Max woke with a start.
For a moment, he wasn't sure where he was. The room was dark, silent except for the soft sounds of breathing beside him. His muscles ached, his body sluggish, but for the first time in days, he had actually slept. Not deeply, not peacefully, but enough to take the edge off his exhaustion.
As his mind cleared, the events of the previous night rushed back to him—the scavenging, the walkers, and Lena.
He turned his head slightly, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. Lena was sitting against the far wall, her legs pulled up to her chest, the 9mm he had found resting loosely in her lap. She was awake but staring off blankly, lost in thought.
Max pushed himself upright, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The stiffness in his limbs reminded him that even a short rest didn't erase the strain of constant survival.
Lena noticed his movement and turned toward him. "Morning," she said, though her voice was barely above a whisper.
"Morning," Max muttered back, his throat dry. He reached into his pack and pulled out the last of his water bottle, taking a small sip before offering it to her.
She hesitated, then accepted, drinking cautiously. "You slept pretty deep."
"Did I?" Max frowned. That wasn't like him. The weight of exhaustion must have been worse than he thought.
"You did," Lena confirmed. "I kept watch like I said I would. Nothing came through."
Max nodded. It was a relief to hear, but that didn't mean they were safe.
He shifted, checking his surroundings. His makeshift barricades were still intact, and from the faint morning light seeping through the broken window blinds, it was clear the night had passed without issue. But that wouldn't last.
The city was always dangerous, but early morning held a brief window of opportunity. Walkers were slower at dawn, aimless, still wandering from the night before. If they were going to move, now was the time.
"We need to get going," Max said, stretching his arms. "Staying in one place too long isn't an option."
Lena frowned but nodded. "Where are we going?"
Max hadn't decided that yet. He had a vague idea—a goal. Get out of the heart of the city, find somewhere with fewer buildings, fewer people. The farther away from densely populated areas, the better his chances of survival.
But it wasn't that simple.
He still needed supplies—food, water, weapons. The 9mm was useful, but with only six bullets, it wasn't reliable. He needed something silent, something he could use over and over without drawing attention.
A bow. A crossbow. Even a melee weapon better than his knife.
For now, he focused on the immediate goal. "We scavenge first. Then we move."
Lena looked uncertain but didn't argue.
Max checked his inventory, making sure he still had his knife strapped to his belt. His pack was light—too light. He had nothing of real value left, which meant they needed to find supplies fast.
### **Leaving the Shelter**
They moved cautiously through the building, stepping carefully over broken debris and avoiding anything that might make noise. Max led the way, his knife in hand, his ears tuned to any sound of movement.
The streets outside were eerily quiet. The early morning light cast long shadows across the cracked pavement, revealing abandoned cars and the skeletal remains of what had once been a bustling city.
Bodies littered the ground—some fresh, others long decayed. The air was thick with the scent of rot.
Max signaled for Lena to stay close as they moved.
They needed to find a store. Something small, not completely looted. A convenience store, a pharmacy, even an old diner might have something left.
As they walked, Max noticed the way Lena moved—hesitant, her head on a constant swivel. She was nervous, and understandably so.
"You ever done this before?" Max asked, keeping his voice low.
Lena shook her head. "Not like this."
"Figured," Max muttered. "Stick close and do what I say. We make it quick, we stay quiet, and we don't take risks."
Lena nodded, gripping the 9mm tightly.
As they turned a corner, Max spotted their first target—a **small gas station**, its windows shattered, the inside dark and abandoned.
It was the best chance they had.
### **The Gas Station**
Max approached first, peering inside carefully. The shelves were ransacked, papers and old wrappers scattered across the floor. It had been hit before, but that didn't mean there wasn't something left.
He stepped inside, motioning for Lena to follow.
The smell was overwhelming. Stale air mixed with something fouler. A body—somewhere inside.
Max moved carefully, checking each aisle. Empty shelves, broken glass, spilled food long spoiled.
But in the back, near the counter, he spotted something—**a storage room**.
It was locked.
Max pressed his ear against the door. No sound. That was good.
"Cover me," he whispered to Lena.
She nodded, raising the pistol as Max crouched down and examined the lock. It was old, rusted. He could break it, but it would make noise.
Instead, he searched the nearby counter, looking for keys.
And he found them.
An old set, still hanging from a hook on the register. He grabbed them, fitting one into the lock. It clicked open with ease.
He pushed the door inward slowly, knife in hand.
The storage room was small, filled with old boxes, most of them empty. But **not all** of them.
Max's eyes landed on the jackpot—**a half-full case of bottled water**.
He wasted no time, grabbing as many bottles as he could fit into his pack.
Lena, still by the door, watched with wide eyes. "You found water?"
"Yeah," Max said. "Take what you can carry."
She slung her pack off her shoulder and quickly stuffed in a few bottles.
But then—**a noise**.
A shuffle.
Max tensed, knife raised.
The sound was coming from behind one of the shelves. **Something was in here with them.**
A walker.
Max reacted instantly, stepping forward as the rotten figure lunged from the shadows. **It was fast**—faster than most, its jaw snapping as it reached for him.
He dodged, driving his knife forward, stabbing it deep into the creature's skull. The walker let out a wet, gurgling sound before collapsing to the ground.
Silence followed.
Lena was frozen in place, her hands gripping the pistol so tightly her knuckles turned white.
Max exhaled, pulling his knife free. "We're leaving. Now."
She nodded quickly.
They hurried out of the gas station, keeping low as they returned to the street. The encounter had been quick, but it was enough of a reminder—nowhere was safe.
As they put distance between themselves and the station, Max glanced at Lena. She was still shaken.
"You okay?"
She hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. Just… wasn't expecting that."
"Get used to it," Max said flatly.
She didn't respond.
As they moved through the ruined streets, Max's mind was already working on their next steps. **Water was secured, but they still needed food. Weapons. A safer place to rest.**
The city was unforgiving. Every moment was a fight to survive.
And Max knew **this was only the beginning**.
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