Donna_Sheldon

In a post-apocalyptic world, you'll find four main types of people. Those who fight with all their might "the hunters." The ones who leech and exploit others "the pests." The predators, who see everyone as prey. And lastly, we have "the survivors," the resilient ones who never give up.

Everyone often fits into one category, but it's hard to determine which one Maya falls into. She's not exactly a fighter, considering leaving her room was a chore even before the apocalypse. A predator? No way—she's always been a pushover.

You might think she's a survivor, but that's laughable. She'd rather die from starvation than resort to scavenging. So, how should we categorize her? leeche? Nope.

Perhaps a new category is needed: "The Lost"—those struggling to find their place in a shattered world."

THE LOST : After The End

The sound of shuffling footsteps and guttural groans was getting louder. The air seemed heavier, carrying with it the acrid stench of decay. I could feel the panic setting in, my chest tightening as I crouched beside Alex. He was still slumped against the wall, his face pale, his breathing shallow. Blood soaked through the bandages I had hastily tied around his side, dripping onto the cold, dirty ground.

"Alex, they're still coming," I whispered, my voice trembling.

"I know," he said, his voice strained but calm. Too calm.

"Then let's go," I pleaded, tugging at his arm. He didn't move, just looked at me with those sharp, piercing eyes of his that always seemed to see right through me.

"I can't," he said, barely above a whisper.

"What do you mean you can't?" My voice cracked, hysteria bubbling to the surface. "We have to go!"

CHAPTER 59