Chapter 28: Fires of the Past
The moon hung heavy in the sky, casting a pale light over the quiet streets of Mira's old neighborhood. It had been months since she'd last seen this place—since her world had turned into a waking nightmare. Once, these streets were filled with life, families in their houses, cars parked neatly in their driveways, but now they were ghostly reminders of the past. The windows were shattered, and the doors hung loosely on their hinges. What little remained of her home was nothing but an echo.
Mira stood at the edge of the cul-de-sac, staring down the familiar road. Her heart ached with the weight of what was lost, but something deeper, colder, simmered beneath the surface. Anger. It had always been there, a fire smoldering inside her ever since that fateful night.
She took a breath and tightened the grip on her hunting knife, the one she'd carried for months now, since the day everything fell apart. She had returned to this place for a reason, but with each step closer, the memories clawed at her mind, refusing to let go.
---
Three months earlier
The day the infection spread, Mira was at her father's repair shop, a small, dusty garage at the end of town. She had just finished cleaning an old engine part, trying to make it through another day in the quiet monotony of her small-town life. Her father had been talking to a customer when the radio crackled to life, issuing an emergency broadcast. The words "viral outbreak," "evacuate," and "quarantine zones" cut through the air, freezing everyone in place.
Mira had seen panic before, but never like this.
It started as whispers—people calling loved ones, a few hurried conversations. Then the reality set in. The first infected man had stumbled into the shop, covered in blood, his eyes glazed and lifeless. Her father had tried to help him, but when the man attacked, biting deep into her father's arm, chaos erupted.
Mira had been the first to react, grabbing a wrench and bringing it down on the man's head. He fell, but not before tearing a chunk of her father's flesh with his teeth. She had never seen her father so vulnerable, the strongest person in her life now crumpled on the floor, clutching his bleeding arm.
Her father, Lucas, had always been her rock. Even when her mother left years ago, Lucas had stayed strong for her, teaching her to fend for herself, to never rely on others. "The world won't be kind to you, Mira," he used to say. "You have to be stronger than it." She had taken those words to heart, but seeing him lying there, infected and doomed, shattered something inside her.
In that moment, survival was all that mattered. She dragged him to the back of the shop and locked the door, but they both knew it was too late. The infection spread fast, and within hours, her father's skin grew pale, his eyes sunken, and the fever set in.
He tried to tell her to leave, to run, but she wouldn't listen. She stayed by his side, hoping against hope that the radio's promises of a cure or rescue were true.
But by nightfall, Lucas was gone. Not dead—just gone. The man who had raised her, protected her, and fought for her had been consumed by the infection, replaced by a mindless, rabid thing. When he turned, it took everything she had to do what needed to be done. With trembling hands, she took the knife from the counter and plunged it into his chest, tears streaming down her face as she ended his suffering.
It was the last time she cried.
---
Present day
The wind blew softly against her face, carrying with it the scent of burning wood and decay. The apocalypse had ravaged the world, but Mira was still standing. She had survived that night and every night since, driven by the burning desire to never feel that helpless again.
As she approached her childhood home, the memories grew sharper. The front porch, where she had spent countless summers reading while her father worked. The old oak tree out back where her mother used to push her on the swing before she left. All of it was covered in dust and ruin now.
But Mira wasn't here for nostalgia.
She had heard rumors from travelers on the road—rumors of a gang hiding out near this area. Raiders, they said, preying on anyone who came too close. Normally, she would have avoided them, but there was one name that kept coming up in every story.
Dante.
Her hands tightened into fists at the thought. Dante had been her father's friend once, a regular at the repair shop. He had taught Mira a few tricks when it came to fixing cars and had even treated her like a niece at times. But after the outbreak, Dante had changed. He abandoned them when they needed him the most. While her father was dying, Dante was saving himself, leaving Mira to deal with the horror on her own.
She never forgave him for that.
And now, he was leading a group of raiders, terrorizing the people who were just trying to survive. She had come back to this place for one reason: to finish what she started.
---
The front door creaked open, revealing the familiar interior of her home, now ransacked and destroyed. Furniture lay in splinters, family photos were smashed on the ground, and the air was thick with the smell of mildew and dust. Mira moved silently through the wreckage, her eyes scanning every corner for movement.
She had tracked Dante's men to this neighborhood, and now she was ready to face him.
As she moved through the hallway, a faint sound reached her ears—the shuffle of footsteps, followed by a low murmur of voices. She crept closer, her knife held tightly in her grip. The voices grew louder as she approached the living room, and through the cracked door, she could see them—three men, armed and unaware of her presence.
Dante wasn't with them, but these were his people, the ones who raided innocent survivors, killing and looting without remorse. Mira's pulse quickened, and the fire inside her ignited once more.
With one swift movement, she pushed open the door and charged. The first man barely had time to react before her knife was buried in his throat. The others scrambled, reaching for their guns, but Mira was faster. She ducked under a wild swing, slashing at the second man's arm before driving her blade into his chest. The third man hesitated, panic flashing in his eyes as he raised his weapon, but Mira was already on him, knocking the gun aside and slamming his head into the wall.
The room fell silent, save for the ragged breaths of the dying men. Mira stood in the center, blood dripping from her knife, her chest heaving with adrenaline. She didn't feel satisfaction—just a cold, hollow sense of completion.
But it wasn't over.
She stepped over the bodies and moved toward the back of the house, where she knew the basement door would be. If Dante was here, he would be hiding. Cowards like him always did.
Mira descended the creaky wooden stairs, her heart pounding in her chest. The basement was dark, but a faint light flickered at the far end. She moved cautiously, her senses alert for any movement.
And then she saw him.
Dante stood near an old workbench, his face illuminated by the dim glow of a lantern. He looked older, more ragged than she remembered, but it was him. The man who had abandoned them. The man who had let her father die.
He turned when he heard her footsteps, his eyes widening in recognition. "Mira?" he whispered, disbelief and fear lacing his voice.
"Yeah," she said coldly, stepping closer. "It's me."
Dante raised his hands, backing away slowly. "I didn't have a choice," he said quickly. "I had to leave—there were too many—"
"You ran," she interrupted, her voice flat. "You left us to die."
He shook his head, desperation creeping into his voice. "I couldn't stay—your father—he was already gone—"
"He wasn't gone!" Mira shouted, her voice trembling with rage. "I had to kill him because you weren't there to help!"
Dante's back hit the wall, and Mira stopped just a few feet away from him, her knife glinting in the dim light. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the tension thick in the air.
Then, without warning, Dante lunged. But Mira was ready. With a swift, practiced motion, she sidestepped his attack and drove the knife into his side. He gasped, collapsing to the floor, blood pooling around him.
Mira knelt beside him, her expression cold and unyielding. "You don't get to make excuses," she said softly. "Not after what you did."
Dante's breath came in shallow gasps, his eyes wide with fear. "Please…" he whispered, but his voice was fading.
Mira stood and watched as the light in his eyes flickered and died.
The fire inside her still burned, but now it was tempered. She had done what she came here to do, but the world was no better for it. Nothing would bring her father back, or undo the pain of the past. But she had survived, and that was all that mattered now.
As she stepped out of the basement and into the cool night air, Mira looked up at the sky. The stars flickered dimly above, distant and uncaring. The world had changed, and so had she.
And she would keep surviving. No matter
what it took.
Mira left the house, the echoes of her past receding behind her as she stepped into the empty street. The wind howled, carrying with it the scent of ash and decay. The world was far from peaceful—raiders, the infected, and the lawless ran rampant—but tonight, at least, a small part of her history had been laid to rest. She glanced back at the house once more, its darkened windows staring back at her like hollow eyes. A part of her wanted to set it ablaze, burn the memories with it, but she resisted. The fire in her was enough.
As she walked through the deserted streets, her thoughts wandered. The people she'd come to know—Kael, Luka, and the others—they were still out there, fighting for their lives in this shattered world. She had spent months with them, learning to trust again, to fight as part of a team, but there was always a wall she couldn't quite break through. She wondered if they knew how much she had been shaped by this night, this place, and the man who had abandoned her.
Dante's face still lingered in her mind, the last look of fear before she took his life. She wasn't a monster—she didn't kill for the thrill of it, not like the raiders or the infected. She killed to survive, to protect what little she had left. But this… this was different. Dante's death wasn't about survival. It was about closure, about erasing the last remnants of the past that had haunted her.
For the first time in months, Mira felt the weight of her actions settle in her chest. It wasn't regret—she didn't regret ending Dante—but there was a strange hollowness now that the deed was done. She had spent so long chasing this vengeance, and now that it was over, she didn't know what to feel.
The night was quiet except for the distant groans of the infected roaming the outskirts of town. She knew better than to stay out in the open for long, so she picked up her pace, moving toward the shelter she had scoped out earlier. It was a small convenience store on the edge of the neighborhood, one of the few places still intact. As she reached the door, she slipped inside, locking it behind her.
The store was cold, and the air smelled stale, but it was safe. She moved toward the back, finding a small corner behind the shelves where she could rest for the night. As she sat down, exhaustion hit her all at once. Her body ached, her muscles screamed in protest, but her mind refused to shut off.
She had survived Dante. She had survived the loss of her father, the collapse of her world. But now what? The thought gnawed at her as she leaned back against the wall, staring up at the flickering light overhead.
Her hand drifted to the necklace she wore, a simple silver chain with a small, tarnished charm. It had been her mother's, the only thing she had left after she disappeared all those years ago. Mira had never understood why her mother left, but in a way, it didn't matter anymore. The world had changed, and everyone had their reasons for doing what they did. Some ran, some fought, and some simply gave up.
Mira had chosen to fight. But she wasn't sure what she was fighting for anymore.
The group she traveled with—Kael, Luka, and the others—gave her purpose, but there was always a distance between them, a wall she couldn't let down. They fought together, survived together, but Mira had never allowed herself to truly rely on them. Not after what had happened with Dante, with her father. She had learned the hard way that trusting others only led to pain, and she wasn't sure she could bear that again.
As she sat in the dark, Mira's mind drifted to Kael. He was the leader of their ragtag group, a man with his own demons but someone who had somehow managed to keep them all alive. He had a way of pulling people in, of making them believe they could survive even when the odds were stacked against them. But Kael was also distant, like her, and she saw the same darkness in his eyes that she carried in her own heart. Maybe that's why she kept her distance. She didn't want to see her own reflection in someone else.
But now, with Dante gone and her past finally behind her, something shifted. The fire that had driven her for so long was starting to fade, leaving behind a void that scared her more than anything. She didn't know how to fill it, didn't know how to move forward from here. The thought of letting her guard down, of relying on others, still felt like a weakness she couldn't afford.
But maybe… just maybe, it was time to stop running from the past. Maybe it was time to let herself care again.
The hours passed slowly, and Mira drifted in and out of sleep, her dreams haunted by images of her father, of Dante, of the life she had lost. But when she woke the next morning, something had changed. The weight on her chest was still there, but it felt lighter, more manageable. She had faced her demons, and while they hadn't disappeared, they no longer controlled her.
She gathered her things and headed back toward the rendezvous point where Kael and the others would be waiting. The sun had just begun to rise, casting a soft, golden light over the ruined landscape. The world was still broken, but for the first time in a long time, Mira didn't feel broken along with it.
As she walked, her thoughts turned to the group, to Kael, Luka, and the others. They had been through hell together, fought side by side, and yet Mira had always kept herself apart, afraid to let anyone in. But now… maybe it was time to change that.
When she reached the rendezvous point, she saw them waiting—a small, tired group huddled around a makeshift fire. Kael was the first to notice her, his sharp eyes scanning her face for any sign of what had happened.
"Did you find him?" Kael asked quietly as she approached.
Mira nodded, her expression unreadable. "It's done."
He didn't press for details, didn't ask for an explanation. He just nodded, understanding in his eyes. There was no judgment, no pity—just the quiet acceptance of someone who had been through too much to question the choices of others.
As she sat down by the fire, Luka offered her a piece of dried meat, and she took it without a word. The silence between them was comfortable, and for the first time, Mira didn't feel the need to keep her distance. She wasn't alone anymore—not really.
The fire crackled softly, and the group sat together in the early morning light, a fragile sense of peace settling over them. The world was still a dangerous place, and there were battles yet to be fought, but for now, they had each other.
Mira glanced at Kael, a small, hesitant smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. He returned it, a rare moment of warmth breaking through his usual stoic demeanor.
Maybe she didn't have to fight alone anymore. Maybe, just maybe, it was time to start living again.