Chapter 8

The fire crackled softly as Alex lay on his back, staring up at the faint starlight peeking through the dense forest canopy. The chill of the night air was beginning to settle in, and while the warmth from the fire helped, the cold reality of the world he now faced was ever-present in his thoughts.

He closed his eyes, trying to will himself to sleep, but his mind refused to let go of the events from the depot. The soldiers had been organized, purposeful, and far too well-equipped for mere scavengers. Whoever they were, they weren't just surviving like he was—they had a mission, a goal. The word "hotspot" echoed in his mind. It didn't make sense yet, but something told him it wasn't just another location overrun with zombies.

Alex sighed, turning over to face the fire. He couldn't shake the feeling that these soldiers might be connected to something bigger—maybe even the cause of this entire nightmare. Or, at the very least, they might have answers about the virus and the undead.

But there was no time for those thoughts now. Tomorrow was another day, and survival was all that mattered. He needed to get closer to the border, to move farther south. The sparse wilderness of Mongolia had provided him some safety, but it wouldn't last forever. Sooner or later, he would encounter more survivors, more soldiers, and worse—more of the undead.

He drifted into an uneasy sleep, his hand still clutching the hilt of his knife.

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Alex woke with a start, the early morning light filtering through the trees. It was quiet, too quiet. The kind of silence that gnawed at him, making him feel like something was watching from the shadows. He quickly doused the remnants of his fire, packed up his belongings, and moved with caution as he continued his journey south.

The forest was dense and wild, making progress slow. Each step seemed to carry the weight of uncertainty, and every distant sound set his nerves on edge. But he pressed forward, relying on his instincts, his knife, and his growing experience to navigate this dangerous world.

By midday, he reached a small river, its waters clear and fast-moving. He knelt by the edge, filling his bottle, and took a few cautious sips. The cold water soothed his parched throat, but his eyes kept darting around, scanning the surroundings for any signs of movement. The encounter with the soldiers had heightened his paranoia, and now every quiet moment felt like the calm before a storm.

As he finished, he stood, stretching his aching muscles. The terrain had been unforgiving, and fatigue was starting to set in. He debated setting up camp for the night, but something in his gut told him to keep moving. The river would eventually lead to a settlement or at least an open area where he could get his bearings.

He followed the river for hours, the sun dipping lower on the horizon as the sky shifted to hues of orange and pink. The peacefulness of the setting sun felt like a cruel reminder of the world that once was, before everything fell apart.

Suddenly, he heard a sound—a rustling in the brush ahead. Alex stopped in his tracks, his body tense, every sense heightened. He slowly unsheathed his knife, crouching low as he moved toward the source of the noise. His heart pounded in his chest, his breath shallow as he scanned the dense foliage.

A figure emerged from the trees, staggering into view.

Alex's grip tightened on his knife, ready for another fight. But something was off. The figure wasn't moving like the zombies he had encountered before—it was slower, limping, and weak. As it drew closer, he could make out more details. It was a man, older, with a long gray beard and ragged clothes. He looked worn, as if he had been wandering for days.

The man collapsed to his knees by the edge of the river, gasping for air.

Alex hesitated. Every instinct screamed at him to stay back, to be cautious. But this man was no threat, at least not in the state he was in. Slowly, Alex stepped forward, his knife still in hand.

"Hey," he called out, his voice low but firm. "Are you hurt?"

The man lifted his head, his eyes sunken and tired. "Water," he rasped, his voice barely a whisper. "Please… water."

Alex knelt by the river, filling his bottle, and cautiously handed it to the man. The stranger drank greedily, spilling some of it down his beard. After a few moments, he lowered the bottle, his breathing more even, though he still looked weak.

"Thank you," the man muttered, his voice barely audible. "I didn't think I'd… make it."

"Who are you?" Alex asked, eyeing him carefully. "How long have you been out here?"

The man coughed, wiping his mouth with a shaky hand. "Too long," he said. "I'm from one of the settlements to the south. We… we got overrun. The dead, they just… kept coming. I barely escaped."

Alex's heart sank. Another settlement, destroyed. The story was the same everywhere. The world was slowly crumbling, piece by piece. "You said south? How far?"

"Not far," the man replied, pointing weakly down the river. "A few days, maybe less if you keep to the river. But it's dangerous… the dead, and worse…"

"Worse?" Alex asked, frowning.

The man nodded, his expression darkening. "People. They're the real danger now. Some of them… they've turned feral. Like animals. They'll do anything to survive."

Alex clenched his fists. He had seen what people were capable of, but this was a new level of desperation. If the settlements were overrun and survivors had turned against each other, then the path south was more dangerous than he had imagined.

"You should come with me," Alex said. "We can find shelter together, move carefully."

The man shook his head, his face pale and gaunt. "No. I can't… not anymore." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, crumpled piece of paper. "Take this," he said, pressing it into Alex's hand. "It's a map… there's a place, farther south, in the mountains. They say it's safe. But I couldn't make it."

Alex unfolded the map, his eyes scanning the markings. It was crude, hand-drawn, but it showed a path leading to the mountains, deep into the southern region. A safe place. Hope flickered in his chest, though he tried to keep his expectations grounded. In this world, hope was a dangerous thing.

The man coughed again, his body trembling. "Go… find it," he whispered. "Don't waste time on me."

Alex watched him, torn between staying and helping or moving on. But the man's condition was clear. He was too weak to continue, and staying with him meant risking both of their lives.

Reluctantly, Alex nodded, tucking the map into his jacket. "Thank you," he said quietly.

The man smiled faintly, his eyes closing as he lay back against the riverbank, his breathing slowing.

Alex stood, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He knew what had to be done. He couldn't stay, couldn't risk his life here. With one final glance at the man, he turned and continued down the river, the promise of the mountains pulling him forward.

But in the back of his mind, he knew that safety was a fleeting concept in this world. And every step south only brought new dangers.

As night fell, he pressed on, determined to reach the next phase of his journey, even if it meant facing the worst humanity had to offer.