Fleeting Bonds

"Companionship"

I never thought I'd feel this again—especially in a world this broken. But somehow, against all odds, it found me. And I can't say I mind.

Story Start

The rooftop beneath my feet was uneven, covered in layers of grime, debris, and a few scattered corpses that had long since dried up. The wind howled, carrying the scent of smoke and death from the burning hospital behind us. The fire raged, consuming everything we left behind—including whatever hope we had of ever returning.

The leader—whose name I still didn't know—scanned the rooftop, his spear gripped tightly. Elena was breathing hard, her hands shaking, but she kept her head up. We all knew what stopping meant. Death. Or worse.

"Where do we go from here?" I asked, my voice rough. My throat was raw from smoke inhalation, my limbs heavy with exhaustion.

He gestured toward a set of double doors on the far side of the rooftop, leading into the new building. "Inside."

I exhaled sharply. "You don't even know what's in there."

"I know what's behind us." His voice was flat, unwavering. "Pick your poison."

I didn't argue. We approached the door cautiously. Rust flaked from the surface, the peeling paint curling like dead leaves. It wasn't locked.

Thomas tested the handle and pushed it open just enough to peer inside. The hallway yawned into darkness, swallowing what little light we had. The air was thick—dust, mildew… and rot.

"Call me Thomas," he said before stepping inside. "Easier that way."

"Got it," Elena and I echoed.

"Looks clear." He stepped inside first, spear at the ready. I followed, gripping my knife tightly, and Elena trailed behind, her breath shallow but steady.

The door swung shut behind us with a dull thud, sealing us off from the chaos outside.

I scanned our surroundings. The space was vast, the weak flicker of emergency lights casting eerie shadows along the walls. It was a fire station—or what was left of one.

Elena exhaled slowly. "If we're lucky, we'll find supplies." Her gaze swept over the room. "There should be plenty here."

I didn't believe in luck.

We moved deeper into the building, weaving through abandoned workstations and break rooms. The farther we went, the stronger the rotten stench became. Something—or someone—was dead in here. And judging by the lack of movement, it had been for a while.

"We should clear each room as we go," Thomas murmured. "No surprises."

Elena nodded. I did too, though my grip on my knife tightened. The last thing we needed was to get trapped inside with something we didn't see coming.

We started checking rooms, one by one. Some were empty, filled only with forgotten belongings—a purse left on a chair, a coffee cup still resting on a desk, its contents long since evaporated. Others bore signs of struggle—blood smears on the walls, broken glass, scattered documents telling stories we'd never know.

Then we found the bodies.

Five bodies sagged against the back wall, their flesh bloated, their faces twisted beyond recognition. The rot was fresh—hours old at most. The infection had eaten through them fast. The stench clogged my throat.

Elena turned away, gagging. "Jesus…"

Thomas crouched beside them, inspecting the corpses. "Bite marks. Everywhere."

I frowned. "Then how—?"

His fingers traced a deep, dark gash in one of their foreheads. "A blade wound. Probably an axe, judging by the shape. Execution-style."

A chill ran down my spine. If these people had been bitten, then whoever did this had no choice. Maybe they had been firefighters, putting down their own to stop the spread. A grim duty—one I hoped I'd never have to face. "So someone killed them. At least we don't have to deal with them now."

"Maybe." He stood, his expression unreadable. "But it means this place isn't as abandoned as we thought."

I stole another glance at the bodies. Had someone wiped them out to take control of the building? Or were there still survivors here? Firefighters, maybe. Either way, it meant one thing—danger.

Elena pressed a hand to her forehead. "Do we stay here?"

Thomas didn't answer right away. He walked to the large windows, peering out at the world below. The hospital still burned in the distance, and beyond that, the city was a graveyard of the dead.

"Let's secure the building first," he finally said. "Make sure we're alone."

We continued moving, sweeping the hallways, checking every room, every crevice where something—or someone—could be hiding. We found no infected. No living people. Just remnants of a world that had ended.

"It seems the workers here evacuated, makes sense." Thomas said, with a slight comfort in his voice.

A supply closet yielded a few valuable finds—a half-full first aid kit, a flashlight with weak batteries, and a can of food that might still be edible. Not much, but better than nothing.

"It seems they cleaned this place out when they were doing so." He remarked

"We can make this work," Elena said softly, rolling a can of soup in her hands. "At least for a while."

Thomas nodded, but his expression remained wary. "We don't settle in yet. We rest. We regain strength. Then we decide."

That was the best we could do.

We found a large room—the dormitory, judging by the sign above the door. Inside, there were beds, couches, desks, and, most importantly, lockers. Even better, the door had a lock.

We wasted no time barricading it, stacking desks against the entrance for extra security. It wouldn't hold against a full horde, but if someone—or something—tried to break in, it would at least buy us time.

The moment I stopped, it all crashed down on me. My legs wobbled, my lungs burned, and my broken leg throbbed with a sharp, pulsing ache. I wanted to sleep, to shut my eyes and forget the smoke, the blood, the bodies. But I couldn't. Sleep meant letting my guard down, and in this world, that was as good as signing my own death certificate.

"Guess the adrenaline finally wore off," I muttered with a breathless laugh, more to myself than anyone else. Anything to keep my mind from unraveling.

I sat on the floor, my back against the desk, running my fingers over the pocket knife Thomas had returned to me. It was still stained with blood.

Thomas sat across from me, his spear resting beside him. He hadn't said much since we entered the building, his expression unreadable, his mind likely turning over every possibility, every threat we might face.

Elena lay curled up on the bed, her eyes fluttering shut. "Wake me up when it's my turn for watch," she murmured.

Neither of us answered. She was asleep in minutes.

Thomas and I sat in silence for a long time before he finally spoke. "You did good today."

I let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Didn't feel like it."

"Doesn't matter how it feels. You survived—with a broken leg and almost no rest. That's something." He chuckled. "Hell, you could've been drafted if all this hadn't happened."

I met his gaze. "Honestly? Kinda wish I had been."

"Glad you're not a greenhorn. Had my fill of that mess back at the hospital…" He smirked, but it didn't reach his eyes.

Regret clung to his words, thick as the blood we'd left behind.

Despite the smirk, I could hear the regret in his voice. No matter how much he knew those people hadn't liked him, he still felt responsible for their deaths.

The silence stretched again, but this time, it felt less suffocating.

I tried breaking the silence. "What's our plan after we get some rest?"

Thomas stared at me, his expression unreadable. After a few seconds, he spoke.

"This is a fire station. We check the lockers—grab whatever gear we can. It's the best armor we'll find right now." He paused, scanning the dimly lit hallway. "And if we're lucky, maybe some weapons too—an axe, a crowbar, anything useful." His gaze flickered toward the kitchen area. "Hell, even if we don't find weapons, as long as there's food left, I'll call it a win."

Thomas stood up, holding the spear in his hand. "You go get some rest with the girl, I'll keep watch, you need it more than I do clearly." He stares at my broken leg wrapped in bandages.

"Fine. But swap out later—you're our best fighter." I remarked before heading to one of the beds and laying down.

"I'll be fine," he said with a tired grin. "Had to stay awake three days straight on an operation once—this is nothing. Even if, you know, the situation's a hell of a lot worse."

He was joking, but there was a hint of truth beneath it. And for the first time, it felt like he was finally starting to relax around me.

I didn't know what tomorrow would bring. More running. More fighting. Maybe death. Maybe worse. But for now, we had a locked door, four walls, and a moment to breathe.

And in this world, that was more than enough.

For now.