Elliot's legs were starting to burn, the snow biting at his skin, but he didn't dare slow down. His father moved ahead, eyes scanning the endless white, rifle held tight in his hands. The storm was getting worse, the wind howling and swirling the snow into a thick, blinding haze. But even through it all, Elliot could feel the weight of every step. His father hadn't said much since they'd left the cabin, but there was something in the way he moved, something tight in his posture, like he was carrying a load heavier than the cold.
Max, the dog, was a few feet ahead, nose low to the ground, ears flicking every which way. He was restless, uneasy, like he could feel something was off, too. Elliot tried to focus on the dog's movements, on the steady rhythm of their footsteps, but the dread was growing inside him, thick and suffocating.
The infected were out there. They were somewhere in the storm, waiting.
"Stay close," his father said, his voice cutting through the wind. Elliot nodded, tightening his grip on Max's leash.
They trudged forward in silence for what felt like hours, the world around them a blur of white. The cold was seeping into Elliot's bones, making it harder to breathe, harder to think. He wanted to ask his father where they were going, what their next move was, but every time he opened his mouth, the words got stuck. There were no answers anymore, just survival.
Max suddenly stopped, ears raised. His tail was stiff, and his whole body seemed tense. Elliot's stomach flipped. He knew what that meant.
"Something's wrong," Elliot whispered.
His father didn't respond. He didn't need to. He had already raised the rifle, his eyes scanning the horizon. The snow made it nearly impossible to see more than a few feet ahead, but the air felt charged, like something was lurking just beyond the veil of the storm.
Then, from the thick snow, a figure emerged.
Elliot's heart stopped. He barely saw the shape through the snowstorm, but it was there, stumbling toward them, moving in fits and starts, like it didn't quite know how to walk. His father immediately tensed, but there was something different about this figure. It wasn't moving like the infected. It wasn't dragging its feet, its head lolling from side to side. It was walking with purpose.
"Stay back," his father muttered, eyes narrowed.
Elliot instinctively crouched down, pressing himself against the snow-covered ground. He didn't know what to expect, but his father's voice was full of something that made his skin crawl—fear, maybe. Or worse, something else.
The figure grew clearer, closer. A boy, no older than Elliot. His clothes were torn, his face dirty, eyes wide and wild, like he had been through hell. He was covered in snow, but he didn't seem to notice. He just kept walking, his steps slow but steady.
"Please," the boy said, his voice hoarse, barely more than a whisper. "Please, I'm not one of them. I'm not infected."
Elliot froze, his breath catching in his throat. His father's hand tightened on the rifle. He wasn't sure if the boy was telling the truth or if this was some trick, some kind of trap.
"Who are you?" his father demanded, his voice low but sharp. "What are you doing out here?"
The boy raised his hands, palms out, as if to show he meant no harm. His eyes darted from Elliot to his father, searching, desperate. "My name's Ben," he said. "Ben Holloway. I'm just trying to survive."
Elliot's heart pounded in his chest. There was something about the boy's voice—raw and desperate—that made him want to believe him. But they couldn't trust anyone anymore. Not after everything that had happened. His father didn't lower the rifle, though his posture seemed to soften just a little.
Ben looked over his shoulder, then back at them. "Please," he said again, "I'm not one of them. I've been running for days. I just... I just need help."
Elliot's father stayed silent, his gaze flicking to Elliot, then back to Ben. The wind howled, making it harder to hear, but the silence between them felt thick, like they were all waiting for something to break.
Elliot's mouth was dry, his thoughts racing. What if the boy was lying? What if he was leading them into a trap? But then again, what if he wasn't? What if this was their chance?
"I'm alone," Ben added, his voice cracking. "I don't have anyone left. I thought I saw a safe place, but... it's all gone. Please, I don't want to die out here."
Elliot's father didn't say anything for a long time. The rifle was still raised, but his hand had loosened, the tension in his shoulders less pronounced.
Finally, his father spoke, his voice low but steady. "You're coming with us. But you stay close. No tricks."
Ben nodded quickly, his eyes wide with relief. "I won't cause trouble. I swear."
Max growled softly, but Ben didn't flinch. Instead, he took a step closer, his face tired, but hopeful.
Elliot glanced up at his father, unsure, but the nod he received was all he needed. It wasn't a yes. It wasn't a no. It was just the acknowledgment that for the first time in days, they weren't alone. Maybe that was enough for now.
With a final glance at the storm around them, Elliot followed his father and the boy deeper into the white wilderness. The snow fell harder now, and the world around them felt like it was closing in. But at least they were together, at least they had each other for now. And that was enough to hold on to.