The world felt like a ghost of its former self, a landscape twisted and hollowed by the aftermath of chaos. Kansas City, once buzzing with energy, now stood muted under a green blanket of nature reclaiming its ground. Trees thrust upward through the vestiges of crumbled buildings, while vines snaked over cragged asphalt, the echoes of laughter and life replaced by an unsettling silence. This apocalypse hadn’t just stolen lives; it had wiped the slate, leaving nothing but faint reminders of what once was.

John navigated the overgrown terrain cautiously, every step calculated. The shotgun cradled in his grip felt both familiar and heavy, a reminder of the constant vigilance required in this shattered world. The ghosts of danger surrounded him—infected lurked, but the living could be even more deceptive, hiding their own threats in this lawless expanse.

As he moved forward through the lush, yet perilous underbrush, a noise sliced through the quiet—a sound muffled yet alarming enough to halt him in his tracks. His trap had done its job, but not as he intended.

Emerging from the shadows, he advanced toward the sound, expecting to find a small creature, perhaps a rabbit—just enough to stave off the pangs of hunger that gnawed at him. But as he drew closer, dread pooled in his stomach. What he found hanging from the trap wasn’t a rabbit. A kid was there.

The child was no more than fourteen, perhaps even younger, their form fragile and covered in grime. The trap caught them by the ankle, with no protection, no way to escape. And despite the distress of their predicament, they're asleep, curled up as if seeking warmth and safety in a world that offered neither.

John let out a slow breath, his frustration palpable. This wasn’t how his day was meant to unfold. The weight of yet another burden felt like a cruel twist of fate.

For a moment, he battled the urge to just walk away. Why should he take on the responsibility of a kid? In this unforgiving landscape, survival was paramount, and he had long ago learned to protect only himself. A child demands more attention, more resources. And most importantly, more "shut up" if they were a chatterbox.

But in that moment of indecision, a flicker of guilty stirred within him. A remnant of the man he once was, buried beneath layers of loss and survival instinct, rose up to challenge his apathy.

Children were distractions; he had learned that lesson well. They could expose you to danger, pull you back from the solitary life he had grown accustomed to. Yet, here he stood, faced with a child caught in the web of fate, and turning a blind eye wasn’t an option.

With a heavy sigh, he approached the trap, using the barrel of his gun to gently nudge the kid’s shoulder. “Hey, kiddo. Time to wake up,” he said, his voice steady but laced with impatience.

Every instinct told him to keep moving, to pursue his path north to Alaska and the brother he yearned to find. But the world was no longer simple, and choices weighed heavier than survival alone.