“A person in the apocalypse?”

  The whisper, barely audible above my pounding heartbeat, echoed in my mind, amplifying the disorienting surge of adrenaline that had seized me the moment I was pulled into the darkness. My breath came in ragged gasps, lungs aching as if they'd forgotten how to properly function I could taste a coppery tang. Outside, the relentless, haunting shuffle of those things continued unabated, their moans echoing through the streets, mingled grotesquely with the crunch of glass beneath their shambling steps. Each sound was a sharp reminder of the fragile boundary between safety and annihilation, heightening my panic to an unbearable intensity.

  My eyes darted frantically around the darkened interior, blinking rapidly to force them to adjust quicker to the dimness. As my vision slowly sharpened, the bleak reality of the place came into focus: a department store, long abandoned and decaying. Shelves, once neatly organized and filled with goods, were now toppled and scattered chaotically across stained and cracked linoleum floors. Clothing racks lay sprawled in disarray, their contents filthy, shredded, and mingled with glass shards from shattered windows and mirrors. The pale light filtering through the fractured panes cast distorted shadows, dancing like phantom figures against the walls.

  A wave of sickening anxiety churned deep within my gut, my senses assaulted by the overwhelming mustiness of forgotten spaces—mold, mildew, and the undeniable scent of decay permeating every inch of the air. Each breath I took seemed thick with dust, gritty particles scraping roughly against the back of my throat. My heartbeat thundered painfully in my ears, the rhythm uneven and erratic, mirroring the chaotic panic gripping me.

  Eventually, my frantic gaze landed on a figure standing silently by the window, body rigid, movements measured and controlled as they peered cautiously outward. The person's presence startled me even more than my initial disorientation, sending a new wave of panic through me. My rescuer stood with predatory vigilance, tense muscles visible beneath the layers of ragged clothing clinging desperately to a wiry frame.

  A sudden gust of wind, whistling sharply through shattered windows, caught the figure’s mid-length dark brown hair, momentarily freeing strands from their tight ponytail, exposing glimpses of features smeared thickly with grime and something darker, more sinister—streaks of dried blood, stark and menacing even in the limited lighting. The scent emanating from them was potent, a nauseating blend of stale sweat, dirt, and something far more disturbing, a sickly-sweet aroma that hinted strongly at old blood.

  My initial relief at encountering another human quickly transformed into cautious apprehension, anxiety tightening painfully in my chest. The figure turned abruptly, her attention shifting from the window to me with startling speed. Even beneath the layers of dirt and dried blood, her face was undeniably striking, delicate features marred by grime, yet highlighted by intense, intelligent green Eyes. They bore into mine sharply, evaluating me with a harsh, critical glare.

  “You almost got yourself killed,” she hissed quietly, her voice low and rough with prolonged disuse. Her tone was harsh, accusatory, yet carried an unmistakable undercurrent of genuine concern.

  I opened my mouth to speak, but only managed a choked, uncertain noise before finding my voice. “I—I didn't know—” I stammered weakly, my voice cracking embarrassingly from fear and exhaustion.

  She raised a dirty hand, instantly silencing me with an abrupt gesture. Her eyes darted sharply back toward the shattered entrance, clearly alert for any new signs of danger. “Quiet,” she hissed softly, her voice dropping to a tense whisper. “They’re still close. Noise attracts them.”

  My heart pounded painfully against my ribs as I fell silent, trembling uncontrollably, acutely aware of every noise around us—the distant groans, the crunch of debris beneath shuffling feet, the whistling wind. The tension stretched painfully, each second magnifying the anxiety gripping me.

  I forced myself to focus, observing my rescuer more carefully. Beneath the layers of grime, her features were undeniably striking: sharp cheekbones framed expressive, piercing eyes, set deeply into a face that, though streaked with grime and blood, revealed undeniable strength. Despite her obvious hardship, her posture radiated resilience and self-reliance, a stark contrast to my trembling, fearful state.

  She watched me closely, evaluating silently for a long, tense moment. Finally, she spoke again, her voice still cautious but slightly softened. “You're lucky I found you first. Noise draws them in. You'd have been torn apart in minutes.”

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  I nodded numbly, overwhelmed by the reality of her words, fresh anxiety swirling nauseatingly in my stomach. “Thank you,” I whispered shakily, barely audible. “I—I don't know what happened. Where I am… what this is.”

  She sighed softly, gaze flickering briefly toward the broken storefront windows again before settling firmly back on me. Her eyes held a weariness far deeper than mere physical exhaustion. “what do you mean? we are in New York, you can talk more once we get to a safe house but for now you just need to stay quiet and alive. Understand?”

  Outside, the relentless shuffle of those horrific creatures continued, their groans blending with the sharp crunch of shattered glass under their shambling steps. Each sound sent fresh waves of terror rippling through me, a visceral reminder of just how close I’d come to being their prey.

  My breath came in shallow, labored gasps as my eyes struggled to adjust to the oppressive darkness within the abandoned department store. Faint light seeped through fractured windows, casting distorted shadows that danced unsettlingly across aisles littered with debris. Clothing racks lay overturned, garments scattered in dusty heaps on the floor, torn and stained with substances I didn’t want to identify. Broken shelves leaned at awkward angles, their former contents spilled carelessly onto the cracked linoleum, further complicating our path.

  I took a cautious step forward, shoes crunching softly over glass fragments. The sound seemed impossibly loud in the suffocating silence, and I froze immediately, heart hammering painfully as I glanced anxiously toward my mysterious rescuer. Her eyes flicked sharply toward me, warning me without words. She moved with deliberate, practiced precision, avoiding debris effortlessly as if she’d walked these ruins countless times. Her every movement exuded a calculated caution, a sharp contrast to my clumsy, frightened demeanor.

  She gestured sharply, motioning me to follow closely behind her, and we began moving deeper into the store, weaving carefully between overturned racks and discarded merchandise. My heart pounded relentlessly, each step filled with agonizing tension. I held my breath, terrified that even the smallest noise could alert those horrors lurking outside to our presence.

  As we moved further inside, the dim lighting grew even weaker, shadows thickening like an oppressive fog. The musty scent of long-abandoned textiles mingled unpleasantly with the stale odor of dust and mold. Occasionally, my hands brushed against clothing hanging limply from racks, fabric damp and clammy beneath my fingertips. I shuddered involuntarily, withdrawing my hand sharply each time, pulse quickening with renewed anxiety.

  Eventually, we reached a partially collapsed section of wall that opened into a narrow, dimly lit hallway lined with grimy white tiles. The air here was even thicker, musty and tinged faintly with mildew and stagnant moisture. She paused momentarily, scanning the hallway cautiously, her eyes narrowed sharply in vigilant observation. Every muscle in her body was tense, alert, poised to respond instantly to danger. Her dirt-streaked face was stern, lips pressed tightly in concentration.

  “Stay quiet,” she whispered softly, barely audible, her gaze never leaving the darkened corridor ahead.

  I nodded quickly, swallowing hard to suppress the nervous lump rising uncomfortably in my throat. We moved cautiously down the corridor, the eerie quiet broken only by the muffled sounds of our careful footsteps and my own increasingly ragged breathing. Shadows danced ominously across cracked walls, cast by flickering lights suspended from the ceiling, their faint hum the only background noise other than my pounding heart.

  At the corridor’s end, we emerged into another expansive area—a dim, cavernous room that appeared to have once been a stockroom or warehouse. Towering shelves stretched upward toward the ceiling, their metal frames rusted and weakened by years of neglect. Boxes lay scattered haphazardly across the floor, their contents spilling out chaotically, further obstructing our path.

  My guide navigated the maze of debris with practiced ease, her movements fluid and precise despite the chaos. I stumbled behind her, anxious thoughts swirling violently in my mind. Each creak or distant shuffle caused my pulse to spike sharply, my imagination conjuring nightmarish images of skeletal, decaying forms lurking just beyond the edge of sight.

  The woman paused abruptly near the far end of the room, glancing briefly at me before pushing aside a large, battered cabinet that revealed a hidden doorway, barely wide enough to squeeze through. The hinges groaned softly, echoing unsettlingly in the vast emptiness around us. My heart raced anew as she slipped silently through the narrow opening, motioning urgently for me to follow.

  I hesitated only momentarily, fear warring briefly with desperation, before following her into the hidden space. Immediately, the air grew colder, damp and thick with mildew and stagnant water. The narrow passageway wound downward in a steep incline, its walls made of rough, damp stone that scraped painfully against my arms as I squeezed through.

  We emerged at last into a cramped, dimly lit basement room. Weak candlelight flickered uncertainly against bare walls of crumbling brick, casting shifting shadows across the confined space. My rescuer turned to face me again, her expression wary yet less severe in the faint glow.

  “You’re safe for now,” she said quietly, voice strained with weariness, eyes regarding me with cautious curiosity. “But we can’t stay here long.”

  I nodded, chest heaving with relief and lingering fear, unable to fully relax despite the temporary safety we’d found.