Into the Wild

The road behind them was gone.

Leon Graves and Eve Voss stood at the edge of Highway 287, watching the last military convoy disappear into the distance, its engines roaring as it fled Bozeman. The once-bustling city was now nothing but smoke, gunfire, and screams, swallowed by the growing infection.

No backup. No safe zones.

Just the two of them, and the wilderness beyond.

Leon adjusted the strap of his pack, his SIG Sauer P226 holstered at his hip, and glanced at Eve. She had her M4 carbine slung over her shoulder, a grim look on her face as she stared down the empty highway.

"Any ideas?" she asked.

Leon exhaled, rolling his shoulders. "Yeah. We keep moving."

She smirked, but there was no humor in it. "Brilliant strategy. Keep moving where?"

"Northwest. Away from the roads. We find shelter, take stock of what we've got, then figure out our next move."

Eve looked back at the city one last time, then nodded. "Fine. Lead the way, tough guy."

Leon didn't respond. He just started walking.

The sun was setting behind the towering pine trees, casting long shadows through the dense undergrowth. Leon kept his pace steady, his boots crunching against the dirt trail as he led the way through the wilderness.

The deeper they moved into the forest, the quieter it became. No more screaming. No more sirens. Just the rustling of the wind through the trees and the distant call of birds.

Too quiet.

Eve must have noticed too, because she tightened her grip on her rifle. "I don't like this," she muttered.

Leon glanced over his shoulder. "Better than the alternative."

She let out a dry laugh. "Yeah. If you ignore the fact that this is prime horror movie territory."

Leon wasn't worried about ghosts.

He was worried about what might be following them.

They needed shelter before nightfall. Fast.

Leon spotted the cabin first, tucked between the trees, its wooden exterior covered in moss and long-forgotten decay. A rusted-out pickup truck sat in the overgrown driveway, its windows smashed in.

Eve scanned the area with her rifle. "Think it's clear?"

"Only one way to find out."

Leon moved forward, stepping carefully over the rotting porch boards. He pressed his ear against the door, listening. Silence.

Then, with one solid kick, he smashed the door open.

The inside was a mess. Dust-covered furniture, broken cabinets, a few scattered cans of food long past their expiration date.

No infected.

Just the stale scent of abandonment.

Eve stepped in behind him, lowering her rifle. "Cozy."

Leon ignored her sarcasm and did a quick sweep of the place—checking closets, the back room, even under the bed. All clear.

"This'll work for the night," he said finally.

Eve nodded, but she was already securing the windows, reinforcing them with whatever she could find. She was good at this—experienced. Leon had seen plenty of people panic when things got bad, but Eve? She adapted.

That made her useful.

And in this world, useful meant alive.

Leon sat near the cold fireplace, cleaning his pistol while Eve counted their remaining ammunition.

"Four magazines for the M4," she said, loading a fresh one. "Ten rounds left in my Glock. You?"

Leon didn't look up. "Twelve in the SIG. Three extra mags. That's it."

Eve let out a slow breath. "Not great."

Leon shrugged. "Could be worse."

She scoffed. "Yeah. We could be dead."

Leon didn't reply. Instead, he reached into his pack, pulling out a can of peaches—one of the only things they'd scavenged in Bozeman.

Eve raised an eyebrow. "You gonna share, or are you a selfish bastard?"

Leon handed her the can without a word.

She smirked, cracking it open with her knife before taking a bite. "You're not as heartless as you act, you know."

Leon leaned back against the wall, watching the flickering lantern light cast shadows across the room. "Never said I was."

She studied him for a moment, then went back to eating.

Outside, the wind howled through the trees.

Somewhere in the distance, a scream echoed through the night.

Neither of them spoke after that.

Leon woke up to the sound of footsteps on the porch.

Instantly alert, he reached for his pistol, scanning the dark cabin. Eve was already awake, her rifle aimed at the door.

More footsteps. Slow. Heavy. Dragging.

Not human.

Leon motioned for Eve to stay quiet. They listened as the thing outside moved closer. The rotting boards creaked, then something pressed against the door.

A slow, wet breath.

Eve's grip tightened on her rifle. "If it gets in—"

Leon held up a hand, silencing her.

The thing outside sniffed the air.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, it shuffled away.

Leon waited until the sound faded into the trees before exhaling.

Eve lowered her rifle. "That was too close."

Leon nodded. "We move at dawn."

No arguments. No discussion.

Just survival.