The world had grown quiet. Too quiet.
Leah crouched behind the broken remains of what used to be a bus stop, her breathing shallow and deliberate. Her heart raced as she scanned the empty street before her. Concrete slabs jutted out from the ground like jagged teeth, and vines wrapped themselves around the skeletal remains of buildings. Once, this city had been alive, filled with laughter, arguments, and the hum of traffic. Now, silence ruled—an oppressive, all-consuming silence that felt as though the world itself had stopped breathing.
Her stomach growled, and she pressed a hand against it, willing it to stay quiet. Hunger had become a companion she no longer resented but merely endured. She adjusted her backpack, the frayed straps digging into her shoulders. It was light—too light. She needed food.
Leah's gaze settled on a convenience store across the street. Its shattered windows and rusted sign offered no promises, but it was better than nothing. She waited, listening for the faintest hint of movement. The Others were quiet, but they weren't silent. If they were nearby, she'd know.
She darted across the street, her footsteps as soft as a whisper. The asphalt beneath her boots was cracked and uneven, sprouting patches of moss and weeds. She reached the store and peered inside. Shelves were overturned, their contents scattered and looted long ago. A faint smell of rot lingered in the air.
Still, she stepped inside, careful not to disturb the shards of glass littering the floor. Her eyes scanned the aisles. A can of something rolled into view, its label faded and unreadable. She snatched it up, shaking it gently. It felt heavy—still sealed.
A faint sound reached her ears, freezing her in place.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Leah's grip tightened on the can as she turned toward the source of the noise. It came from the back of the store, where the shadows were deepest. Her mind raced. It could be an animal, a survivor, or...
Her pulse quickened. She backed away slowly, each step deliberate.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The sound grew louder, closer. Leah's foot brushed against a shard of glass, and it snapped beneath her boot. The noise echoed like a gunshot in the stillness.
She bolted.
Her legs carried her out of the store and back onto the street. She didn't look back. She didn't need to. A low, guttural sound followed her—a sound she recognized all too well.
The Others were close.
Leah sprinted, her breath burning in her chest as the sound of pursuit grew louder. The Others didn't run like humans. Their movements were jerky, uneven, like puppets on invisible strings, but they were fast—unnaturally so.
She darted down an alleyway, her boots splashing through stagnant puddles. The narrow passage was littered with debris: broken crates, a toppled dumpster, and a twisted bicycle frame. She weaved through the obstacles, her mind racing for an escape plan.
At the end of the alley, she spotted a fire escape ladder hanging just out of reach. Without hesitation, Leah leapt, her fingers barely catching the rusted metal. The ladder groaned under her weight as she climbed, her muscles screaming with effort.
Behind her, the guttural sounds of the Others grew louder. She didn't dare look down. She could feel them—close enough that the air seemed charged with their presence.
She reached the roof and pulled herself over the edge, collapsing onto the gravel-covered surface. For a moment, she lay there, chest heaving, staring up at the dull, gray sky.
But she couldn't rest.
Leah scrambled to her feet and scanned her surroundings. The rooftops stretched out in every direction, a maze of flat surfaces and jagged edges. She spotted a gap between two buildings and ran toward it, leaping without hesitation. Her boots hit the opposite roof with a thud, and she rolled to absorb the impact.
The Others didn't follow.
Leah crouched behind a ventilation unit, peering back at the alley below. Three of them stood there, their glowing eyes scanning the walls and rooftops. Their pale, almost translucent skin seemed to shimmer in the dim light. They moved with an eerie synchronicity, heads tilting in unison as they searched for her.
One of them raised its head, sniffing the air like an animal. Leah's stomach twisted. It was as if they could sense her—more than just her scent, something deeper.
The Others lingered for a moment longer before retreating, their movements just as unnerving as their presence. Leah let out a shaky breath, her body trembling with adrenaline.
She didn't know what disturbed her more: the fact that they had come so close or the fact that they hadn't attacked.
---
The First Safe Moment
Leah stayed hidden on the rooftop until the sun began to set, painting the city in hues of orange and red. The Others rarely came out during the day, but dusk was their time, and she needed to find shelter.
She climbed down the fire escape on the opposite side of the building, careful to keep her movements quiet. The streets below were empty, but the silence felt heavier now, as if the city itself was holding its breath.
After weaving through a few blocks, she found a boarded-up building that seemed relatively secure. She pried open a loose board and slipped inside, wincing as the wood creaked under her weight. The air inside was stale, but it was better than being exposed.
Leah set her backpack down and pulled out the can she'd found earlier. Using a knife, she pried it open, relieved to find that it contained beans. Cold and slimy, but edible. She ate quickly, savoring every bite.
As she sat there in the fading light, her mind wandered. She thought of her parents, their faces blurry in her memory. They had been strong, resourceful—everything she aspired to be. But they were gone now, like so many others.
She clenched her fists, willing the tears to stay back. Crying wouldn't bring them back. It wouldn't change anything.
A faint noise broke her thoughts.
At first, she thought it was the wind, but it was too rhythmic, too deliberate. A soft tapping sound, coming from the far end of the room.
Leah froze, her hand instinctively reaching for the knife at her side.
The tapping grew louder, more insistent.
She rose slowly, her heart pounding as she moved toward the sound. The room was dark, but the faint glow of the setting sun filtered through the cracks in the boards, casting eerie patterns on the walls.
As she approached, the tapping stopped.
"Hello?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
No response.
Her hand tightened around the knife as she reached the far corner of the room. The tapping had come from a small, locked cabinet. She hesitated, every instinct screaming at her to leave it alone.
But curiosity—or desperation—won out.
She pried the cabinet open, revealing a bundle of blankets. Something shifted inside, and Leah took a step back, her knife raised.
The bundle moved again, and a soft, muffled sound emerged—a sound she hadn't heard in months.
A cry.
Leah's breath caught in her throat as she pulled the blankets aside, revealing a child—no older than two—staring up at her with wide, terrified eyes.
Leah stared at the child in disbelief, her mind reeling. How could anyone—let alone a baby—have survived out here? The child's cheeks were sunken, and their small frame was wrapped in layers of tattered fabric, but those wide, brown eyes sparkled with life.
The baby whimpered again, reaching up with tiny, trembling fingers. Leah hesitated, unsure of what to do.
"Where did you come from?" she whispered, her voice soft, almost reverent.
The child didn't answer, of course, but their cries grew louder, their face scrunching up with fear or hunger—or both. Leah's survival instincts kicked in. The noise would draw attention. She had to quiet the child, fast.
"Shh, it's okay," she said, kneeling and gently lifting the child into her arms. The baby's weight was almost nothing, their body feather-light. She cradled them awkwardly, patting their back like she'd seen mothers do.
The cries softened, replaced by pitiful sniffles.
Leah looked around the room, her mind racing. Someone had put this baby here, hidden them away. But why? And where were they now?
Her eyes fell on the cabinet again. Beneath where the child had been, there was a small, folded piece of paper. She carefully set the baby down on the blankets and reached for the note, her hands trembling.
The paper was brittle, the ink smudged, but the message was clear:
"Take care of her. She's humanity's last hope."
Leah's breath caught. Humanity's last hope? What did that even mean? She looked back at the baby, who was now staring up at her with an expression of quiet curiosity.
She felt a surge of protectiveness she couldn't quite explain. The world had taken everything from her—her family, her home, her future. And now, somehow, it had given her this.
The moment was interrupted by a sound that made her blood run cold.
The Others were near.
Their guttural growls echoed outside, accompanied by the scrape of claws against pavement. Leah froze, her pulse pounding in her ears. She grabbed her backpack with one hand and the baby with the other, holding the child close to her chest.
"Stay quiet," she whispered, her voice trembling.
She moved to the boarded-up window and peered through a crack. The street was empty, but the growls were growing louder, closer.
Leah backed away, her mind racing. The room had only one entrance, and it was barely secured. If the Others found her, there would be no escape.
The baby whimpered, and Leah gently rocked them, praying the sound wouldn't carry.
The growls turned to silence.
Leah's breath caught. The Others rarely went quiet unless they were...listening.
A sudden, sharp thud against the door made her jump. The baby let out a startled cry, and Leah cursed under her breath.
The thudding continued, each impact stronger than the last.
Leah tightened her grip on the knife, her eyes darting around the room for another way out. There was none.
She looked at the baby, then at the door.
"Hold on," she muttered, her voice barely audible.
As the door splintered under the weight of the blows, Leah bolted toward the far corner of the room. She crouched low, hiding behind an overturned table, clutching the child tightly.
The door shattered, and the Others poured in.
Their twisted forms moved with eerie precision, their glowing eyes scanning the room. Leah held her breath, her heart hammering in her chest. The baby squirmed in her arms, but she held them close, willing them to stay quiet.
One of the Others moved toward the table, its head tilting as if sensing her presence. Leah gripped her knife, ready to fight if she had to.
But before the creature could reach her, a loud noise erupted outside—a distant explosion that shook the building.
The Others froze, their heads snapping toward the sound. Without hesitation, they turned and fled, their movements swift and animalistic.
Leah waited until the last of them was gone before she dared to breathe.
She looked down at the baby, who was staring up at her with wide, innocent eyes.
"Well," she said softly, her voice shaking, "it looks like you and I are stuck together now."
The baby cooed in response, and Leah couldn't help but smile despite the fear still coursing through her veins.
But as she sat there, holding the child in the ruins of a world gone mad, one thought lingered in her mind:
What did the note mean?
---
Leah couldn't afford to linger. The Others were unpredictable, and the explosion that had drawn them away could just as easily bring them back. She needed a plan—somewhere safe to regroup and figure out what to do next.
"Alright, little one," she said, adjusting the baby in her arms. The child nestled against her chest, surprisingly calm after the chaos. "We're getting out of here."
She peeked through the crack in the boarded-up window. The street outside was eerily quiet, smoke rising in the distance where the explosion had occurred. She slung her backpack over one shoulder and tightened her grip on the child.
The city was a maze of crumbling buildings and empty streets. Leah had spent months navigating it, learning its dangers and its rare havens. She knew of a place not far from here—a church that had stood intact amid the destruction. It wasn't much, but it was something.
Steeling herself, she slipped out through the same loose board she'd entered through and stepped into the street. The air was heavy with the smell of ash and decay, the distant hum of the wind carrying an unsettling stillness.
Every step felt like a gamble. She kept close to the shadows, her knife ready in her free hand. The baby made a small noise, and Leah instinctively shushed her, whispering, "Just a little farther."
As she rounded a corner, she froze.
A figure stood in the middle of the street, shrouded in shadow. For a moment, Leah thought it was one of the Others, but something was different. This figure was taller, their posture less contorted. They wore a hooded jacket, and in their hands was a weapon—a crude, makeshift spear.
Leah's grip tightened on her knife.
"Don't move," the figure said, their voice low and commanding.
Leah didn't.
The figure stepped closer, the spear raised slightly. "What are you doing out here? Alone?"
"I'm not alone," Leah said, shifting the baby in her arms to make her point clear.
The figure stopped, their stance softening. "A baby?"
Leah nodded, but she didn't lower her guard. "Who are you?"
The figure hesitated before lowering the spear. "Name's Elias," he said, pulling back his hood to reveal a young man with sharp features and a wary expression. "You?"
"Leah."
Elias's eyes flicked to the baby, then back to Leah. "You're brave, carrying a kid out here. Stupid, but brave."
Leah bristled. "I didn't exactly have a choice."
He raised an eyebrow. "Fair enough. Where are you heading?"
"None of your business."
Elias smirked, but there was no malice in it. "Look, I'm not your enemy. If you're looking for somewhere safe, there's a group not far from here. We've got shelter, food, supplies. You're welcome to join us."
Leah's instincts screamed at her to refuse. Trust was a dangerous game in this world. But the baby squirmed in her arms, a soft whimper escaping her lips. Leah didn't have the luxury of pride.
"Where is it?" she asked cautiously.
Elias nodded toward the smoke in the distance. "Old hospital. About ten blocks from here. But we'd better move fast. The Others don't stay distracted for long."
Leah hesitated, weighing her options. She didn't know this man or his intentions, but the promise of safety was too tempting to ignore.
"Lead the way," she said finally.
The Journey to the Hospital
Elias moved quickly but cautiously, his eyes scanning every shadow and corner. Leah followed, her grip on the baby firm.
As they walked, Elias glanced back at her. "What's her name?"
"I don't know," Leah admitted. "I just found her."
Elias's brow furrowed. "Found her?"
"In a cabinet. There was a note...said she's humanity's last hope."
Elias stopped in his tracks, turning to face her. "You're joking."
Leah shook her head. "I wish I was."
For a moment, Elias looked like he wanted to say something, but he shook it off and kept walking. "Well, that's something. If she's supposed to save us all, we'd better make sure she stays alive."
Leah wasn't sure if he was mocking her or taking it seriously, but she didn't reply.
They reached the hospital just as the last light of day faded. The building was a towering structure of broken windows and peeling paint, its entrance barricaded with makeshift barriers.
Elias knocked on a metal door at the side, a coded rhythm that echoed in the stillness.
A moment later, the door creaked open, revealing a woman with a shotgun slung over her shoulder. She eyed Leah and the baby suspiciously.
"Who's this?" the woman asked.
"Leah," Elias said. "Found her out there. She's got a baby."
The woman's gaze softened slightly as she looked at the child, but her grip on the shotgun didn't relax. "We don't take risks, Elias. You know that."
"She's not a risk," Elias said firmly. "She's just trying to survive, like the rest of us."
The woman studied Leah for a long moment before stepping aside. "Fine. But if she's trouble, it's on you."
Elias nodded and motioned for Leah to follow him inside.
The interior of the hospital was a mix of chaos and organization. Cots lined the walls, and people moved about, tending to wounds, sorting supplies, or simply sitting in silence.
Leah felt the tension in the air, a mixture of desperation and hope. She clutched the baby tighter, unsure of what she'd just walked into.
Elias led her to an empty cot in a corner. "You can rest here," he said. "We'll talk more in the morning."
Leah sat down, exhaustion washing over her. The baby was already asleep, her tiny breaths a soft reassurance in the chaos.
As Leah lay down, her mind raced with questions. Who were these people? Could she trust them? And most of all, what was she supposed to do with a child who was humanity's last hope?
Sleep came slowly, but when it did, it brought no peace.