The gunfire had faded, replaced by the crackling of flames and the distant shouts of retreating men. Smoke curled into the morning sky, thick and acrid, stinging Hugo’s nostrils as he crouched low on the rooftop. His heart pounded in his ears, the adrenaline still surging through his veins.

  They were running.

  The Enclave, disoriented and scattered, had begun their retreat. The leader, barely clinging to life, had been dragged away by his remaining men. Four of them were dead, their bodies charred or riddled with bullets. The rest scrambled to gather what they could, abandoning the vehicles now too close to the flames.

  Hugo gritted his teeth, watching them stumble back toward the street. He wanted to finish them. To chase them down, wipe them out before they could regroup. But he knew better. They still had numbers, still had weapons. And they would be back.

  This wasn’t over.

  Frank’s rifle cracked again from his apartment window, forcing one of the men to dive behind a wrecked car. “That’s right, you sons of bitches!” he shouted. “Run while you still got legs!”

  Hugo smirked despite himself. He turned and climbed back through the rooftop door, his pulse still hammering. He had to move.

  By the time he reached Frank’s apartment, the old man was already pacing, his rifle still in hand. His expression was unreadable, but Hugo could see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers flexed and curled around the weapon’s stock.

  “They’ll be back,” Hugo said, closing the door behind him. “Probably with more men.”

  Frank let out a harsh breath. “Yeah, no shit.” He wiped the sweat from his forehead, then gestured outside. “I got two of ‘em good. And your fire stunt did a hell of a number on them. But they ain't done. Not by a long shot.”

  Hugo exhaled slowly. “We can’t stay here.”

  Frank didn’t argue. He just sighed and sat down heavily in his chair. “Damn it. Knew this was coming.” His gaze swept over the apartment, lingering on the shelves stocked with supplies, the makeshift security measures he had built over time. “I spent years building this up, making sure I’d be set.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “And now it don’t mean shit.”

  Hugo didn’t know what to say. He understood. Frank had clung to this place, this illusion of safety. But now it was gone.

  Frank let out a bitter chuckle. “Ain’t got much of a choice, huh?”

  “No,” Hugo admitted. “If we stay, we die. Next time, they won’t knock. They’ll just kill us.”

  A long silence stretched between them. Then, finally, Frank nodded. “Alright. We pack what we can carry and get the hell out.”

  Hugo nodded back. They had work to do.

  The next hour was a frantic rush of gathering supplies, prioritizing only the essentials. Food, water, medical supplies, ammo—anything they could carry that wouldn’t slow them down too much.

  Frank grumbled as he secured his rifle, stuffing extra magazines into his bag. “Hate this. I ain’t been outside this place in years.”

  “I know,” Hugo said, shoving cans of food into his backpack. “But if we wait, we won’t make it out.”

  Frank sighed but didn’t argue.

  Salem meowed loudly, weaving between Hugo’s legs as he moved around the apartment. Hugo scooped him up, running a hand over his sleek black fur. “You’re coming too, buddy.”

  The cat flicked his tail, clearly unimpressed with the sudden change of plans, but Hugo wasn’t leaving him behind.

  Frank glanced over. “That thing gonna slow us down?”

  Hugo smirked. “Probably.”

  Frank grunted. “Figures.”

  Despite the tension, Hugo found comfort in the small moment of normalcy. But it didn’t last.

  A gunshot rang out in the distance.

  Both men froze.

  Hugo moved to the window, scanning the streets below. The remaining Enclave members were gone. But someone was still out there.

  Frank’s expression darkened. “They left someone behind.”

  Hugo’s stomach clenched. A scout, maybe. Or a sniper waiting for them to make a move. Either way, it meant leaving just got more dangerous.

  Frank sighed. “We gotta be careful gettin’ out of here.”

  Hugo nodded. “We need a plan.”

  Frank was quiet for a long moment before finally speaking. “We wait till dark. Move through the back alleys, stay low. We stick together, watch each other’s backs.”

  Hugo glanced down at Salem, then back at the street. “And if they have someone watching the exits?”

  Frank’s grip tightened on his rifle. “Then we kill ‘em first.”

  Hugo met his gaze and nodded. “Alright.”

  They still had time to prepare. But soon, they would have to go.

  And when they did, they had to make sure it was for good.

  The apartment was a mess of supplies and open bags, the sound of rustling packaging and clinking bottles filling the tense air. Hugo and Frank worked in silence, moving with practiced efficiency as they shoved everything they could carry into their bags.

  Three backpacks. Two duffel bags.

  It was more than either of them wanted to carry, but they couldn’t afford to leave it behind.

  The food supply was simple—dry goods, jerky, protein bars, canned goods, and whatever else wouldn’t spoil in the coming days. They packed every last water bottle they had, their weight adding a noticeable strain to the bags.

  Frank’s hunting rifle sat slung over his shoulder, the last twenty bullets for it stored safely in his coat pocket. It wasn’t much, but it was all they had.

  The 9mm ammo box was another problem. Nearly full, a couple hundred rounds of pistol ammunition, but no gun to fire them. Useless weight for now—but if they found a weapon later, it would be invaluable.

  Then there was the shotgun. A heavy, intimidating weapon, but nothing more than a glorified club without shells. Hugo still took it. If nothing else, it could be used to scare people into thinking he was armed.

  When everything was packed, the weight was staggering.

  Frank adjusted his straps with a grimace. “This is gonna slow us down.”

  “Yeah,” Hugo admitted, tightening the straps on his own bag. His shoulders already ached. “But we can’t afford to leave any of it behind.”

  Frank grunted but didn’t argue.

  Salem sat near the door, his tail flicking, watching them with curious green eyes. He could tell something was happening. When Hugo slung his pack onto his back, Salem rose gracefully to his feet, stretched, and trotted to the window. He hopped onto the sill and looked out, ears twitching, whiskers forward.

  Hugo smirked. “He knows we’re moving.”

  Frank shook his head. “That damn cat’s got better instincts than we do.”

  They had decided to leave through the back, avoiding the main streets and any possible Enclave scouts left behind. A window in the back of the building was their best option—leading into the alley.

  Hugo pulled it open slowly, listening for any movement outside. The street was quiet, the distant groans of scattered zombies barely audible over the crackling flames still smoldering from the earlier fight.

  “All clear,” he whispered.

  Frank passed him one of the duffel bags before lowering his own out first, then slinging his rifle across his back. He grumbled as he swung his legs through the window.

  He dropped down with a soft grunt, landing on the pavement below.

  Hugo followed, hoisting Salem into his arms before climbing out himself. He hit the ground in a crouch, keeping low as he scanned the alleyway.

  Salem wriggled free the moment he was down, landing gracefully before padding a few steps ahead, ears pricked forward.

  The cat was already taking point, scouting the path.

  “Guess we’re doin’ this,” Frank muttered.

  Hugo adjusted his grip on the duffel bag. “Let’s move.”

  The city was a graveyard.

  They ran in silence, the sound of their footsteps muffled by the uneven pavement and the debris of a world long since collapsed.

  Salem moved ahead of them, his sleek black shape barely visible in the dim moonlight. He was their scout, darting forward, pausing, ears twitching as he sensed the world around them.

  Twice already, he had saved them.

  The first time, he had frozen, his body low to the ground, eyes locked on something ahead. Hugo and Frank had stopped instantly, pressing themselves into the shadows.

  A pack of zombies had shuffled across the street not twenty feet from them.

  They waited, barely breathing, as the creatures groaned and dragged themselves onward, oblivious to their presence. When the street was clear, Salem turned his head, flicked his tail once, and trotted forward.

  Hugo exhaled. “Remind me to give him extra food when we stop.”

  Frank huffed. “Damn cat’s smarter than we are.”

  The second time was worse.

  They had just passed the shell of an old gas station, its windows shattered, the pumps long dry. Salem had stopped dead, back arched slightly, his fur bristling.

  Hugo reacted instantly, grabbing Frank’s arm and pulling him into the cover of a burned-out sedan.

  A moment later, they heard it—an inhuman shriek, followed by the rapid pounding of feet.

  A runner.

  It tore through the intersection ahead, moving at unnatural speed, its limbs jerking as it skidded across the pavement before vanishing down another street.

  Hugo let out a slow, controlled breath.

  Frank’s grip tightened on his rifle. “I hate those things.”

  Hugo swallowed. “Yeah.”

  Salem flicked his tail and moved on. They followed.

  The further they ran, the heavier the bags became.

  Sweat dripped down Hugo’s back, his muscles burning from the effort. Frank was breathing hard beside him, his endurance impressive for his age, but even he was beginning to slow.

  “We need to find cover,” Hugo murmured.

  Frank nodded. “Yeah. Can’t keep this up all night.”

  Salem suddenly stopped at the entrance to an alleyway, looking back at them with an expectant stare.

  Hugo followed his gaze.

  Ahead was a partially collapsed office building. One of the doors on the side was still intact, the glass cracked but not broken. It looked sturdy enough to provide shelter.

  Frank grunted. “Better than nothing.”

  Hugo nodded. They moved quickly, slipping inside.

  The interior was eerily silent. Desks were overturned, dust coating the remains of an abandoned workplace. A few dried bloodstains painted the walls, but there were no bodies. No immediate threats.

  Frank exhaled as he slumped against the wall, setting his rifle beside him. “Not bad.”

  Hugo knelt, setting his bag down, his arms trembling from exhaustion. Salem hopped onto one of the desks, curling his tail around himself as he watched them.

  “We’ll rest here,” Hugo said. “Just for a few hours.”

  Frank nodded, closing his eyes briefly.

  Outside, the city remained still, the occasional groan of the undead carried by the wind.

  Hugo listened, his muscles aching, but his mind sharp. They had made it this far.

  But morning would bring new dangers.

  They weren’t safe yet.

  Frank was out within minutes.

  The old man had leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, rifle resting beside him. His breathing slowed, his body relaxing in exhaustion. The day had taken its toll, and now that they had a safe place—at least for the moment—he let himself rest.

  Hugo, on the other hand, wasn’t about to close his eyes anytime soon.

  He sat near one of the windows, positioned to keep watch over the ruined streets outside. His fingers idly traced the plastic bottle in his hands—caffeine pills, taken from the pharmacy he had looted the other day.

  He popped one into his mouth, swallowing it dry.

  Sleep was the enemy right now.

  It wasn’t just paranoia. If something happened during the night, if they were forced to run or fight again, he wanted to be awake to make that decision. If he slept and got attacked and killed, then the morning reset would still happen—but he wouldn’t be able to change anything. At least if something happened now he could reset to the morning and restart the fight with the enclave. They could take a completely different route. Maybe avoid danger altogether. But for that, he needed to know what would go wrong first.

  His thoughts drifted as he watched the horizon, the ruined skyline bathed in moonlight.

  Somewhere out there, the Enclave was regrouping. He didn’t believe for a second that they had just given up. They had left bodies behind, lost men, and nearly lost their leader. That kind of humiliation didn’t go unanswered.

  Hugo exhaled through his nose, adjusting his grip on the shotgun in his lap.

  Beside him, Salem let out a soft noise, before curling up next to Hugo’s leg. His warmth was comforting, the rhythmic rise and fall of his small body grounding in a way Hugo didn’t expect.

  Time passed slowly.

  Every so often, Hugo reached for another caffeine pill, pushing away the creeping exhaustion. The night stretched on, and his limbs felt heavy, but he kept his focus sharp.

  Then—

  A scream.

  Distant. Faint. But real.

  Hugo sat up straighter, his muscles tensing.

  It had come from somewhere far off in the city, echoing through the empty streets before abruptly cutting off. The kind of scream that wasn’t just fear, but pain.

  His grip tightened on the shotgun.

  There was nothing he could do about it. Whoever it was, whatever had happened to them—it was too far. Too dangerous. But the sound stuck with him.

  His heartbeat steadied after a few minutes, though the tension never truly left his shoulders. He forced himself to breathe, scanning the streets for movement. Nothing.

  Time dragged on.

  The darkness slowly began to lift, the deep black of the sky fading into the earliest hints of blue.

  Dawn was coming.

  Hugo blinked hard, rubbing at his eyes. He had made it through the night.

  No incidents. No sudden attacks.

  But that scream still echoed in his mind.

  It was a reminder.

  They weren’t the only ones out here.

  And the world hadn’t gotten any safer.