Chapter 4: The Cold Reality
Ethan didn't sleep that night.
The adrenaline rush had worn off quickly, leaving behind a hollow emptiness. He kept his eyes fixed on the infected man's lifeless body, sprawled across the floor, the blood pooling around its head. The stench of death lingered in the air, clinging to everything like a second skin.
He tried to ignore it. Tried to force his mind to focus on the necessities—food, water, shelter—but all he could hear was the thudding of his own heart.
The first kill.
It was nothing like the movies. Nothing like the games.
There was no victory, no sense of accomplishment. Just an overwhelming sense of dread. He hadn't even hesitated. His hands had moved of their own accord, driven by fear more than anything else. And when it was over, there was only silence.
And the knowledge that the world he once knew was gone.
The door of the store creaked as the wind rattled the broken windows, but Ethan didn't move. He stayed where he was, on the cold floor, the pipe still gripped tightly in his hands.
The day had ended, and the night stretched endlessly before him. The city outside was dark, shrouded in the terrifying uncertainty of what had happened. How many more of those… things were out there? How many were still alive? How long before the world became a wasteland of the dead?
He didn't know.
And that terrified him.
The morning came with little relief.
Ethan finally stood, his body stiff from the uncomfortable position he'd slept in. He stretched out his sore limbs and grabbed the backpack he'd filled with supplies. The cold air outside bit into his skin as he stepped out onto the deserted street.
The city had become unrecognizable overnight.
Cars were abandoned where they had been, some overturned, others still running, their engines humming weakly before dying. The sidewalks were littered with debris—discarded belongings, shattered glass, and bloodstains marking the places where lives had been lost. The distant sound of groaning filled the air, punctuated by the occasional shriek.
Ethan had no destination in mind.
There was no plan. He had no allies, no idea of how to survive in this new world. But he knew one thing for sure: staying here wasn't an option.
The store was secure for now, but he couldn't afford to stay hidden forever. He needed to find other survivors, maybe band together with them, or at least figure out where to go.
His hands tightened around the straps of his backpack.
He could feel the weight of his fear, but it was no longer crippling. It was just another part of this new life he had to adapt to.
And if he didn't adapt…
He'd die.
Ethan took a deep breath and set off into the streets.
His first step into this broken world was only the beginning.
And somehow, he knew there would be many more kills to come.