The city had changed.
Once full of life and noise, now it sat like a hollow shell. Buildings leaned like tired giants. Cars were rusted and their windows are shattered. Billboards flapped in the wind, advertising things that no longer mattered.
Ed walked the empty street with quiet steps, a photo crumpled in his hand. His pistol rested snug in its holster, machete on his back, and every step was measured.
He paused when he reached the park.
A quick memory past his mind. this was the park that they used to played.
Grass overgrown. Slide bent and rusted. A swing creaked in the breeze.
He looked down at the photo—Kia, four years old, grinning with her two front teeth missing.
He brushed a thumb over the image.
"I'm coming, baby," he said, voice low. "Papa's coming."
He tucked the photo back into his jacket and moved.
Fast. Quiet. Focused.
He ducked behind broken fences, slipped through alleys. The infected wandered the city like sleepwalkers, slow and dull. He avoided most of them and kill if it is necessary.
Bang!
One clean shot to the head. Always aiming low on noise, conserving bullets. He moved on before the echoes faded.
He didn't stop to stare. He just kept moving for the rest of the day.
Day one and two were uneventful. He kept to shadows, avoided busy streets. The sun was hot, but the city always felt cold.
He rested in construction sites and broken stores—anywhere that offered cover and a quick exit.
On the third night, he found a shop with the windows boarded up. There was dust on the counters and old snacks turned to powder. He laid down behind the register, photo of Kia tucked to his chest, blade beside him.
By the fourth day, his legs ached. He hadn't seen another living soul. He wasn't sure if he preferred it that way.
But on the fifth day, he heard someone's voices.
Six men, laughing too loudly. Armed. Confident.
He watched from a distance.
"—check the pharmacy up the street."
"We should've ditched that runner earlier."
"You see anyone today?"
One of them noticed him. "Hey, you! You okay?"
Ed nodded, slow and cautious.
"We're friendly. Got room for one more."
Their smiles were wide. Too wide.
He stepped forward, fake smile on his face.
"Sure," Ed said. "Safety in numbers, right?"
They welcomed him with open arms too quickly. Their eyes scanned his gear more than his face. They made jokes, tried to seem normal. But Ed knew better.
He listened. Watched.
They weren't survivors.
They were scavengers—people who smiled while stealing. People who would leave you bleeding in an alley if it meant one more can of food.
He'd met people like them before.
So, Ed played along.
He helped them scout buildings. Made small talk. Laughed at their stupid jokes.
But in his mind, a plan was forming.
By the afternoon, Ed suggested checking an old building near Luna St.
"Used to work here before all this," he told them. "Might be supplies in the back rooms."
The building was large, dark inside, and had only one clear exit.
They followed him inside without question.
Earlier that day, Ed had made some noise in the nearby alley. Enough to draw the infected.
Now they were coming.
Slow at first. Then more.
The group moved through the building, flashlights cutting through dust and shadow.
"This place sucks."
"Ed, you sure there's anything here?"
Ed smiled. "Oh, there's something."
The moaning started low.
Then louder.
One of them cursed. Another spun toward the noise.
"What the hell is that?!"
They ran for the exit.
But it was too late.
The infected were already pouring in and dozens of them.
"ED! HELP US!"
"You son of a—!"
"LET US OUT!"
Ed stood on the second-floor balcony, unmoving.
He watched them scream, curse, cry for mercy, and slowly die.
Down below, panic turned to chaos as the horde closed in. The sound of tearing flesh and breaking bones filled the air.
He didn't flinch.
To him, this wasn't cruelty. It was punishment.
They played kind. They hunted the weak. They used trust as a weapon.
Now they were paying for it. well with interest.
"It's still not enough," Ed muttered under his breath.
Not enough for what they'd done to the victim that they targeted.
He turned away, calm and quiet, like he was walking out of a room that never mattered.It was evening when Ed reached the edge of town. The sky was painted in oranges and red clouds.
His home came into view.
He approached slowly.
Then stopped.
The door.
It was open.
He always locked it.
His hand moved to his machete. His heart began to race.
Not infected.
They can't open doors.
A raider?
He stepped inside, slow and silent. Every creak of the floor made him pause.
Then he saw it, the lime light glowing from the kitchen.
Someone was here.
He tightened his grip on the blade and moved forward, each step placed with care.
Then a voice.
A soft familiar voice.
"Ed?"
He froze.
His blade dropped with a clatter.
He turned.
Eyes wide.
She stepped out of the light. Dust in her hair, clothes worn from travel. But the voice... he would never forget that voice.
Tears filled his eyes instantly, spilling over without warning.
"You've been through a lot, Ed" she said, crossing her arms. "Look at you. You look like an old man."
She sniffed. "And you stink. That beard, ugh. It's horrible."
Ed smiled.
Really smiled.
The first time in years.
Then he stepped forward and pulled her into a hug, holding her like she was the last real thing in the world.
"I've missed your nagging" Ed said with a soft smile.
He shook, quietly.
"Ley," he whispered.
She hugged him back, resting her chin on his shoulder.
"Took you long enough."
And for the first time since the world ended,Ed felt like he was home.