The world was still damp from the night before. When Alex woke, the ceiling above him was cracked but steady, the faint morning light breaking through the dusty glass of the store window. The rain had stopped, leaving behind a hush that felt almost unnatural—no voices, no engines, no hum of life. Only the occasional creak of a distant structure giving in to time.
Ash stirred beside him, stretching his legs before trotting toward the open doorway. The air outside was cool and heavy with the scent of wet asphalt. Alex pushed himself up, his back sore from the tiled floor, his clothes sticking slightly to his skin. His stomach growled softly. He glanced at the shelf he had raided the night before—half-empty packets of chips, some bottled water, and a chocolate bar he hadn't finished. It wasn't much, but it had kept him going.
He patted Ash's head. "Come on, boy. Let's move."
The streets looked as though they had been emptied by time itself. Cars sat at odd angles, doors open, windows shattered. Some bodies still lay where they'd fallen—covered in soot, unrecognizable, their outlines softened by the mist. Alex tried not to look too long. He had learned that staring didn't help, and pity didn't bring anyone back.
He walked slowly, scanning the ruins for movement. His boots splashed in shallow puddles, the sound echoing faintly through the hollow city. A billboard hung halfway down from a building, its advertisement torn but still clinging to the frame. "Paradise Awaits," it read in faded colors. He almost laughed. Paradise was long gone.
They walked for hours, following streets that bent and narrowed, weaving between overturned vehicles. The silence pressed on him like weight. Only Ash's occasional bark or the flutter of birds in the distance broke it.
By noon, Alex's legs ached. The air had warmed, carrying a faint smell of burnt metal. He found a cracked water pipe and cupped his hands beneath the slow drip. Ash drank eagerly beside him.
Then came the sound—sharp and quick, a low rumble beneath the ground. Alex barely had time to look up before a muffled explosion burst nearby. The shockwave lifted dust and debris, throwing him backward. He hit something hard—the edge of a collapsed road—and felt his body tumble. The world tilted, spun, and went black.
He didn't know how long he was out. The first thing he heard was Ash barking—loud, panicked, echoing through the air. He tried to move, but his body refused. Pain pulsed at the back of his head. He could only blink, the light above him shifting through blurred shapes.
Then silence. Then more barking—fainter, farther away.
Ash had run off.
He wanted to call out but couldn't. His throat was dry, his voice caught in the ache behind his ribs. His fingers scraped against the dirt beside him as if reaching for something that wasn't there. Then, slowly, the darkness came back.
When he opened his eyes again, the world was moving. Shadows passed above him—human silhouettes. A voice said, "He's alive. Help me lift him."
Hands gripped his shoulders, firm but careful. The air smelled different now—like sweat and smoke and oil. Another voice, softer, said, "Easy. Don't move his head too much."
He blinked again, the faces resolving slowly into form. Two people—maybe his age—one boy, one girl. They looked alike, twins. The boy, with short, dark hair and a cautious look. The girl, her face sharp but kind, eyes focused. Behind them stood a small group—five, maybe six others—all armed with scavenged weapons and wearing patched clothing.
"You found him?" a man from the group asked.
The girl nodded.
Ash stood nearby, tail wagging faintly, his coat streaked with mud. Alex almost smiled.
The boy extended a hand. "Can you walk?"
Alex took it, steadying himself. His head throbbed, but he nodded. "Yeah… I think so."
"Good," the girl said. "We're taking you back to the shelter. It's safe there."
Her voice was soft, measured. She had the tone of someone used to giving directions, but not loudly. There was authority there—gentle, not heavy.
They walked for a long while, weaving through what was left of the city. Alex followed silently, his eyes tracing the path of broken buildings. Ash stayed close to his side, every so often glancing back at the others. The twins introduced themselves—Eric and Erica—and told him about the shelter, a hotel that had survived the worst of the invasion. Hundreds had gathered there. There was food, light, and order. A leader who knew what he was doing.
When the Grand Haven Hotel finally came into view, Alex felt his chest tighten. It rose above the ruins, tall and almost intact. Its windows glowed faintly from inside, and guards stood at the entrance, rifles in hand. For a moment, it felt like the world hadn't completely ended.
Inside, the air was warmer. Generators hummed softly. People moved about with quiet purpose—carrying supplies, tending to children, cleaning. There was a sense of rhythm, of life trying to restart itself.
A man stood near the center of the lobby, speaking to a group of others. His posture was straight, his voice calm but firm. His hair was streaked with gray, his eyes sharp and watchful. When he noticed Alex, he paused mid-sentence.
"New arrival?" he asked.
Erica nodded. "We found him near the old district. He was unconscious."
The man approached. Up close, Alex could see the lines of fatigue etched into his face. But there was steadiness there too—the kind of presence that kept people from falling apart.
"I'm Commander Jason," he said simply. "Welcome to the Grand Haven. You're safe here."
Alex nodded. "Thank you."
Jason studied him for a moment longer, then turned to one of the guards. "Get him checked, give him a room on the south wing. It's quieter there." Then, to Erica, "See that he gets settled."
"Yes, sir."
Jason's gaze lingered for a moment. "And keep that dog in the courtyard. With the others."
Alex opened his mouth to protest but stopped. He looked at Ash, who wagged his tail weakly. A volunteer led him away. The dog looked back once, eyes calm, as if to say, it's okay.
Alex felt the emptiness again, just for a second.
The south wing was quiet, just like Jason had said. The halls smelled faintly of dust and old perfume. Some of the lights flickered, but the place was clean and warm.
Erica walked beside him, carrying a small pack. "You should shower first. I'll find you some clothes."
He nodded. "Thanks."
The water was cold, but it felt like life returning to his skin. When he stepped out, wrapping himself in a towel, the door creaked. Erica entered, her face slightly flushed from the heat of the corridors. She was holding folded clothes—a simple shirt, dark trousers, socks.
"I, uh… brought these," she said quickly, eyes darting away when she realized he wasn't fully dressed. "Sorry—didn't know you were—"
"It's okay," Alex said, almost amused. "Thanks."
She turned to leave, but the door handle wouldn't move. She frowned and tried again. "That's strange."
"Let me," Alex said, reaching past her. The metal twisted in his grip and snapped. The handle clattered to the floor. They both froze.
"You've got to be kidding me," she whispered.
They knocked, called out—but no one came. The south wing wasn't fully occupied yet, and their voices died in the empty hall beyond the door.
After a while, Alex sighed. "Looks like we're stuck here for now."
Erica gave a small laugh. "Great. My first day babysitting someone and I break the door."
He smiled faintly. "Not your fault."
They talked for a while, sitting by the small lamp near the bed. The air was still cool from the rain. The world outside the window was dark and quiet, the faint hum of the generator somewhere far below.
After some time, Alex lay down. "You can sleep wherever," he said softly. "The floor, the chair… wherever's fine."
Erica hesitated. She sat near the door at first, knees to her chest. The floor was cold. She tried to close her eyes, but the shiver wouldn't leave her.
Then Alex's voice came from the dark. "You can come up here if you want. Just—keep your distance, alright?"
Her relief was quiet. "Thanks." She lay down carefully, staying near the edge.
They spoke in whispers, the kind that belong only to quiet nights.
Alex told her about the day everything went wrong, about Aunt Anna, about the silence after.
Erica listened, her eyes soft. "You made it through," she said. "That's what matters."
He turned his head slightly. "You really think it'll get better?"
"I don't know," she said. "But I think… it doesn't have to get worse."
There was nothing left to say after that. The generator's hum filled the silence.
Erica's breathing slowed, steady and soft. Alex watched her for a moment, then reached out and brushed a strand of her dark hair from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear. He pulled the blanket higher over her shoulders.
The room was dim, the air still. For the first time in a long while, the quiet didn't feel cruel.
Alex lay back, closed his eyes, and finally let sleep find him.