Silvanus Nare crouched in the ruins, heart thudding against his ribs. The shadows outside shifted as the marauders passed by, their heavy boots crunching over broken glass and debris. He held his breath, motioning for the others to remain still. Every sound could betray their position.
"Move slowly, stay low," he whispered to Claire and Leon, who were beside him. Nadia and Marcus were on the other side of the rubble pile, eyes wide with fear but determination hardening their faces. The marauders weren't the only threat out here, but they were certainly one of the worst.
After what felt like hours, the footsteps faded into the distance, and Silvanus let out a long breath. He rose to his feet, carefully peering through a crack in the wall. The sky, a pale smear of grey, was beginning to lighten. The sun would soon rise, and with it, the deadly heat.
"We have to move," Silvanus said, voice low but urgent. "We're exposed here."
"Where do we go?" Claire asked, her voice cracking slightly. She had that look again, the one she got when the reality of their world weighed on her. At seventeen, she was strong, but Silvanus could see the cracks forming—the toll this life was taking on her.
"We head back to the bunker," Leon said, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. "No supplies are worth dying for out here."
Marcus grunted in agreement, dusting his hands off. "Next time, we need a better plan. These trips are getting riskier."
Silvanus nodded, but his mind was elsewhere. The marauders were becoming more aggressive, more organized. They weren't just looting anymore; they were hunting. He'd seen it before in other parts of the wasteland—small groups banding together, preying on those who couldn't defend themselves. Civilization had collapsed into chaos, and now, only the strongest or the most ruthless survived.
As they started moving, Silvanus couldn't help but let his thoughts drift back to a time before the fall. He had been twelve when it all began, and now, at twenty-three, the world was unrecognizable. The landscape was a barren wasteland, scorched by the sun and choked by dust storms that seemed to come out of nowhere. Vegetation was almost non-existent, and the few animals that had survived were twisted mutations of their former selves, driven mad by hunger and heat.
The cities were the worst. Once towering monuments to human achievement, they were now crumbling graveyards, full of shattered buildings and rusting metal. The air was thick with ash and the stench of decay. Nature hadn't reclaimed these places; they had been consumed by entropy. It was as if the Earth itself had given up on humanity.
They made their way through the skeletal remains of what had once been a residential district. Silvanus could still make out the outlines of houses, cars abandoned in the streets, now half-buried in sand and dust. A decade ago, this place would have been bustling with life, children playing in the yards, parents rushing to and from work. Now, it was a monument to the apocalypse.
"We're getting close," Nadia said, pointing to a structure in the distance.
It was the bunker—an underground facility that had once served as a government emergency shelter. Silvanus and his group had stumbled upon it years ago, shortly after the collapse. Back then, it had been stocked with enough food and water to last a small group for a decade, but that supply was nearly gone now.
As they approached, Silvanus scanned the perimeter. The bunker entrance was concealed beneath a thick layer of ash, its heavy steel door almost invisible to anyone who didn't know where to look. He knocked on it twice, then three times—an agreed-upon signal.
The door creaked open, and a pair of cautious eyes peeked through. "It's us," Silvanus said, stepping into the dim light.
Inside, the bunker was as grim as ever. Dim, flickering lights cast long shadows over the narrow corridors. The air was stale, and the faint hum of generators was a constant reminder that their power was running low. In the main living area, a handful of survivors huddled around makeshift tables, eating what little they had.
Silvanus' mind always went to the people left behind. The bunker was home to about two dozen survivors now, all of them relying on the scavenging missions that had grown more dangerous by the day. Most were ordinary people—former office workers, teachers, parents—people who never imagined their lives would come to this.
A woman named Evelyn, who had become the de facto leader of the bunker's operations, approached Silvanus as they entered. Her hair had long since gone grey, and deep lines creased her face, but there was still fire in her eyes.
"Any luck?" she asked, though the hope in her voice was thin.
Silvanus pulled out the few cans of food they had managed to scavenge and placed them on the table. "It's not much, but it'll last us a little while longer."
Evelyn sighed, rubbing her temples. "We need more than this. The people here are getting desperate. I don't know how much longer we can hold out."
Silvanus nodded, glancing around the room at the weary faces of the survivors. He knew what was coming—sooner or later, the fragile peace in the bunker would break. Tensions had been rising for weeks now. Some of the survivors had started whispering about leaving, forming their own groups, or worse, trying to take control of the dwindling supplies.
"What about other bunkers?" Marcus asked, his deep voice breaking the silence. "There must be more out there. Places we haven't checked yet."
"There are," Silvanus replied. "But getting to them is suicide. The heat will kill us during the day, and at night, we've got marauders and worse things prowling the streets."
"Worse things?" Claire asked, her eyes wide.
Silvanus hesitated. He hadn't told the others about the rumors he'd been hearing. There were whispers among the scavengers about strange creatures roaming the wasteland—humans twisted by the extreme conditions, who had lost all semblance of humanity. Some said they were just stories, meant to scare people, but Silvanus wasn't so sure. He'd seen things—shadows moving in ways that didn't seem right, the sound of something large shifting through the ruins at night.
"I don't know," he said at last. "But we need to be careful."
The conversation drifted off after that, but the tension remained. Everyone was on edge, and it wouldn't take much to push them over. Silvanus knew that if things got worse, the group would splinter, and once that happened, survival would become even more difficult.
That night, as Silvanus lay in his bunk, listening to the steady drip of water from the ceiling, he thought about what was next. The bunker wasn't sustainable. They had enough supplies to last a few weeks, maybe a month, but after that, they'd be forced to leave. And when that time came, there would be no guarantees.
The world outside was a graveyard, and it didn't care whether they lived or died. But Silvanus wasn't ready to give up. There had to be something more out there, some way to survive, to rebuild. He didn't know what it was yet, but he was determined to find it.
He closed his eyes, the weight of the world pressing down on him.