Static and Whispers

"Resilience"

I never thought I'd have to fight this hard—never imagined the world could fall apart in mere hours. But somehow, against all odds, I'm still standing. And right now, that has to be enough.

Story Start

The dim glow of emergency lighting flickered against the dormitory walls, casting long, uncertain shadows. Sleep tugged at my consciousness, but my body refused to relax. The muffled sounds of the outside world—the distant wails of the undead, the whisper of the wind slipping through cracked windows—kept me grounded in uneasy wakefulness.

Thomas stood near the door, his silhouette rigid, spear at the ready. His stance, the slight twitch in his fingers, told me he was just as restless as I was. He had volunteered for first watch, but I doubted he'd actually let himself rest when his turn was up. The way he carried himself—like a soldier bracing for a war that never ended—told me he'd been through this too many times to count.

Elena stirred in her sleep, her body curled protectively, her face tight with whatever nightmares clawed at her mind. I envied her ability to let go, even if only for a few hours. I envied the illusion of peace.

But peace wasn't real. Not anymore.

After what felt like an eternity, I pushed myself up, wincing as my injured leg protested. The pain had dulled, but it lingered—a reminder of how close I'd come to death.

"You should be resting," Thomas said without turning.

"So should you."

Thomas exhaled through his nose, a hint of amusement flickering in his tired eyes, but he didn't argue. Instead, he stepped away from the door and lowered himself onto one of the nearby chairs. He stretched out his legs, rolling his shoulders as if shedding the weight of the world.

"Tomorrow, we raid the lockers," he said, staring at the ceiling. "Then we move."

"Where?" I asked.

"Anywhere but here."

"Think the military's still kicking?" I asked.

Thomas let out a short, dry chuckle. "Without a doubt. Those assholes wouldn't let something like this take them down. Give it three months, and they'll probably retake a city."

I huffed a quiet laugh. "Is that a bet?"

He leaned forward in his chair. "Damn right it is. Winner gets a beer."

"Deal." I nodded, the thought of a future where we could actually share that drink feeling impossibly distant.

Elena stirred, groggy and blinking against the dim light. She let out a quiet yawn, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Did I oversleep?"

Thomas hesitated before nodding. "Yeah. Just keep an ear out."

She stretched, then took his place by the door, gripping the rusted fire axe we'd scavenged from an emergency cabinet. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.

"Can't believe they just left this behind," I murmured.

"They probably had better gear," Thomas muttered, already heading for the cots. "Makes sense to ditch the dead weight."

I watched him settle in, the distant howl of the wind outside a grim reminder—we weren't safe. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Thomas lay back, exhaling slowly. He was out within minutes, exhaustion claiming him despite his stubbornness.

I didn't sleep. Not really. My body rested, but my mind wandered, sifting through memories I'd rather forget.

"How do you feel?" I asked, trying to make small talk.

Elena, still groggy from waking up, tightened her grip on the axe. "Better than when we were at the hospital, surprisingly."

I nodded, letting the silence settle before she spoke again.

"We're a smaller group now, but at least I can trust the people I'm with." Her gaze drifted to the sealed door. "Back then, you never knew when someone might turn on you." She exhaled, shifting her stance. "And at least here… we haven't seen any infected. Not yet."

Time passed as Elena and I made quiet conversation through the night. At some point, sleep finally pulled me under.

Surprisingly, neither of them woke me for my turn at watch. Maybe they forgot—or maybe they just wanted me to rest, knowing I was the most injured of the three.

Morning arrived in a dull, gray haze, light filtering through the grime-streaked windows.

We ate what little we had—half a can of soup split three ways, a handful of crackers that crumbled like dust in my mouth.

"Why does this taste so bad? The world only just ended," I muttered, forcing down another bite.

Elena smirked. "Probably expired. That's why they left it behind."

With our meager meal finished, we set out to scavenge the station, hoping to find something—anything—worth keeping.

The locker room reeked of sweat and old metal. Dust coated the floor, disturbed only by the occasional smear of dried blood.

We moved cautiously, prying open each locker in search of anything useful.

Inside, we found remnants of a world that had ended just a day ago—photos, wallets, crumpled notes. Ghosts of lives interrupted.

Thomas struck gold first. "Bingo."

He pulled out a firefighter's jacket—thick, heavy, and padded enough to stop a bite. Tossing one to me, he grabbed another for himself.

Elena rummaged through a nearby locker, pulling out a pair of gloves and a utility belt stocked with small tools. Not weapons, but useful nonetheless.

"Here, take these." She tossed the gloves to Thomas.

"You're not using them?" he asked.

She chuckled. "You're the fighter here."

That's when I found the radio.

It sat on a shelf, partially covered by an old towel. I turned it over in my hands, my heart pounding. It was one of those short-range models—used for team communication. If there were any survivors left nearby…

"Think it works?" Elena asked.

Only one way to find out.

I twisted the knob, and static crackled to life. For a moment, there was nothing. Then—a voice. Faint. Garbled. But real.

"…repeat… anyone… military… east…"

I exchanged glances with Thomas and Elena. Someone was out there.

Thomas took the radio, adjusting the frequency. "Say again? Who's there?"

The signal flickered, then strengthened. "If… hear this… survivors… east sector… supplies… danger… repeat… danger…"

Then, silence.

East sector. That meant somewhere deeper into the city. A death trap if we weren't careful.

Elena swallowed hard. "Do we go?"

Thomas was quiet for a long time before answering. "We can't ignore it. If someone's alive out there… they might have information. A safe place. Maybe even a real chance."

I exhaled sharply. Hope was a dangerous thing. But in this world, it was all we had.

"Then we move," I said. "Before it's too late."

None of us said it out loud, but we all knew the truth—whatever waited for us in the east sector, it wasn't going to be easy.

But we were out of options.

Fine, but let's hit the garage and storage room first," Thomas said, tightening his grip on his spear.

He glanced at me, his tone shifting, the easy humor gone. "Elena and I are good—our gear's mostly long-range. But that knife of yours, Kael? That's a death sentence."

"Sounds good," I replied.

As we move through the halls, the silence is suffocating. No infected, just the distant growls from outside.

We reach the garage first. Heavy-duty lockers line the walls, but there's no sign of any vehicles.

"Well, that explains it," he mutters, eyeing the wire connecting the garage door. "I'm guessing they lured the infected out when they left. As for why the door's closed—probably an automatic lock when the power was still on."

"Let's just grab what we can and hit the storage room next. No idea how soundproofed these doors are, and I'd rather not find out," Elena says, already moving toward the lockers.

"Agreed. Let's make it quick," I add.

We open the lockers one by one—nothing useful, just a few screws and hoses. Then Thomas lets out a loud whisper.

"Jackpot."

He pulls out what looks like a Halligan bar from the locker he was checking and grins.

Without hesitation, he tosses his spear to me, keeping the new weapon for himself.

"You read my mind," I say, gripping the spear. As tempting as the Halligan bar looks, I'm not strong enough to wield it properly. The spear, on the other hand, is simple, effective, and—more importantly—something I can actually handle.

"And finally, the storage room," Thomas' confidence surged, his grip tightening on the Halligan bar as if it were the only thing keeping him alive.

The storage room door loomed before us, its rusted hinges barely holding together. Thomas tested the handle. Locked.

"Figures," he muttered.

Elena gestured to his new Halligan bar. "Think you can pry it open?"

He smirked. "Oh, I know I can."

Thomas jammed the Halligan bar into the doorframe and yanked. Metal screamed, the sound cutting through the silence like a blade.

I stiffened. "That was too loud." My voice barely rose above a whisper.

"Almost—" Thomas gritted his teeth and gave one final heave.

The lock snapped.

The door swung open, revealing rows of dusty shelves, haphazardly stacked crates, and—most importantly—supplies.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. "Damn it. I think the noise alone almost killed me before the infected could."

Elena exhaled. "Finally, some luck."

She stepped inside first, disappearing between the shelves. Thomas followed, scanning for anything useful. I hesitated, that uneasy feeling creeping in again. Something felt off.

Then I heard it.

A low growl rumbled through the room—wet, guttural, too close.

Thomas stiffened, his knuckles whitening around the Halligan bar. "Tell me you heard that."

Elena didn't answer.

She was frozen, eyes locked on something deep in the shadows.

I turned my head slowly, pulse hammering in my ears.

Something shifted behind the shelves. A dragging sound. Then a wheezing breath, like air struggling through ruined lungs.

The darkness moved.

We weren't alone.