Survivor

"Have you double-checked the medicines?" Victor whispered, leaning closer to Hiroshi, who was sorting through the salvaged goods from the shop they had raided.

Victor’s eyes narrowed as he took in the pile—mostly cup noodles, canned goods, and other processed foods loaded with monosodium glutamate. His expression soured, and he couldn’t help but grimace.

"Are those even still edible?" he asked, his tone edged with skepticism as he spotted the faded expiration dates stamped on the packages. "We’ve got enough food at home—healthy food, at that. We don’t need this junk."

Hiroshi chuckled, holding up a cup of noodles and inspecting it with mock seriousness. "They only expired a month ago," he said with a grin. "I doubt they’re poisonous yet."

Victor crossed his arms, unimpressed, but Hiroshi merely shrugged. "Besides," he added, "we can’t just live off your supplies. You’ve worked hard to stockpile all that food for years, I’m guessing. Otherwise, it wouldn’t look so… extravagant."

Victor raised an eyebrow at the word, clearly unimpressed by Hiroshi’s casual attitude. "Extravagant, huh?" he muttered, though he made no effort to stop him from packing the expired food.

"Hey," Hiroshi said lightly, sensing the tension, "food is food when you’re desperate. And who knows? We might need a quick meal when we’re on the move."

Victor sighed but said nothing more, turning his attention back to their surroundings. He knew Hiroshi had a point, even if he hated to admit it. Out here, survival often trumped preferences or even health.

Although zombies couldn’t survive in the sun, Victor remained cautious. His fingers hovered near the shotgun slung across his chest, ready to raise it at the slightest sign of danger.

He didn’t trust the stillness of the streets, knowing that some people—those who had lost everything—could be just as deadly, driven to madness by hunger and despair.

"Alright, I’ve got all the meds correct," Hiroshi said, standing up with a grunt as he hoisted the extra bags he’d found in the store.

He waved the list in the air, looking slightly proud of his haul. "Can I keep this? I’ve memorized most of it, but there are a few things I couldn’t even pronounce. Just in case I need them again."

Victor nodded. "Sure." His eyes scanned the street, wary of any movement in the distance. "It’s almost noon, too. We better head back before Azumi drags us out looking for you."

Hiroshi chuckled, shifting the weight of the bags onto one shoulder. When Victor extended a hand, Hiroshi passed over two of the bags.

"Azumi seems really kind, though," Hiroshi continued as they walked out of the store. "I’m really grateful that the two of you took us in."

Victor flashed a small smile, his gaze softening for a moment. "She’s a great person," he said, his voice filled with affection. "I couldn’t ask for a better partner."

As they navigated the eerily quiet streets, Hiroshi instinctively stayed close to Victor, his eyes darting to every shadow and corner. The silence was unnerving, broken only by their cautious footsteps and the occasional rustle of debris in the wind.

"Stay out of the dark alleys," Victor warned, his voice low but firm, his hand tightening around the shotgun. "You never know what might be nesting in there."

Hiroshi nodded, glancing uneasily at a nearby alley cloaked in shadow. Even with the sun high in the sky, darkness was a haven for danger. Zombies, repelled by the sunlight, thrived in places the light couldn’t reach—abandoned buildings, underground passages, and shadowed corners where the sun’s rays were powerless.

Victor’s sharp gaze scanned their surroundings, his movements deliberate and purposeful. "It’s not just the zombies," he added after a pause. "In places like that, there’s no telling who—or what—you’ll run into. Desperate people do desperate things."

The weight of his words lingered in the air, and Hiroshi couldn’t suppress a shiver. He tightened his grip on the bags he carried, suddenly more aware of the vulnerability in their exposed position.

Every step felt heavier as they passed those skeletal remains of once-bustling shops and homes. The sunlit streets offered a fragile sense of safety, but it was a thin veil. The knowledge that darkness harbored unseen threats was a constant reminder of how precarious survival had become.

Hiroshi cast a sidelong glance at Victor, whose steady demeanor was both reassuring and intimidating. He wondered how many times Victor had walked these streets before, how many dangers he had faced to acquire the supplies and security they now relied on.

"Do you think there are still survivors out here?" Hiroshi asked suddenly, his voice low, careful not to disturb the unsettling quiet.

Victor let out a weary sigh. "I have no idea," he admitted. "Azumi and I haven’t left our house in three years." He glanced at Hiroshi, catching the flicker of surprise on his face.

"That explains the sealed passages," Hiroshi murmured, piecing it together.

Victor nodded. "Yeah. It was our haven. We spent years fortifying it, making sure nothing could get in—" His voice tightened, his jaw clenching slightly. "At least, not until someone broke through."

Hiroshi winced at the irritation lacing Victor’s tone and instinctively took a step back. "I’m really sorry about that," he muttered, guilt evident in his voice.

Victor waved him off, his focus returning to the path ahead. "It's not your faulit. We don’t have time for apologies either," he said firmly. "And er need to hurry. Azumi and Adelina are alone in what’s no longer a safe place."

The urgency in his voice struck a chord, and Hiroshi quickened his pace, his grip tightening on the bags he carried.

As they neared the building where the house was located, a sudden, long, piercing cry tore through the silence, echoing down the empty streets. Victor and Hiroshi froze mid-step, their heads snapping toward the direction of the sound.

"What was that?!" Hiroshi gasped, his voice steady despite the intensity of the noise.

Victor glanced at him, surprised by his composure. He had expected fear, maybe even panic, but Hiroshi’s reaction suggested familiarity, as though cries like this were nothing new to him.

"Must be survivors," Victor muttered, adjusting his grip on the shotgun. He raised it slightly, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the distant shadows. "Probably ran into a group of zombies."

"Should we help them?" Hiroshi asked, his tone tinged with urgency.

Victor hesitated, his jaw tightening as he weighed the options. After a long pause, he shook his head.

"My girlfriend comes first," he said firmly, locking eyes with Hiroshi. "I suppose you’d choose the same for Adelina, wouldn’t you?"

Hiroshi didn’t answer immediately. His gaze flickered toward the direction of the cry, and Victor could see the conflict in his expression.

"If you want to help," Victor offered, his voice calm, "you’re free to go. I won’t stop you." With that, he turned and stepped back toward the building.

Hiroshi lingered for a moment, his feet rooted to the spot. The urge to help gnawed at him, but the weight of the bags in his hands was a reminder of his responsibility. Adelina’s medicines were in his possession, and every second wasted could mean the difference between her recovery and succumbing to her injuries.

Clenching his teeth, Hiroshi reluctantly followed Victor. The cries grew distant as they approached the building, fading into the heavy silence once more. His heart ached with guilt, but he knew he had made the only choice he could live with—for now.

They crossed the compromised passage with haste, reinforcing it as best they could. Victor pushed the heavy barrel back into place, grunting with effort, while Hiroshi scoured the area for anything else they could use to secure it.

Together, they fortified the barrier with heavy debris and several bear traps Victor had brought along—tools from his hunting days that had now found a grim new purpose.

Victor had always been a hunter at heart. When the apocalypse began, his first instinct was to raid hunting supply stores. It wasn’t just a practical decision; hunting was in his blood, a skill passed down through generations in his family. Yet, despite this lineage, Victor had left home at fourteen after a bitter family conflict, carrying only the lessons and instincts that now helped keep him alive.

With the passage secured, they hurried up to the rooftop. There, they found Azumi standing by the door, her gaze distant and unfocused. She seemed so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn’t notice their arrival.

"Love?" Victor called softly, his voice cutting through the stillness.

Azumi turned at the sound, her expression softening when her eyes met his. Victor glanced at his old, scratched watch and smirked.

"We’re not late, are we?" he teased, moving quickly to her side. Taking her hands in his, he asked gently, "Were you worried?"

Azumi didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she searched his eyes, as though looking for something unsaid. Before he could press her further, she wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him close.

"Of course I was worried," she murmured, her voice trembling slightly. She then turned to Hiroshi, who stood awkwardly a few steps away, unsure if he should interrupt.

"Oh, hey! What are you still doing there? Get in," Azumi said with a warm chuckle, stepping aside to let him pass.

Once inside, Victor’s attention shifted immediately. "How is she?" he asked, his tone edged with concern.

"Stable, but her fever hasn’t gone down," Azumi replied, watching as Hiroshi placed the bags on the round table near Adelina.

Her face lit up when she saw the contents. "Great!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands. "You got everything!"

For a brief moment, the tension in the room seemed to dissipate, replaced by a fragile sense of relief. Yet, as Victor’s gaze lingered on Azumi, he caught a flicker in her expression—a subtle glint of uncertainty, almost imperceptible, but enough to unsettle him.

Azumi had taken it upon herself to sanitize the kitchen while Victor and Hiroshi were away, transforming the space into a makeshift surgical area. Her meticulous effort spoke of determination, yet Victor wondered if beneath her composed demeanor lay a thread of doubt about the daunting task ahead.

When Victor offered to carry Adelina to the table for the procedure, Hiroshi interjected firmly. "You've already done too much for us," he said, lifting Adelina himself despite his evident exhaustion.

Victor didn’t press the matter. Instead, he grabbed his shotgun and stepped outside, positioning himself as a lookout. The streets were bathed in an eerie stillness, the faint rustling of leaves the only sound accompanying him. His watchful eyes scanned the horizon, yet his mind wandered back to the house.

Inside, Azumi began the operation with Hiroshi assisting her, his hands steady despite his earlier fatigue. The tension in the room was palpable, a blend of unspoken fears and fragile hope. Each action was deliberate, each second heavy with the weight of survival.

Victor tightened his grip on the shotgun as he stood guard, the quiet around him amplifying his thoughts. He knew Azumi’s skills were formidable, but even the best medical practitioners had their limits. In this world, where supplies were scarce and risks immeasurable, even success came with a cost.

As the sun cast long shadows across the street, Victor’

s resolve hardened. Whatever uncertainties lingered, whatever challenges arose, they would face them together—or not at all.