Chapter 3 — Lives Before the End
Night fell upon the ruined world. Renfield and Runa found shelter in an abandoned apartment, propped up on makeshift mattresses, listening to the wind whistle through the broken windows. The fire from a small campfire danced between them, casting errant shadows on the cracked walls.
Runa looked at Renfield curiously.
"What was your life like before all this?" she asked, fiddling with one of the baseball bat piercings she had as a memento of their encounter.
Renfield laughed, playing with his eyepatch.
"It wasn't glamorous at all, princess. I was just a punk lost in garage shows, trying to survive the boredom and part-time job at a convenience store."
He sighed, looking up at the ceiling.
"I had a band, if you can call it a band." We played wherever we could, and the audience was always the same three drunks and the bar owner's cat.
Renfield looked at Runa, with a crooked smile.
"But it was fun. Then the virus appeared, and we ended up becoming statistics—or survivors, in my case."
Runa smiled, encouraged.
"I was a biology student. I dreamed of working in a lab, discovering new things, saving lives."
She grimaced.
"Irony of fate, huh? Now, saving lives is literally killing zombies."
Runa looked at the fire.
"I lived with my parents. They… didn't survive. I ran away the first day, took my little brother's baseball bat, and never came home again."
Renfield was silent for a moment, respecting her pain.
"You're braver than you look, princess."
He looked at the sky overcast by the windows.
"I've lost people too." But we learn to live with longing... and anger.
Runa smiled, feeling a strangely comforting connection with that sarcastic man.
"And now we're here, telling stories at the end of the world."
Renfield raised an old bottle of water, as if in a toast.
"At least we have good stories to tell, right?"
They laughed together, as the night continued, and the world outside remained silent - for now.