The wind howled through the hollowed-out remains of an old gas station, rattling a loose metal sign that once advertised cheap fuel. Now, the only thing left were rusted pumps, shattered windows, and the thick scent of decay that lingered in the air. Evelyn "Evie"
Carter crouched behind an overturned truck, her fingers tightening around the grip of her pistol.
Her eyes scanned the darkened road ahead. She had learned long ago that silence didn't mean safety—it meant something was lurking.
A low groan echoed from the wreckage ahead.
Damn it.
Evie tightened her jaw and adjusted her grip. The infected were nearby. She peered through the truck's broken window, her sharp gaze locking onto a hunched figure stumbling between abandoned cars. The body was gaunt, skin stretched thin over bones, mouth slack and bloody. The infected were getting worse—hungrier, more aggressive.
She could handle one. But the problem was never just one.
A sudden rustling came from a nearby alley. Evie tensed, raising her gun—until she heard something unexpected.
A voice.
Weak. Human.
"Help…"
Evie hesitated. She knew better than to investigate. Helping people was how you got killed. But then the voice came again, hoarse and desperate.
"Please… I—I need help."
Her grip tightened. It was probably a trap. People had learned to use sympathy as a weapon in this world. But if it wasn't—if someone was actually hurt—could she live with walking away?
Cursing under her breath, she moved quickly but cautiously toward the alley. She pressed herself against the brick wall before peeking around the corner.
A man sat slumped against the dumpster, one leg stretched out awkwardly. Blood stained his jeans, pooling beneath him. He looked up at her with glassy blue eyes, his face pale from blood loss.
"Shit," Evie muttered.
The man's breathing was ragged, but his eyes were alert. He didn't look infected—yet.
"Don't move," she ordered, stepping closer, gun still raised.
"Not planning on it," the man rasped, a weak smirk ghosting across his lips. "Kinda stuck here."
His humor irritated her. She glanced at his wound—a deep gash, likely from a knife. Not a bite. That was good.
"Who did this to you?" she asked.
The man hesitated before answering. "Raiders. Took my supplies and left me for dead."
Typical. Evie had seen it before. The infected weren't the only monsters left.
"Name?" she asked.
"Noah Bennett," he said. "Doctor… or at least I used to be."
A doctor. That caught her attention. Useful.
She crouched down, pulling a small first aid kit from her backpack. "If you try anything, I'll put a bullet in you. Got it?"
Noah chuckled weakly. "Not much of a threat when I can barely sit up."
Evie ignored him and ripped open a bandage. She worked quickly, cleaning and wrapping the wound as best as she could.
"You're not from around here," she noted.
"Not anymore," Noah admitted. "Was trying to get to a research facility. Thought I could still make a difference. Guess that was wishful thinking."
Evie sighed. "Yeah, well, hope doesn't get you far out here."
She finished tying the bandage and stood up. "You'll live, but you won't get far on your own."
Noah looked up at her, something unreadable in his gaze. "Are you… offering to help?"
She hesitated. She didn't do attachments. But something about the way he looked at her—like he still believed people could be good—made her shift uncomfortably.
"Come on," she muttered, shouldering her backpack. "Before I change my mind."
Noah grinned, wincing as he pushed himself up with her help. "You're a real sweetheart, you know that?"
"Shut up."
Somewhere Else…Marcus Reed sat by a dim fire, rubbing his aching shoulder. His camp was small—just him and a girl he'd picked up a few months back. Riley Torres, a scrappy teenager with a knack for trouble. She sat across from him, cleaning a small knife.
"You're staring," she said without looking up.
Marcus sighed. "You need to be more careful. I saw you sneaking out last night."
Riley rolled her eyes. "I was scouting. We need food."
"You were lucky you didn't get caught," Marcus warned. "The Butcher's men are everywhere."
At the mention of the name, Riley's face darkened. Everyone knew about The Butcher—a sadistic warlord who controlled most of the area with brutal force.
"I can handle myself," Riley insisted.
Marcus shook his head. She was tough, but she was still a kid. And in this world, kids didn't last long.
The fire crackled between them. Marcus leaned back, exhaling tiredly. He had been a cop once. Back when laws still mattered. Now, he was just another survivor trying to make it one more day.
Footsteps sounded outside the makeshift shelter. Both of them tensed, hands going to their weapons.
Then, a voice.
"Marcus, you there?"
Relief flooded his chest. "Evie?"
She stepped inside, supporting a limping Noah.
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Who's this?"
"A doctor," Evie said, dropping her bag. "And apparently my problem now."
Noah gave a weak wave. "Nice to meet you, too."
Riley groaned. "Another stray? Great."
Evie shot her a look. "You were a stray once, too."
Riley huffed but said nothing.
Marcus studied Noah. "You're lucky she found you. Most people wouldn't stop."
Noah's gaze flickered to Evie. "Yeah, I'm starting to realize that."
Evie sighed. "Let's get one thing straight, Doc. This isn't a rescue mission. You want to survive, you pull your weight."
Noah nodded. "Deal."
Marcus chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, this should be interesting."
Outside, the wind howled, carrying the distant sound of shuffling feet. The infected were moving. And somewhere, far beyond the ruined streets, The Butcher was watching.
End of Chapter 1