Ed was Dreaming again.
But it wasn't a good dream.
It was the kind that make his heart ache and made him wish he'd never closed his eyes.
In the dream, Kia his daughter crying alone, calling for him. Her little voice echoed through a world on fire a world with burning buildings, screaming people, gunshots, smoke suffocated the air and even explosions. He ran toward her, arms outstretched, but she kept slipping further away. A crowd dragged him back, shouting orders, pushing and pulling. His fingers nearly touched hers.
"Papa!" she screamed.
He couldn't reach her.
A darkness swallowed everything.
Ed's eyes snapped open.
The room was still, But something wasn't right.
Then he heard something. Dragging footsteps on the floor above.
Shit.
He held his breath, listening to the footsteps moved down the stairs, it's one of horde.
He rolled silently onto his side, hand closing around the hilt of his machete. He pressed his back against the cold wall, barely breathing. The room was pitch black, except the faint glow from a cracked window.
The infected stumbled through the broken doorframe, sniffing, groaning softly.
Ed stayed still, very Still.
The thing turned its head, its eyes were milky and unfocused. It didn't see him.
It moved past the bed. Fast and silent Ed surge forward. One hand grabbed the back of its neck, the other drove the blade up under its chin.
Splat!
A sickening crack followed and the body went limp in his grip.
A spray of blood hit his face with a wet splatter. Ed held it for a moment thinking how it come to his house with hard breathing.
"Too damn close" he whispered to himself.
After dragging the corpse outside, he wiped the blade clean on a torn curtain.
The sun was rising, pale and reluctant, over the dead city. Ash drifted from somewhere even smoke and a disgusting stench of the corpses.
Ed strapped on his pistol, checked the ammo, then slung his worn-out backpack over one shoulder.
He grabbed his cooking pot and stepped outside, moving toward the skeletal trees near the edge of the block. There, he scavenged what little dry wood he could find. Enough for tonight. Maybe.
Breakfast was just hot water and a chunk of canned meat, barely warm. He chewed it without thought, eyes fixed on the empty streets.
"Maybe today," he muttered. "
Maybe today, I'll find you."
He reached into his jacket and touched the photograph inside. A girl, smiling in a yellow dress. His heart squeezed.
"Kia".
Ed goes to the city and there he found a convenience store that was still standing.
"I didn't expect that this store could withstand the waves" he said to himself.
The sign above the entrance read 7/12 Mart, its plastic letters burned and cracked. A single shopping cart lay overturned in the parking lot, a skeletal hand still tangled in the metal wires.
Inside, it was dark and smelled of rot. But there was food. Ed moved quickly, grabbing canned goods, jerky, bottled water. His eyes darted to the glass doors every few seconds. Years of survival had trained his nerves like wire.
Then he heard something,
"it's them" He whispered.
The sound was faint at first. But it grew. Many feet and groans.
He peered outside, A horde.
He saw a horde.
Maybe thirty or more. Moving slowly down the street.
"shit!" he hissed.
ducking behind the shelves. Luckily, they didn't come inside.
He crouched low, waiting. Letting them pass the store.
Minutes passed like it was an hour.
Eventually, the groaning faded. He exhaled.
Safe.
He crept toward the exit.
Then something ambushed him from behind the stacked cases of soda.
He knocked in the floor. Cold hands clawed at his throat, rotten breath on his face, teeth snapped inches from his skin.
Ed rolled, grabbed a nearby bottle and smashed it into the thing's head. Glass shattered and blodd sprayed.
The infected comes again at him.
He kicked it back, pulled his machete free and drove it into its skull with a roar. The body twitched, then went still.
He was bleeding from his arm he was nervous seeing the wound in his arm.
He looked around; it was too loud.
They'd heard the noise. The horde outside groaned in response. Feet scuffled, head turned and they spotted Ed.
Ed began ran.
"Move. Ed, MOVE!"
He sprinted out the back door, leaping over debris and rusted bikes, slipping through a narrow alley.
The groans grew louder and louder behind him fast and looks like very hungry.
They chase him like there is no tomorrow.
Ed, ran like crazy activating his adrenaline rush. He vaulted over a fence. Rolled into the next yard.
He climbed through window into an abandoned laundry shop. Out the other side.
His legs burned and his chest screamed, But he didn't stop. He run until his lungs gave out.
At last, his base came into view. A weathered two storey house, half-concrete, half-wood, its walls scarred by time and chaos. Reinforced scrap metal and barricades ringed the perimeter, turning the property into a makeshift fortress. A small backyard stretched behind it, tangled with weeds but useful for growing or hiding.
He bolted the door behind him, pressed his back to the wall, and slid down, gasping for breath.
Safe. For now.
Later, he stripped off his clothes and washed himself with cold water from a rusted barrel. The scratches weren't deep. He checked them twice.
"Still me," he said aloud, just to hear a voice.
Dinner was beans and rice heated over the small fire pit in the corner. He ate slowly. Alone.
As the fire crackled, Ed pulled a small frame from his backpack and set it on the table.
Kia.
Big brown eyes. That same yellow dress. Frozen in time.
He stared for a long while.
Then, without warning, the tears came. Slow at first. Then harder.
He covered his face with his hands.
"I'm trying, baby," he choked. "I'm trying so damn hard."
Outside, the wind blew dust against the walls like whispers. But inside, Ed sat in silence, clutching the photo as the night returned.