Day 3 - 4: Shelter
A shuffle of a blanket sounded behind him, and Ethan whirled, muscles tensing. But it was only Zoe, her eyes wide and questioning. Ethan relaxed, offering a reassuring nod. He gestured to the kitchen table, where their packs lay ready.
It was time.
Ethan pulled out a small whiteboard and marker, scribbling quickly: "We can't wait any longer. Your mom would want us to be safe. We're heading to the evacuation point."
Zoe's lower lip trembled as she read the words, but she squared her shoulders and nodded. The girl had more steel in her than he'd given her credit for.
They dressed in silence, every rustle of fabric seeming to echo in the stillness. Ethan pulled on a faded camouflage shirt, memories of his Ranger days flickering through his mind. He handed Zoe one of his old camo shirts from his teenage years. It was still too big on her slender frame, but it would help them blend in.
Ethan watched as Zoe fastened the machete to her belt with trembling hands. He wanted to tell her it would be okay, that they'd find Megan and everything would work out. But false hope could get them killed. Instead, he gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze.
Ethan checked his gear one last time. Suppressed rifle slung across his back, handgun at his hip. Water, rations, first aid kit – all accounted for. He pulled on a pair of thick socks, then wrapped strips of cloth around his boots once more. Zoe mimicked his actions, her movements growing more confident with each passing moment.
At the door, Ethan paused. He pulled out the whiteboard again: "Remember the hand signals we practiced. Stay low, move slow. Follow my lead."
Zoe nodded, her jaw set with determination. Ethan took a deep breath, then slowly, carefully, opened the door.
The world outside was a nightmare made real. Overturned cars littered the street, their windows shattered and a lone sneaker lay in the middle of the road. The acrid smell of smoke hung in the air, and in the distance, a column of dark clouds rose ominously against the pale sky.
Ethan's eyes scanned constantly, years of training kicking in. He motioned for Zoe to follow, and they set off down the debris-strewn sidewalk. Their wrapped feet made barely a whisper against the concrete.
As they rounded a corner, Ethan froze. A small group of survivors was huddled in the shadow of a burnt-out convenience store. One of them, a middle-aged man with a wild beard, locked eyes with Ethan. For a moment, tension crackled in the air. Then the man nodded slightly, a gesture of wary understanding. Ethan returned the nod and moved on. There was no room for alliances in this new world.
Their first stop was a ransacked pharmacy. Ethan held up a closed fist – stop – then pointed to his eyes and swept his hand forward – look around. Zoe nodded, her own gaze darting nervously as they entered the store.
Inside, it was chaos. Shelves had been overturned, their contents spilled across the floor. Ethan picked his way carefully through the debris, gathering what he could. Antibiotics, painkillers, bandages – anything that might prove useful. He stuffed his finds into his pack, motioning for Zoe to do the same.
A sudden clatter made them both freeze. Ethan's hand flew to his weapon, eyes straining in the dim light. A rat scurried out from behind a fallen display, and he let out a silent breath of relief. But the incident had set his nerves on edge. They needed to move.
Back on the street, Ethan pointed to a sign: "Mike's Sporting Goods." If they were lucky, they might find some useful supplies in his friend's store.
As they approached the store, Ethan's heart sank. Half the building had collapsed, its roof caved in like a giant had taken a bite out of it. But the other half looked relatively intact. Worth a try.
Inside, the air was thick with dust. Ethan's nose twitched at the musty smell of damp and decay. But amid the destruction, there were treasures to be found. A box of waterproof matches. A high-quality compass. A few packages of dehydrated meals. Each find went into their packs.
As Zoe rummaged through a pile of camping gear, Ethan's attention was drawn to a rack of camouflage clothing. He selected a few pieces that looked like they might fit Zoe better than his old shirt. Practical, and it might help keep her warm when night fell.
A movement outside the shattered storefront caught Ethan's eye. He dropped into a crouch, signaling Zoe to do the same. A family of four crept past, their faces gaunt and eyes hollow. The father carried a baseball bat, his knuckles white around the handle. The mother clutched a toddler to her chest, while an older boy brought up the rear, constantly looking over his shoulder.
Ethan watched them go, a mix of emotions churning in his gut. Part of him wanted to join forces. Safety in numbers, after all. But he knew better. More people meant more noise, more chances for something to go wrong. He and Zoe were better off on their own.
As the family disappeared around a corner, Ethan motioned for Zoe to follow him back outside. They needed to keep moving.
The sun climbed higher as they made their way through the broken city. Ethan's eyes constantly scanned their surroundings, noting possible escape routes, potential hiding spots. His ears strained for any sound out of place – the scrape of claw against asphalt, the telltale clicking that preceded an attack.
Around midday, they paused in the shadow of an abandoned school bus. Ethan pulled out some jerky and passed a piece to Zoe. As they chewed silently, he noticed her watching a group of pigeons pecking at something on the ground nearby. Her hand twitched towards the small sketchbook in her pack, and Ethan nodded encouragingly.
As Zoe sketched, Ethan found his thoughts turning once again to Megan. Where was she? Or was she... No. He couldn't think like that. Megan was smart, resourceful. She was alive. She had to be.
A distant explosion shattered the relative quiet, making them both jump. Ethan's hand flew to his rifle, eyes scanning frantically for any sign of movement. But there was nothing – just the fading echoes and a plume of smoke rising in the distance.
Ethan tapped Zoe's shoulder, pointing to the street ahead. Time to move. As they set off again, Ethan found himself marveling at how quickly Zoe had adapted. Her movements were more fluid now, her steps almost as silent as his own. She was learning fast.
As the afternoon wore on, they began to encounter more survivors, all headed in the same direction. The evacuation point. Ethan's jaw clenched. More people meant more danger, more chances of attracting unwanted attention. But they had no choice. They needed to find Megan, and the evacuation point was their best bet.
A woman stumbled past them, her eyes wild and unfocused. She was muttering under her breath, a constant stream of barely audible words. Ethan tensed, ready to intervene if she grew louder. But she wandered on, lost in her own world.
As the sun began to dip towards the horizon, they needed to find shelter for the night. Traveling after dark was suicide. He spotted an abandoned apartment building, its lower windows already boarded up. Perfect.
Inside, they cleared a small apartment on the second floor, pushing a heavy dresser in front of the door. As Zoe settled in Ethan took stock of their supplies. They had enough food and water for a few more days, but after that...
Ethan pushed the thought aside, focusing on the present. He watched as Zoe pulled out her charcoal and a worn sketchpad, her fingers moving deftly across the paper.
Ethan peered over her shoulder, watching as the skyline of Tacoma took shape on the page. But in Zoe's drawing, buildings crumbled, smoke rose from countless fires, and in the distance, the unmistakable silhouette of a Death Angel loomed.
As Zoe worked, Ethan found his mind wandering. Three days. It had been three days since the world went to hell, and the silence that blanketed the city was oppressive. It was becoming clear that humanity was losing this war. The thought sent a chill down his spine.
Maybe island nations had been spared the initial invasion. But if these creatures could swim... Ethan shook his head. No place would be safe for long.
His thoughts turned to the military's efforts. They'd discovered the creatures' weakness – high-frequency sounds. But how? Ethan's brow furrowed as he pieced together what he knew. The Death Angels', as they termed them, have incredible hearing, those strange plates that opened and closed on their heads...
He grabbed his own whiteboard, jotting down his theory. When the creatures opened those plates, exposing the sensory organs beneath, they must be incredibly vulnerable to certain frequencies. The military had found a way to exploit that weakness. But without access to their technology, Ethan and Zoe were still defenseless.
As night fell, they prepared for sleep, laying down blankets on the hard floor. Ethan took first watch, his eyes fixed on the street below, ears straining for any hint of danger.
The next morning, they cautiously made their way to the roof of the building. Ethan pulled out his binoculars, scanning the area. People were on the move, more than he'd seen in days. All heading in the same direction – towards the evacuation point.
Something about the situation made the hair on the back of Ethan's neck stand up. He hadn't seen any Death Angels in a while, which should have been reassuring. Instead, it filled him with dread.
They continued their journey, moving carefully from shadow to shadow. As they neared the evacuation point, the number of people increased dramatically. Ethan's unease grew. He could hear the shuffle of feet, the quiet murmur of voices. It was too much noise. Too many people in one place.
Suddenly, Ethan grabbed Zoe's arm, pulling her into the shelter of an abandoned storefront. His eyes were wide, his breathing rapid. Zoe looked at him questioningly.
Ethan grabbed his whiteboard, scribbling frantically: "Too many people. Too much noise. It's not safe."
Zoe's eyes widened in understanding, then narrowed with determination. She reached for her charcoal and paper, sketching rapidly. In moments, she held up a drawing of the crowd, with dark, menacing shapes descending upon them from all sides.
Ethan nodded grimly.
No sooner had the thought formed than the first scream pierced the air. It was quickly joined by others. Ethan instinctively clamped his hands over Zoe's ears, but she reached up, slowly pulling them away. Her eyes met his, she was choosing to face this horror head-on, just as he was.
The sounds of carnage outside were overwhelming. The shrieks of the Death Angels mingled with human screams and the wet, meaty sounds of... Ethan forced the thought away. They needed to move, to find a safer place to hole up until this massacre was over.
Zoe was already writing on her paper, the charcoal smudging her fingers black. "What about Mom?" her note read, the words underlined twice.
Ethan's heart clenched. He'd been trying not to think about Megan, about the possibility that she might have been in that crowd. He reached for his whiteboard, his hand shaking slightly as he wrote: "Mom's smart. She wouldn't have come here. We'll find her."
Zoe nodded, but Ethan could see the doubt in her eyes. It mirrored his own.