No Safe Haven

Leon Graves moved through the dense underbrush, his boots silent against the damp forest floor. Dawn had barely broken, casting the trees in a grayish-blue light, their shadows stretching like skeletal fingers across the ground.

Behind him, Eve Voss kept pace, her M4 carbine at the ready. She hadn't said much since they left the cabin. No need to. They both knew what last night meant.

The infected were in the forest now.

They weren't safe anywhere.

"Where are we headed?" Eve finally asked, her voice low.

Leon glanced westward, toward the rising sun. "We follow the mountain ridge. Stay away from the roads, keep high ground. See if we can find another cabin or an old ranger station."

Eve adjusted her rifle strap. "And if we don't?"

Leon didn't answer. They both knew the alternative.

They kept moving.

The first corpse appeared two miles in.

A man, late 30s, face-down in a patch of frost-covered grass, his body twisted unnaturally. A deep gash ran along his throat, dark blood staining his flannel shirt.

Leon crouched beside the body, scanning the area. "Not infected."

Eve eyed the wound. "Killed by a blade."

Leon ran his fingers over the damp earth. Boot prints. At least three people.

"Survivors," Eve muttered. "Think they're still close?"

Leon checked his SIG Sauer, chambering a round. "Maybe."

Eve took that as confirmation. She flipped her safety off.

They moved forward, following the tracks.

The smell of charred wood hit first. Then the faint trace of rotting meat.

Leon and Eve crept up to the edge of a small clearing, crouching behind a cluster of fallen logs. Ahead, a makeshift campfire smoldered, its embers barely alive.

Three figures sat around it.

Two men. One woman.

All armed.

They weren't military. No uniforms, no tactical gear. Just scavengers—people who had survived long enough to understand that trust was a liability.

Leon studied them.

The first man was broad-shouldered, early 40s, wearing a battered hunting vest. He held a shotgun across his lap, but his posture was relaxed—overconfident.

The second man was younger, maybe late 20s, leaner. A pistol holstered on his belt, and a machete resting by his boot. His eyes were sharp, scanning the treeline every few seconds. The cautious one.

The woman was harder to read. Red hair pulled into a tight ponytail, a rifle slung over her shoulder, but her hands rested on a blood-stained first aid kit.

Eve leaned in. "They don't look infected."

"No," Leon agreed. "But that doesn't mean they're friendly."

Eve's grip tightened on her rifle. "We taking them or avoiding them?"

Leon was about to answer—

Then the broad-shouldered man stood up, stretching his arms.

"Alright," he grumbled, cracking his neck. "I say we check that old ranger station up north. Bound to be supplies."

Leon and Eve exchanged a glance.

A ranger station. Shelter. Supplies.

And now they had competition.

Leon didn't like gambling with people.

Trust was a dangerous currency these days, and strangers had a habit of making things worse.

But the ranger station was too good an opportunity to ignore.

"We get there first," Leon murmured. "Stay ahead of them."

Eve nodded. "And if they catch up?"

Leon checked his weapon. "Then we decide how bad they want it."

They moved.

The building was a ghost of its former self.

A wooden outpost once used for monitoring wildfires, it sat atop a ridge, its radio tower standing tall but rusted. A fence surrounded the main structure, though parts of it had collapsed from years of neglect.

Eve pressed against a tree, scanning the area with her rifle scope. "No movement. Could be empty."

Leon didn't believe in luck. "We clear it fast."

They moved toward the entrance, stepping carefully over the broken fence.

The front door was ajar.

Leon pushed it open with the barrel of his pistol. The inside was dark, lit only by the weak sunlight filtering through cracked windows. A desk covered in old maps, a rusted file cabinet, and—

A corpse.

A ranger, judging by the decayed uniform, slumped against the wall. His throat was torn open, dried blood coating his chest.

"Been dead a while," Eve muttered.

Leon scanned the room. "That doesn't mean he was alone."

A creak from the backroom made them both go still.

Then—a sudden burst of movement.

A figure launched out of the darkness, lunging at Leon with inhuman speed.

Too fast.

Leon barely had time to react before the infected slammed into him, knocking him to the ground.

He caught a glimpse of milky-white eyes, jagged teeth snapping inches from his throat.

Then he jammed his pistol under its chin—

BANG.

Blood and brain matter sprayed across the floor as the body slumped motionless.

Leon shoved it off him, breathing hard.

Eve kicked the corpse. "Still think this place is a good idea?"

Leon wiped blood from his face. "Safer than the woods."

Then—gunshots outside.

Eve cursed. "The other survivors."

Leon checked his mag. "Looks like they caught up."

They moved toward the door, weapons ready.

The real fight was about to begin.