The morning came slow, crawling over the ruins like it wasn't sure the world deserved sunlight anymore. Gray mist hung over the city, softening the broken edges of collapsed buildings. The rain had stopped hours earlier, leaving the streets wet and shining faintly beneath the pale sky.
Ed stepped out of the ice cream shop first, hands in his pockets, breath white in the cool air. The world was quiet. Too quiet. No moans, no distant footsteps, no rustling from alleyways. Just the low whistle of the wind slipping through window frames and broken doors, a lonely sound that reminded Ed of old western movies he used to watch with Kia.
Men in dust coats walking through empty towns. Saloon doors creaking. A duel at high noon.
Now the city felt exactly like that—abandoned, waiting for trouble.
Ley joined him at the doorway.
"Clear?" she asked, resting her rifle on her shoulder.
He nodded. "Clear… for now."
Gerald stepped out next, stretching his massive arms, yawning loud enough to echo down the street. Merry followed, hair tied back, looking like she hadn't slept but definitely refused to admit it.
"Alright," Merry sighed, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Let's move before the city remembers it hates us."
They started walking. Their boots splashed softly in puddles, steam rising from the warm asphalt. A gentle breeze swept across the street, carrying loose pages of old newspapers that fluttered and danced like ghosts. The world felt frozen, stuck between yesterday's nightmare and tomorrow's unknown.
For almost ten minutes, none of them said a word. It was the kind of silence only survivors understood—listening, always listening.
Then Gerald suddenly grunted, as if remembering something.
"You know," he said casually, "there's something I forgot to mention."
Ley raised a brow. "That sounds bad already."
Gerald shrugged. "Last week… might've seen a chopper land on the highest building downtown."
Everyone stopped walking.
Merry stared. "A helicopter? In this dead city? Your brain fully intact when you saw this?"
Gerald made a face. "Yes, short-hair. I know a helicopter when I see one."
Ed turned sharply, hope flashing across his tired eyes. "Are you serious?"
"Dead serious," Gerald replied. "It landed on top of the Horizon Tower. Didn't stay long. Maybe fifteen minutes. Then took off heading east."
Ed felt something spark inside him—a sharp, sudden jolt of adrenaline he hadn't felt in months. "If someone landed there… maybe they left equipment. Maybe a working radio."
"Exactly what I was thinking," Gerald said with a grin. "If we get to that roof, maybe we can catch a signal."
Ed didn't even try to hide the excitement rising in him. "Then what are we waiting for?"
The group shared a look—hope was rare, dangerous, and addictive. But it was all they had.
They moved.
The journey to Horizon Tower wasn't long, but it felt endless. Streets stretched ahead like empty desert roads, each turn too silent, each shadow too still. Above them, birds circled—carrion birds, waiting. The higher they climbed through the city, the more the wind picked up, whispering through broken billboards and exposed steel beams.
"Feels like we're being watched," Merry muttered.
"That's because we are," Ley replied softly. "Everything watches in this city."
But nothing attacked. No infected stumbled out. No raiders appeared. The city was holding its breath.
When they finally reached the base of the Horizon Tower, they all looked up in quiet awe.
The skyscraper rose into the morning fog like a giant, its top vanishing into clouds. Glass shattered all along its length, vines curling through open floors, metal scaffolding groaning as the wind swept past.
Ed stared at it, exhaling slowly. "Let's hope your chopper story isn't just from hunger hallucinations."
Gerald smirked. "Only one way to find out."
They entered the tower cautiously. The lobby was dark, flooded ankle-deep. The elevator shafts were dead, so they took the emergency stairs—all sixty-two floors of them.
Each floor was a different world:
empty offices frozen in time…
abandoned boardrooms with papers scattered like leaves…
desks still holding framed photos of families who never came back.
By the time they reached the rooftop door, they were drenched in sweat and breathing hard.
Gerald pushed the door open.
Wind slammed into them instantly, cold and fierce. The rooftop stretched wide, littered with debris. And near the center—
A helicopter pad.
Black scorch marks.
Footprints.
And a toppled crate with old supply markings.
Ed hurried to it, heart pounding. He dug through the crate, throwing aside scraps, rusted tools, torn straps. Merry checked the surroundings. Gerald examined the landing marks with a quiet whistle.
Ley moved beside Ed. "Anything?"
He didn't answer—because suddenly, the old radio on the ground crackled to life.
A burst of static shot through the air—sharp, unexpected.
Everyone froze.
Then a voice broke through.
"—ny surviv… respond… over… bzzzz—"
Merry's head snapped up. "That's a live broadcast."
Ed grabbed the radio instinctively. "Hello? Hello, this is— this is Ed! We hear you! Respond!"
More static. The wind whipped across the rooftop. Ed twisted knobs, adjusted frequencies, heart racing.
Then the voice came again—clearer this time, trembling, urgent:
"Any survivors… please respond… we have kids… repeat… we have children here…"
Ed's breath caught. His body went numb.
Children.
He looked at the others, eyes wide, voice breaking. "Kids… they said kids…"
Gerald muttered a curse under his breath. Merry stopped pacing and froze.
Ley stepped closer to Ed, watching him carefully. She knew exactly what that word meant to him. His hands were shaking so hard the radio nearly slipped.
"Kia…" Ed whispered. "It could be Kia."
He turned the dial again desperately. "Please—say your location! Say your coordinates—!"
The radio spat static. Then:
"Shelter… LANBANSA… please… food low… children sick… need—"
The signal cut.
Silence swallowed the rooftop.
For a second, all Ed heard was the pounding in his chest.
Then he whispered, "LANBANSA… thirty kilometers… she could be there… she could be alive…"
Merry looked out over the city. "That's outside the main zone. Roads'll be collapsed, bridges broken, everything crawling."
Gerald shrugged. "Doesn't matter. We got a direction."
Ley knelt beside Ed, placing a hand gently on his arm. "We're going."
He nodded silently.
They searched the rooftop and found minimal supplies left behind by the helicopter crew—a half-empty med kit, a torn map, a solar battery, some dehydrated food packs. Not much, but enough.
Ed took the radio, opened its back, and connected loose wires, adjusting the coils. Ley watched as his fingers moved almost automatically.
"You know radios?" she asked, surprised.
Ed smirked faintly. "Before all this, I fixed electronics for fun. Kia used to break everything she touched."
"Good thing she did," Ley murmured. "Might save us now."
With a final twist, the radio's lights flickered more steadily. Ed clipped it to his bag.
"Let's go."
They traveled the rest of the day across the ruined outskirts, following the broken highway that led east. The city grew smaller behind them, swallowed by fog and smoke. The land ahead stretched wide and silent—abandoned cars rusting in place, trees growing wild through cracked asphalt, old signs bent and faded.
As night approached, the sky glowed faintly orange from distant fires, blending with the smoke clouds above. They set camp under the remains of a collapsed billboard, lighting only a small, shielded fire to keep warm.
Gerald and Merry took first watch.
Ley sat cross-legged near the dim flames, cleaning her rifle. Ed sat a short distance away on a concrete slab, looking out toward the horizon. His silhouette was rigid, tense. The radio lay beside him, silent but glowing faintly.
Ley watched him for a moment before speaking softly. "You're quiet."
Ed didn't look at her. His voice was low, rough.
"If Kia is really in that shelter… what am I supposed to do? What do I even say to her?" He swallowed hard. "And if she's not there… or worse… if she is and she doesn't remember me…"
His voice cracked.
Ley stood and walked over, sitting beside him. She nudged him lightly with her shoulder.
"Listen," she said, firm but gentle. "If Kia isn't there, we keep looking. We don't stop. You hear me? Not then. Not ever."
Ed's eyes glistened in the firelight.
Ley continued, softer now, "And if she is there… then you hold her. You tell her you never stopped. You prove it by showing up."
Ed opened his mouth, but no words came. Only a trembling smile.
He looked up at the night sky—stars hidden behind smoke, glowing faintly like faded memories.
"Thank you," he whispered.
Ley exhaled, her breath fogging in the cold air. "Don't thank me yet. You're still a walking trouble magnet."
Ed chuckled weakly. "Wouldn't be me otherwise."
They sat silently, the fire crackling between them. The night was cold, but for the first time in months, Ed felt something warm beneath his ribs.
Hope.
Not the fragile kind.
The dangerous kind.
The kind worth dying for.
Ahead of them, LANBANSA waited.
Thirty kilometers.
A radio signal.
And the possibility—no, the promise—that Kia was out there somewhere.
Ed closed his eyes, breathed deep, and whispered into the night:
"Hold on, baby girl. I'm coming."
And the smoke-filled sky above seemed to swallow his words whole, carrying them toward dawn.
To be continued…