As the sun approached the horizon, the sky blazed orange, casting long shadows across the ruined streets of the city. The vehicle moved slowly between collapsed buildings, occasionally bumping into scattered debris. Arden's face tightened as he turned the wheel carefully. Inside the car, silence reigned—broken only by the low rumble of the engine.
The streetlights were dead. No birdsong, no human voices. It was as if the world had forgotten how to breathe. Windows were shattered in the abandoned houses, most doors hung open or had been torn off entirely, leaving behind chilling signs of what once happened inside.
"We need to find somewhere," Arden said, his voice low but resolute.
"If we stay out here tonight, we won't last long," Tom replied. "They're different at night."
"Different?" Mia asked, her voice trembling. "Aren't they always savage?"
Kyra answered, "At night, they're faster. Quieter. And it's like… they're smarter."
A few minutes later, Arden hit the brakes. His eyes had caught sight of an old warehouse to the left of the road. Its metal walls were rusted, windows broken, and a toppled van lay in front of it. The sign hung crookedly: Dillon Logistics Depot.
"This could work," Arden said. He turned off the ignition and checked his weapon.
"Kyra, you're with me. Tom, keep an eye around the car. Mia and Nina—stay alert, keep your eyes on us."
Kyra nodded silently. The two stepped out and crept toward the warehouse. Every step Arden took was deliberate, his eyes scanning every shadow. Kyra moved with the same silent caution, the two of them synchronized in instinct.
The warehouse was quiet—but not in a way that brought comfort. As they stepped inside, a thick smell of dust and rust greeted them. Shattered glass, fallen shelves, and old crates littered the floor. Arden squinted. In the corner, he noticed a dried bloodstain. Old—at least a few days.
"Looks clear," Kyra whispered.
"It's not clear. Just quiet," Arden replied. Experience had taught him that silence was often the most dangerous sign.
He signaled to the others. Tom, Mia, and Nina approached cautiously and entered. Mia's eyes darted around in fear, while Nina covered her mouth against the heavy stench.
"Barricade the door," Arden ordered. "Cover the windows too. No light gets out."
Tom dragged a metal shelf against the entrance. Mia reinforced it with some crates. Kyra found old tarps to cover the windows. Everyone moved in silence—drawn into the strange comfort of having something to do in order to survive.
Arden sat in a corner, checking his weapon again. Kyra joined him, leaving a small gap between them. The others found spots around the warehouse, collapsing from exhaustion.
"How do we divide the night?" Kyra asked.
"You and I will take turns," Arden said. "I'll go first. I'll wake you in a few hours."
Kyra nodded but didn't take her eyes off him. It was as if she was trying to understand what was going on inside his head.
They sat in silence. Outside, only the wind whispered. In the distance, a lone zombie scream echoed—and then silence fell once more.
"Ever traveled with a group like this before?" Kyra asked suddenly. Her voice was soft but laced with the weight of past experiences.
Arden kept his eyes on the rusty shelf across the room. "No," he said. "I tried in the beginning. Most of them died. Some were too slow. Some… were dangerous."
Kyra raised an eyebrow. "Am I one of those?"
Arden turned to her. His eyes were expressionless, but there was a meaning hidden in his tone: "No. You're… different."
She didn't respond, but her stern expression softened just a little. Her eyes dropped briefly to the floor before returning to Arden's face. Something was building between them—not trust, maybe, but a thread of understanding woven through shared survival.
Then Nina's voice cut through the stillness: "Tom's snoring. Scared the hell out of me."
Mia gave a faint smile—the first expression she'd worn all day.
"We forgot how to laugh," Mia said, almost ashamed of her own voice.
Kyra nodded gently. "If there's still something left in this world to laugh at… that's a good thing."
As the hours crept forward, Arden kept watch through the covered window. Night had thickened into a pitch-dark blanket. No stars above—city lights had died, maybe forever.
"This night will be tough," Arden murmured, mostly to himself.
"Every night is," Kyra replied. "But we're still here."
He looked at her and nodded silently.
The warehouse was cloaked in stillness—but this time, something had changed between them. Not quite trust, but a mutual understanding. A quiet pact between survivors.
The night was long. Outside, darkness crept like a predator. Inside, a silent agreement to keep going was sealed without a word.