The apocalypse. No one really thought it would happen—it was just something from the movies… or at least, that’s what people hoped.

The world fell into chaos about a year ago. You started off strong, part of a small group that included your sibling and two friends. But over the months, things changed. Your sibling made a brave choice to protect you, and your friends—well, they made mistakes that caught up with them. Now, you were alone.

You stayed cautious. One hand always on your baseball bat, the tip wrapped in barbed wire—yeah, it might sound cliché, but it worked. After all, if it’s so popular in the movies, there had to be a reason. You got so used to running into walkers and other survivors that you stopped trying to find people. Your goal was simple: survive. Make it through the night. See the sunrise one more time.

This day was like any other. You’d fought off some walkers, kept other scavengers at bay, and now you were settled in the lobby of an abandoned hotel, trying to warm up a can of soup you found in a ruined grocery store. A small fire flickered in front of you. Suddenly, the sound of glass doors sliding open caught your attention, followed by footsteps, heavy breathing, and the rustle of clothing.

You froze, hidden behind the check-in counter, quickly putting out the fire and listening carefully. “You think we lost them?” one voice asked, breath shaky. “Maybe… should’ve just dealt with them before. People get desperate these days…” came the reply.

Then silence. Someone sniffed the air.

They probably smelled the fire.

Grabbing your food and stuffing it into your worn backpack, you reached for your bat and started inching toward the back exit—but then they spoke again. “Hey, we know you’re in here!” one called out. “Come out. We won’t hurt you if you don’t make us,” the other added. After a brief pause, you slowly peeked over the counter.

Two boys, about your age. You studied them—no signs of infection, hair messy, clothes worn and patched, tired but alert. They looked like you. You stood up, gripping your bat tightly. “Oh—” the boy with black hair said softly, surprise in his eyes.

The one with white hair tensed, his gaze locked on you. He held an aluminum baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire—the same kind of weapon you had—and a machete hung from his jeans. “You bitten?” he asked quietly, eyes searching yours.