The basement room felt claustrophobic yet oddly safe, its brick walls cracked and damp, the air thick with mildew and the faint metallic scent of rust. I sat on the cold, gritty floor, knees pulled tightly to my chest, shivering slightly, still rattled by everything I'd experienced my discarded tie lay in a pile next to me. My mysterious rescuer crouched opposite me, watching the narrow entrance carefully, her sharp eyes occasionally flicking toward me with undisguised suspicion.

  Finally, unable to contain my confusion any longer, I broke the silence, voice trembling despite my best efforts. "Where are we? What were those… things?"

  She sighed heavily, clearly irritated by my apparent ignorance. Her eyes, shadowed with exhaustion yet still sharp and alert, stared at me incredulously. "Are you serious?" she whispered sharply. "You're joking, right? You really don’t know what those were?"

  I shook my head weakly, heart pounding painfully with uncertainty and embarrassment. "No—I have no idea. I've never seen anything like that, except in movies."

  Her expression shifted subtly, disbelief mingling with suspicion and annoyance. "Where exactly have you been living? Under a rock? Those are roamers. They've been everywhere since the outbreak. You have to know that."

  I shook my head again, panic rising once more, my thoughts spiraling helplessly. "Outbreak? Roamers? I—I don’t understand. When did this happen?"

  Her disbelief hardened into something close to contempt. She regarded me with narrowed eyes, visibly irritated by what she clearly saw as feigned ignorance. "Look, I don't know what your deal is," she said harshly, her voice dripping with barely concealed disdain. "Maybe you're some sheltered brat from a royal family in the empire or something, living isolated in your safe little mansion, completely oblivious to the reality out here. But let me enlighten you—those roamers are what's left after the infection hits luckily that was just a minor horde of level ones they are slow and easy to escape if they had called a feral level 2 or above you would have been smoked. They’re dead, but they’re still moving, still hungry. You make noise, you die. Simple."

  Her bluntness hit me hard, each word deepening my confusion and fear. My thoughts raced, scrambling desperately to make sense of what she was telling me. Infection? Dead people walking? This couldn't be real. My voice trembled as I pressed further, desperation clear in my tone. "How long has it been like this? How widespread is it?"

  She stared at me incredulously, shaking her head in disbelief. "It's been like this for nearly seven years. How can you not know this? Were you locked away in some palace, hidden away by the Emperor or something?"

  "Emperor? What—no!" I sputtered, confused and frustrated by her assumptions. "I'm not from an empire. I'm just… lost."

  She raised an eyebrow skeptically, obviously skeptical. "Sure. Whatever you say. Either way, you're clearly clueless. And that makes you a liability."

  "Please," I whispered desperately, struggling to maintain composure. "I need answers. How do I get out of here? How do I survive?"

  She regarded me silently for a moment, visibly conflicted. Finally, she sighed again, deeper this time, her shoulders sagging slightly in resignation. "Look, I don't know your story or why you seem completely unaware of basic facts and frankly I dont give a roamers ass, but I can't just leave you here to die. Stay quiet, follow my lead, and do exactly as I say. Got it?"

  I nodded fervently, grateful for any guidance, even grudgingly given. "Thank you," I whispered softly, genuine gratitude evident despite my lingering fear and confusion.

  She gave me a wary, appraising look, clearly still uncertain whether rescuing me had been a good idea. "Don’t thank me yet," she muttered grimly. "We still have to get you back to wherever it is you came from—and honestly, I expect your family to reward me pretty well for returning their lost little prince."

  I opened my mouth to protest her assumptions, but quickly closed it, sensing the futility of trying to convince her otherwise. Whatever she believed, at least she was willing to help. For now, that was enough. I settled back against the damp wall, heart still racing, but strangely comforted by the presence of another human, even if she thought I was nothing more than an oblivious burden.

  She leaned back against the crumbling brick wall, eyes darkening as she stared thoughtfully at the flickering candlelight. For a moment, silence stretched between us, tense and charged. Then, she spoke quietly, her voice measured but tinged with deep exhaustion.

  “You really don’t know anything, do you?” she said softly, her expression shifting from suspicion to something closer to resignation. I shook my head, swallowing nervously. Her eyes narrowed briefly before she sighed deeply, brushing a loose strand of dark hair from her face.

  Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  “Fine,” she began, voice firm yet distant, as though reciting a story she’d told far too many times. “About seven years ago, everything fell apart. The news reported some virus outbreak initially—just another scare, everyone thought. But it wasn’t. The infection spread fast, terrifyingly fast. The government panicked and rushed out some experimental vaccine, barely tested, desperate to stop the spread. According to the last broadcast we heard before everything collapsed, the infection rate had already reached 99.8 percent of the global population.”

  Her gaze hardened, memories clearly painful. “But the vaccine had consequences. Those of us who got it—well, we survived, but it made us barren. Every single one of us. Men became infertile, unable to father children, and the human population plunged even further. And those who didn’t get vaccinated? They turned into what you saw out there—roamers, ferals, whatever you want to call them. Dead but still moving, driven only by hunger.”

  She paused briefly, eyes distant, lost in the weight of her memories. Then, shaking herself out of it, she continued sharply. “There aren’t many of us left. Less than five thousand people in all of New York City, last we knew. And naturally, humans being humans, the survivors split into factions, fighting each other almost as much as we fight the infected.”

  She held up a finger as she listed them off, her tone growing increasingly bitter. “There’s the Empire, the largest group, led by a self-styled emperor—a man revered for killing a level five feral. They’re powerful, organized, but ruthless. Then there are the Vagabonds, run by a woman who assassinated their previous leader. Violent, unpredictable, but they’re a strong second in numbers. Next are the Anarchists, basically a gang led by an ex-biker; chaotic but formidable in their own way.”

  She hesitated for a moment, then met my eyes directly, her voice softer but filled with quiet pride. “And then there’s us—the Scavengers. We’re solo hunters mostly, independent and unwilling to participate in the atrocities committed by the larger groups. We’re few, fewer than a hundred scattered throughout the city, trying our damnedest to survive without losing ourselves completely.”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly, assessing me critically. “And right now, my job is getting you back where you belong, because someone out there is surely missing their pampered little prince. Once you’re home safe, I’m counting on a reward—supplies, food, ammo—anything that’ll help me stay alive a little longer.”

  I stared at her in silence, mind reeling from the torrent of information she’d just provided, struggling to comprehend the nightmare reality she’d described. Yet one thing was painfully clear—I wasn’t home, and wherever I was now, survival was going to be a brutal fight. I stared at her, still reeling from the flood of bleak and overwhelming information she’d just shared. The dim candlelight flickered gently, casting shifting shadows across her weary, dirt-smeared face. My thoughts raced chaotically, each revelation she had provided deepening my confusion and fear.

  “But… how is any of this possible?” My voice trembled, barely above a whisper, as I struggled to find coherence amidst my spiraling panic. “The last thing I remember was falling in my father’s old cottage. Then suddenly—I’m here. None of this makes any sense.”

  She stared at me blankly, her expression morphing from curiosity to outright disbelief, as if I had just uttered the most absurd thing she’d ever heard. “Look, I don’t know what kind of sheltered, pampered existence you’ve been leading up until now,” she responded slowly, choosing each word deliberately, eyes filled with suspicion, but I assure you, this has been reality for nearly seven years now. Civilization collapsed. Governments fell. Society as you knew it is gone. And trust me, nobody’s waking up from this nightmare anytime soon.”

  The blunt finality of her words sent a fresh wave of despair crashing over me, suffocating in its intensity. My heart pounded relentlessly against my ribs, each beat an echo of mounting terror. Desperation seized me, a frantic need to cling to something familiar, something tangible. “You mentioned different groups,” I pressed cautiously, desperate to grasp something concrete. “Why not just join one of the larger ones for protection?”

  She laughed bitterly, a harsh, humorless sound filled with disdain. “Protection? Maybe at first, that was the idea. But survival here isn’t just about avoiding the roamers—it’s also about avoiding becoming a monster yourself. Those factions—they’re brutal, cruel, Rape, Slavery, torture all too common amoung the big three. The Empire? They’re tyrants who rule through fear and violence. The Vagabonds? Assassins and thieves who live by deceit and betrayal. The Anarchists? Ruthless, violent, living for chaos and destruction.”

  Her eyes narrowed, dark and resolute in the flickering candlelight. “I’d rather take my chances alone, scavenging and surviving without being forced to commit atrocities against others just to live another day, or winding up as someone's cock toy. That’s what being a Scavenger means—independence, morality, and yes, greater danger. But at least I can sleep at night knowing I’m not part of the nightmare.”

  Her words hung heavily in the air, underscoring the grim reality I’d been thrust into. Anxiety continued to gnaw uncomfortably at the edges of my mind, yet within the fear lingered admiration for her strength and conviction. I couldn’t help but feel painfully inadequate, suddenly acutely aware of how unprepared I was for this new world.

  “So, what’s your plan now?” I asked quietly, struggling to keep the desperation from coloring my tone. “What do we do next?”

  She studied me for a long moment, visibly weighing her options, uncertainty clouding her expression briefly before determination reasserted itself. “First, we wait until nightfall. Moving during the day is too dangerous. Then I’ll take you to a safer place—one where we can at least figure out exactly who you are, and why you’re here.”

  I nodded numbly, grateful for some direction, even if it was uncertain and fraught with danger. She turned away, resuming her vigilant watch by the broken window, her silhouette stark against the pale light filtering through the shattered glass. Silence stretched tensely between us once more, broken only by distant, haunting moans and the relentless howl of the wind.

  Alone with my anxious thoughts, I pressed back against the damp wall, breathing deeply in a futile effort to calm my racing heart.