Admiring the strange, haunting beauty of the broken-down city, the group of men stepped cautiously into its heart. Greenery sprawled across the ground like a carpet, with vines creeping up the sides of crumbling buildings. Nature had reclaimed much of what humanity had left behind, draping rusted cars and shattered glass in a blanket of moss and flowers. Skeletons—fragile remnants of those who had perished during the Collapse—lay scattered among the ruins. The unsettling thought that countless others might have been swept away by wind, rain, or time lingered in their minds, an unspoken weight they all carried.
"Where to first?" Silas asked, his voice breaking the silence.
Thomas pointed toward a towering corporate building in the distance. Its glass exterior, now cracked and smeared with grime, was almost entirely hidden beneath creeping vines and blooming flowers, nature's quiet triumph over man-made ambition.
"Should we check this one first?" Thomas suggested.
Silas furrowed his brow, skepticism flickering across his face. "A corporate building? Really? I doubt we'll find much there. Unless you're looking for years' worth of paperwork or a fast track to existential dread, there's not much corporate environments are good for. Trust me I can tell you from experience"
Thomas smirked but said nothing, leading the way toward the overgrown structure. Silas sighed and followed, his boots crunching against the sticks and debris ridden ground.
Entering buildings like these demanded extreme caution. One misstep, one careless movement, and the group could join the countless skulls scattered throughout the ruins. Years of weathering had stripped these structures of their former stability, leaving them precarious and fragile. Every creak beneath their boots was a gamble with their lives, a reminder of how the world had turned even the simplest acts into deadly risks.
Stepping through the doorway, Silas and the others began their search on the ground floor. The air inside was heavy, damp with the scent of mildew and rot. Occasionally, they stumbled across animals seeking refuge within the decaying walls. Most were harmless, but sometimes these encounters ended swiftly and mercilessly—the line between predator and prey drawn only by hunger and survival.
Warren's voice broke the silence as he picked up a thick coat from the ground, dusting it off. "There are coats over here!" he called out to the group. "Winter's coming, so this is perfect timing." He slung one over his shoulder, his tone practical yet tinged with relief at finding something useful.
The others continued scavenging in silence, their movements efficient. Some found piles of wood and stacks of old papers to use for fire. Others located small animals that could be skinned and butchered for a meager meal. Every item discovered felt like a small victory, a defiance of the Collapse's relentless cruelty.
Meanwhile, Silas and Thomas ascended the crumbling staircase to search the upper floors. The groaning of the steps beneath their weight made Silas tense, his every muscle prepared for the worst. Still, they pressed on, eyes scanning for anything of value—medicine, tools, or even canned food left forgotten in an office drawer.
"So… before the Collapse, what did you do? You know, what was your life like?" Thomas asked as they sifted through the remnants of the ruined building, their voices echoing faintly in the hollow space.
Silas chuckled dryly, brushing the dust from an old filing cabinet. "Making me think about my life? How cruel." He paused for a moment before continuing, his tone light but edged with bitterness. "I was an office worker. Barely scraping by. The type of guy who'd be the first to go in a zombie outbreak. Honestly, I'm surprised I've made it this far."
Thomas nodded along, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Any parents? Siblings? Friends?"
The question made Silas freeze for a moment, his hands stilling over the papers he'd been rifling through. With a deep breath, he began to speak. "My dad was scum. He wasn't even there to name me—left that to my sickly mom while he partied with… people like him." His voice tightened, but he pushed on. "Shortly after my half-sister Sarina was born—she was one of the results of his many affairs—my mom passed. That left me, Sarina, and my dad. He… well, he ended his life when he got in too deep with the wrong people and couldn't pay his debts. That was the end of whatever little family we had."
Thomas listened quietly, his usual easy demeanor softening.
"I was sent to live with my grandparents, and Sarina went to live with her aunts. We were separated. But I like to think she's out there somewhere." Silas's voice grew quieter. "She's tough. She wouldn't give up so easily."
Thomas reached out, patting Silas on the back in quiet comfort. "Sorry about that. I shouldn't have brought it up." His own voice was tinged with guilt as he turned back to the shelves, continuing his search. "I'd just gotten back from the army three months before this whole mess started. My brother Keith stayed behind to take care of our mom while I was gone. Dad passed eight years ago, so it was just us." He paused, grabbing a can of soda from a broken vending machine. "Mom died not long after I got back. September 17th, I think. After that, it was just me and Keith."
Pulling another can from the machine, Thomas tossed it to Silas. "Cheers to… making it this far," he said, raising his can with a half-smile.
"Cheers," Silas echoed, their cans colliding with a metallic clink that reverberated through the quiet building.
They both took a sip, only to spit it out almost simultaneously, the expired soda burning their throats. "God, that's disgusting," Silas muttered, coughing.
Thomas wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, shaking his head. "Figures. Guess we're still unlucky after all this time."
…
Shortly after their conversation, Silas and Thomas made their way back downstairs to regroup with the others. The men had gathered in a cleared area of the building, their finds spread out before them for inspection. There were several cans of food, packages of bottled water, a few rabbits they'd hunted earlier, and a collection of worn but serviceable coats.
"This should do for now," one of the men said, organizing the items into manageable bundles.
Warren leaned against a crumbling wall, crossing his arms. "Alright, so where are we headed next?" His gaze settled on Silas, who was holding the group's map.
Unfolding the worn paper, Silas scanned the marked locations. "We're here," he said, pointing to their current position on the map. Then, he tapped a spot nearby. "This place looks like it has survivors. We could head there, maybe trade some of this or get intel on other good places to scavenge."
The group exchanged looks, some nodding in agreement.
"Sounds like a plan," Thomas said, slinging one of the supply bags over his shoulder.
Warren straightened, adjusting the coat he'd picked up earlier. "Lead the way."
Silas folded the map and tucked it into his pocket, his eyes lingering for a moment on the faintly marked trail toward their destination.
The group gathered their belongings and prepared to move, their footsteps echoing through the decayed halls as they ventured once more into the unknown.
Along the way, the group scavenged more supplies, rummaging through nearby stores and abandoned buildings. Each stop brought them closer to their destination, their packs growing heavier with every useful find. The desolation of the ruined world had left behind hidden treasures, though nothing came without its share of danger.
Eventually, their path took them through another stretch of dense forest. The air was cool, the overgrown canopy filtering soft beams of sunlight onto the moss-covered ground. The faint sound of birds echoed through the trees, masking the faint crunch of leaves underfoot. As they neared the edge of the forest, a faint light spilled through the gaps in the trees, hinting at open ground ahead.
"Stay quiet," Thomas whispered, raising a hand to signal the others. The group fell into silence, their footsteps careful and measured.
But as they moved forward, an uneasy feeling began to creep over Silas. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and the atmosphere grew tense. Thomas suddenly froze in place, his body stiff.
"What's the holdup—" Silas started, only to stop when he saw Thomas's face pale.
A cold object pressed firmly against Thomas's back, perfectly positioned near his lung. The distinct sound that followed sent a shiver through Silas's spine.
Click.
It was a revolver, the familiar metallic sound unmistakable to anyone who'd seen their fair share of action movies or westerns.
Silas and the others instinctively turned their heads, their gazes darting between the trees. Figures emerged from the shadows, weapons glinting in the fractured sunlight. Rifles, handguns, and machetes—each weapon was far more advanced and polished than anything the group carried.
They were surrounded.
A man stepped forward, his disheveled appearance accompanied by a stench that clung to the air around him—alcohol, cigarettes, and something else, faint but sour. His voice was rough as he addressed the group, lips curling into a sly smirk. "Relax. We ain't gonna kill ya. If you made it this far, there's no point in wasting you now." Despite the man's words, some part of Silas bristled with unease, the instincts honed by survival warning him not to let his guard down.
The man took a long drag from his cigarette, the ember flaring briefly before he exhaled a plume of smoke into the air. "Put the gun down," he ordered the one holding the revolver against Thomas' back. The weapon was lowered with a click, but the tension in the air refused to dissipate. "See? If we'd asked nicely, you'd have bolted. That's why we did this." He chuckled, his grin widening ever so slightly. "Sorry for the scare."
The smile, though faint, unsettled Silas and the others. There was something about it—an edge of mischief or menace, something hidden behind the man's seemingly casual demeanor. It was a smile that didn't comfort but made the group shiver, unsure whether to feel relieved or more afraid.
The man leaned closer, his tone sharpening. "But let me make one thing clear: if you disobey, then maybe we will kill ya. All you gotta do is listen, and things will go smoothly." He snapped his fingers, and the men surrounding Silas' group gave them a rough shove, urging them forward.
They marched in silence, the forest's oppressive quiet broken only by the sound of their footsteps and the faint creak of rustling gear. Minutes later, they emerged into a clearing. Silas' eyes widened slightly as he took in what lay before them. It was a settlement—more developed than the one they had left behind, though still a far cry from the civilization that once was. Makeshift homes built from salvaged materials dotted the area, with people moving about purposefully. There were gardens, reinforced barricades, and small watchtowers—everything about it screamed practicality born of hard-won survival.
Despite the effort and time clearly put into it, there was an edge of unease. It wasn't the kind of place where you could simply drop your guard. No, this was a place ruled by someone who expected complete control.
The man gestured toward a row of battered tables, his finger lazily tracing the air. Without hesitation, the group of men surrounding Silas and his companions shoved them forward, forcing them to walk toward the seats. The wooden chairs creaked under their weight as they sat, and the armed men settled in behind them, silent and watchful like wolves guarding a fresh kill.
The leader, still puffing lazily on his cigarette, sauntered toward a makeshift podium perched slightly above the gathering. He tapped the microphone—or what looked like one—but it was purely for effect. His voice carried naturally, rough and deliberate. It wasn't a shout, but it commanded attention.
"Ahem. Gentlemen and… hmm, just gentlemen, I suppose?" His tone was lighthearted, almost mockingly jovial, as he surveyed his audience. "Welcome! Lose those tense expressions; I have no intentions of harming anyone. Believe it or not, I'm quite the pacifist." He chuckled softly, as if expecting them to share in his amusement. No one did. His smile faded as quickly as it came, replaced by a more serious demeanor.
"Now, I have one question for you all," he said, his voice lowering into something more contemplative, even ominous. He paused, drawing out the moment, letting the room simmer in uncomfortable silence. Finally, he cleared his throat and continued.
"Does anyone here believe in God?"
The question hung in the air like smoke from his cigarette, thick and choking. Silas stared at him, the weight of those words pressing against his chest. What a sick joke. Most people's belief in God had died the same day the world had—November 17th.
"No takers? Na-da?" the man said, his voice lilting into disappointment. He let out an exaggerated sigh and flicked the ashes of his cigarette onto the floor. "Don't worry, it's not like I'm some madman who kills anyone with different beliefs. That would be ridiculous, wouldn't it?" His lips curled into a sly smile, one that somehow managed to unsettle more than outright aggression.
"I just want you all to see the beauties God has offered us," he continued, his voice suddenly soft and reverent, as if he were delivering a sermon. "Especially after what some call The Collapse. A world shattered, yet still full of divine gifts, if only you open your eyes."
Silas clenched his fists under the table, his knuckles white. The words felt like mockery, a twisted fantasy that no one in their right mind could entertain. He fought back the searing urge to storm the podium, dagger in hand, and carve the smug smile off the man's face—even if it meant dying in the process. But he stayed rooted, his rage simmering beneath a carefully constructed mask.
Nothing about this world was beautiful anymore. Flowers had lost their vibrant colors, dulled by ash and rot. People had lost their spirits, their humanity, leaving only shells that pretended to live. Beauty was a relic of the past, as dead as the skeletons littering the earth.
And yet, this man stood there, weaving his delusions into a performance, daring to call the ruins of the world a gift.
"Is anyone here familiar with Collapse Sites?" the man asked, his tone teetering between curiosity and theatrics. Silas's fist unclenched, and his group exchanged confused glances, the term foreign to their ears. The man chuckled at their blank expressions, clapping his hands together like a delighted child.
"I guess not… How truly marvelous!" he exclaimed, his voice rising with mock emotion. "This is a gift from God! Oh, how wonderful—I feel like curling up into a ball and crying like a newborn baby." He dramatically dabbed at the corners of his eyes, though it was unclear if there were any actual tears.
Clearing his throat, the man straightened, adopting a more serious tone. "Ahem. A couple of months after The Collapse, peculiar sites began to appear all over the world! Some say they grant your deepest desires… Others whisper of supplies and food hidden within their depths! The truth, my friends, is shrouded in mystery. But one thing is certain—these sites are a gift from God."
He spoke with excitement, his voice rising and falling like a preacher on Sunday morning. His passion only served to unnerve Silas and the others further. Each word, each insane claim, felt like another nail in the coffin of their patience. It was impossible to tell if this man was delusional, manipulative, or both. But to Silas, one thing was clear: he was mad.
"I've gathered your group here for one reason," the man continued, his tone shifting to something almost tender, like a father addressing his children. "Truth be told, I planned to visit one of these sites myself. But alas…" He gestured dramatically to his chest, feigning weakness. "I am a man of limited time. My days are numbered. And so, I've decided to pass this opportunity on to you—to show you the path and open your eyes to the wonders of God!"
A sharp clap of the man's hands echoed through the room, startling his subordinates into standing at attention. "Place your weapons down! How dare you threaten the children of God?" he bellowed, his voice thick with indignation. The hypocrisy of his statement was lost on him—or perhaps deliberately ignored—as he seemed to forget that none of them were religious and that he was the one who ordered his men to keep weapons trained on them in the first place.
The man's attention suddenly shifted, his gaze zeroing in on Silas. "You. With the messy black hair. Come up here, child."
Silas stiffened, his heart pounding. Thomas and the others turned to him, concern etched into their faces. A nervous gulp escaped him, audible in the tense silence, but he slowly stood, raising his hands in cautious compliance as he walked forward.
"Yes, yes… good boy," the man said with an unsettling smile, his tone dripping with condescension as Silas approached the podium. Without warning, the man placed a folded piece of paper into Silas's hands. "Open it."
Silas hesitated but did as he was told, unfolding the worn paper to reveal a map. His eyes narrowed as he took it in. It was eerily similar to the one he'd drawn, but this version had strange, seemingly random locations marked across the globe.
"Those," the man began, his voice dropping to a reverent whisper, "are the locations of Collapse Sites. God told me to keep track of them. He said someone like you would come to see me."
Silas's grip on the paper tightened, his jaw clenching. The thought of this deranged man kidnapping them, forcing them to endure his rambling sermons, and now claiming to have dreamed about him—of all people—made his skin crawl. There was nothing divine about this. It wasn't fate. It was insanity wrapped in delusion, and Silas didn't trust for a second that this so-called "gift" wouldn't come at a price.
"Now… Be free, birdies! Spread your wings and fly away! I'm saying you can leave," the man declared, his tone unsettlingly cheerful.
Silas glanced toward his group, their wary eyes scanning the room, unsure if it was truly safe to move. With a shared, silent agreement, they began taking cautious steps toward the forest where they had been ambushed. Each step felt heavy, their senses on edge, listening for the faintest hint of a trap.
Then the man's voice cut through the air again, stopping them in their tracks.
"I am worthy of facing you now, God."
Before they could process his words, the man reached for a pistol at his side. Silas froze, a sick realization dawning in his mind as the man turned the gun on his own men and pulled the trigger.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
One after another, the men dropped, their bodies collapsing like puppets with their strings severed. Blood spattered across the floor, pooling around their lifeless forms. The man, his expression twisted with a bizarre sense of triumph, raised the pistol to his own temple.
Bang.
Silas and his group hit the ground instinctively, covering their heads as the sharp crack of the gun echoed through the room. For a moment, silence reigned, broken only by the soft ringing in their ears. Thirty agonizing seconds passed before they dared to move.
Standing, they cautiously approached the podium. The gruesome scene before them was undeniable. Blood coated the floor and the splintered wood of the podium. The man lay slumped over, the remnants of his madness smeared across his stage of delusion.
Warren broke the silence, his voice shaking. "N-Now that I think about it… wasn't it strange? There were so many homes, so many traces of civilization here… but it was only him and his group of men?"
A chill ran through the group as the eerie realization settled over them. They didn't need to say it out loud. It felt better that way.