked. "Bit of both."
Maarg didn't speak. He just watched her, a strange sense of calm in his chest. Her presence was grounding. The way she moved—methodical, purposeful—it reminded him that not everything had fallen apart. Not yet.
After the dressing and the bandaging, she tossed them mismatched plates with something steaming and vaguely edible. They dug in without complaint.
Only after a few bites did Sammy toss the now-open duffel bag beside them with a raised eyebrow.
"Meds, gauze, surgical tools... painkillers, bandages, and..." she paused, holding up a small, crinkled box between two fingers, "...condoms?"
Jack nearly choked. "Wait—what the hell?"
Maarg shrugged, half-defensive, half-amused. "I tossed them to you. You put them in the bag."
"You what?" Jack blinked, mouth agape.
"I figured they'd be more useful to you."
Sammy stared at them both for a long, suspicious moment… then smirked.
"Well, guess we're prepared for every kind of emergency now."
Jack groaned and buried his face in his hands while Maarg grinned for the first time in days. Sammy rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the soft chuckle that escaped her lips.
The trio in a ruined world, sitting in a broken-down hotel, finding a moment of humanity between the blood and the silence.
And for now, that was enough.