Chapter 3: Fragile Foundations

The deeper I pushed into the forest, the more the remnants of the old world faded away. The cracked pavement and skeletal buildings of the city were behind me now, swallowed by the trees. Out here, nature had reclaimed what humanity had abandoned. Vines wrapped around rusted street signs. Moss covered forgotten fences. The occasional car—half-buried in dirt, windows shattered—stood as a silent reminder that I wasn't the first to pass through these woods.

I had no idea where I was going. But I knew one thing: I couldn't keep wandering forever.

Echo padded along beside me, his paws barely making a sound against the damp earth. Every so often, he would stop, ears perked, nose twitching, before trotting forward again. His movements were careful, deliberate. He was a survivor, just like me.

The sun had already begun its descent, casting long shadows through the trees. I needed to find shelter soon. The thought of spending the night exposed in unfamiliar woods made my stomach twist. I'd seen too much—heard too much—to risk sleeping out in the open.

My breath came in slow, steady puffs as I scanned my surroundings. Rocks, trees, undergrowth—nothing useful. I needed something defensible, hidden, somewhere I could disappear for the night.

Then I saw it.

A massive fallen tree, its trunk split near the base, had landed at an angle against another, forming a natural alcove. The space beneath it was just large enough to crawl into, protected on three sides by thick roots and the heavy body of the tree itself. Overgrowth had already begun claiming it, wrapping vines around the decaying bark. If I could clear it out, it would make a perfect temporary shelter.

"This'll do," I muttered.

Echo sniffed the air cautiously before stepping inside, circling once before lying down. He must have approved.

I let my pack slide off my shoulders, rolling the stiffness from my muscles. The exhaustion had begun to creep in, but I wasn't done yet. Shelter alone wouldn't be enough. I needed water, food, and a fire before the sun fully disappeared behind the treetops.

Water had to come first. I'd felt it before—the slow, creeping headache, the weakness that came from going too long without it. In the city, I could sometimes scavenge old bottles from abandoned stores or fill my own when I was lucky enough to find a working pipe. Out here, I had to be smarter.

I listened.

The sound of trickling water reached my ears, faint but unmistakable. Following the noise, I moved carefully, stepping over twisted roots and thick patches of ferns until I found it—a narrow stream, winding its way through the forest floor like a dark ribbon.

I crouched by the edge, cupping the cold liquid in my hands before bringing it to my lips. It had the faint taste of earth and decay, but it was water. I drank deeply, then filled my bottle.

Echo stood beside me, watching.

"You thirsty?" I asked.

He hesitated, then stepped forward, lowering his head to lap at the stream. His ears twitched with every sound—always alert, always ready to run.

Smart dog.

With water secured, I turned my attention to my next problem: food.

My stomach ached, but I ignored it. I was used to hunger. It had become a familiar companion, a dull pain in the background of every day. But out here, without the chance of stumbling upon an untouched can of food or an abandoned vending machine, I needed to be careful.

I searched the underbrush, sifting through leaves and dirt for anything edible. I had no experience with foraging—just vague memories of survival guides I'd skimmed through before the world fell apart.

Berries. Small, dark, clustered together on a thorny bush. They looked familiar, but I hesitated before eating them.

Poison or food?

I picked one, rolling it between my fingers before placing it against my lips. No burning sensation, no immediate nausea. I bit into it. Bitter, but not unbearable.

That was enough for me.

Echo sniffed the berries but didn't eat them. He was more cautious than I was.

"Suit yourself," I muttered, gathering as many as I could. It wasn't much, but it would keep me from starving—at least for now.

By the time I made it back to the shelter, the temperature had dropped. A cold breeze slithered through the trees, biting at my exposed skin.

I needed a fire.

I gathered dry twigs, leaves, and small branches, piling them near the entrance of my makeshift shelter. Then I pulled out my knife and the piece of rough stone I had found earlier.

I struck the blade against the stone.

Sparks jumped, but nothing caught.

I tried again. My fingers were stiff, my patience wearing thin. The cold was settling into my bones, making it harder to focus.

Come on.

Again.

Finally—a tiny ember landed in the dry leaves. I leaned in, blowing gently, coaxing the fragile flicker into life. Flames licked up the twigs, crackling softly in the quiet of the forest.

Relief flooded through me.

I sat back, watching as the fire grew, casting a warm glow against the twisted roots and fallen branches.

Echo settled beside me, his body stretched out, his breathing slow and steady. The firelight flickered across his dark fur, catching the faint hints of gold in his eyes. He watched me, calm but attentive, as if waiting for something.

I sighed, running a hand down my face.

The bare minimum, but it was enough to keep me alive.

For now.

For the first time in days, I allowed myself to stop. To breathe.

The city was behind me—the noise, the danger, the memories. Out here, there was only the fire, the trees, and the steady rise and fall of Echo's breathing beside me.

I wasn't safe. Not really.

But for tonight, I wasn't running.

And that was enough.