NO! I DON'T WANT TO DIE!

That was the last memory I had of that bloody scene. It echoed in my mind, a scream drowned by the noise of chaos. The world had already plunged into darkness—a deep, suffocating void. The apocalypse began to shine its cruel light when the rays of the sun grew fiercer, scorching the Earth as it shifted on its axis. The poles had changed. Humanity was no longer at the top of the food chain. Nature had taken its revenge.

It all started in the summer of 2025. That was the day no human would ever forget. The air shimmered with heat, and the global temperature skyrocketed past 60 degrees Celsius—the hottest day in history. I was only twelve years old. I remember the oppressive heat, how the pavement sizzled beneath my feet, and the sense of helplessness that spread like a virus.

We were warned about climate change, but no one expected this—an apocalypse driven by forces far beyond human control. In one day, the Earth became a furnace. Cities fell, and those who survived did so only in the shadows, where the sun's deadly rays couldn't reach.

My family was lucky. My father, a scientist, had known something was coming. He had access to the data no one else believed—subtle shifts in the planet's magnetic field, erratic solar flares, and other strange anomalies. With our family's wealth and some trusted friends, we secured a spot in a government bunker just in time. For a while, we were safe. We had food, water, and shelter.

But safety was only temporary. A year after the collapse, our supplies started running out. My father and his colleagues, who had survived with us, decided to go out into the desolate wasteland to search for food and medicine. I still remember his last words before he left. "I'll come back. I promise." But he never did. The environment outside had become hostile beyond imagination—unpredictable storms, toxic air, and unbearable heat. They never stood a chance.

After he was gone, survival became a nightmare. The bunker became a prison. We were trapped with dwindling resources, with the knowledge that every time someone went out, they might never return. By the fall of 2032, 85% of the world's population had perished—some from the heat, others from disease, starvation, or madness. The old world was dead.

Now, it's just me and my team. The ones left behind. We were on a night patrol outside the bunker, in what used to be a thriving city but had become an empty graveyard of concrete and steel.

I had been tasked with leading the team—a ragtag group of survivors, each of us carrying our own baggage of loss and fear. There was Nadia, a former nurse whose gentle hands had long since hardened from stitching wounds with nothing but fishing line. Then there was Marcus, a burly mechanic who used to run a garage before the world ended, his face scarred from an accident he never talked about. Then there was Leon, quiet and always on edge, an ex-soldier with dark memories that flickered behind his eyes. The last member was Claire, younger than me, barely seventeen, but with a fire in her eyes that reminded me of the life we used to have.

We moved through the darkness carefully. The only light came from the pale sliver of the moon, which seemed to mock us with its distance. It was our only protection. During the day, the heat would kill us within minutes. We scavenged at night, searching for anything we could use—food, weapons, even scraps of metal to trade with other survivors.

"The storehouse is just ahead," Leon whispered, pointing to a crumbling building in the distance. It used to be a supermarket. Now it was a hollow shell, raided by others desperate to survive.

I nodded, signaling the others to move in. The world had gone silent, but we still acted like something was out there. Old habits of fear were hard to break.

Inside, the air was stale, thick with dust and decay. The shelves had been picked clean, but we kept searching. I didn't know what we hoped to find—canned food, bottled water, anything—but we kept moving as if hope were enough.

"Over here," Nadia called softly. She had found a small stash of preserved goods hidden behind some fallen debris.

"Not much, but it'll keep us going for another week," she said, tossing me a can of beans.

I pocketed it, glancing over at Claire. She was standing by the broken window, staring out at the ruins.

"You alright?" I asked.

"Yeah, just thinking about how it used to be. I can't even remember what normal feels like."

Normal. The word felt foreign, almost absurd now. I tried to remember it too—the smell of fresh air, the sound of laughter, the warmth of a family meal—but it was like chasing shadows.

We packed up the little we found and started to head back to the bunker. The night was growing colder, and the winds were picking up. The quiet hum of Leon's voice broke through the silence as we trudged back.

"You think there's anything left? Beyond this?" he asked. "Other places. Other people."

"There's always something left," I said, though I wasn't sure I believed it.

Suddenly, a sharp crack echoed through the stillness. We froze.

"Did you hear that?" Claire whispered, her voice trembling.

We listened. Another crack, closer this time.

"Someone's out there," Marcus growled, pulling his knife from its sheath.

I motioned for everyone to be quiet, scanning the darkness. The sound of footsteps approached, slow and deliberate. My heart pounded in my chest.

"Run!" I hissed, and we bolted toward the nearest cover—a collapsed building just ahead.

As we ducked inside, I caught a glimpse of them. Figures moving through the shadows, their shapes distorted by the dim light. Not just survivors—these were hunters. Marauders who preyed on the weak, who had given up any shred of humanity for the sake of power and control.

We huddled behind the rubble, breathless. The footsteps stopped. I could hear my own pulse in my ears.

"I saw them go this way," a voice muttered.

I gripped my weapon tighter, signaling for everyone to stay down. We were outnumbered, and out in the open, we wouldn't stand a chance.

But survival had taught us one thing—there's always a way out, if you're willing to fight for it.

And fight we would. Because in this world, it wasn't the apocalypse that would kill us.

It was each other.