The morning air was cold and sharp when Aiden, Glenn, and Silva stepped out of the motel-turned-outpost. A thin mist clung to the ground, slowly burning off as the sun pushed over the Cleveland skyline. The night had been quiet — a welcome silence after the chaos of the horde sweep. But the quiet never lasted long.
Rourke remained behind, rifle in hand, watching from the second-floor balcony of the motel with a clear line of sight to the street. His walkie buzzed softly with static.
"You call if you see anything weird. Gunfire, walkers, hell — even birds acting strange," Aiden said, giving Rourke a firm nod.
"You got it," Rourke replied, settling into position. "Don't go too deep. Stay loud if you run into trouble."
With that, the three set off down the broken, weed-choked road. Their destination: the nearby commercial strip they had scouted the day before. About a block and a half away, it was a tightly packed row of storefronts — once bustling with life, now silent and boarded up, windows shattered or covered in grime.
Empty duffel bags were slung across their backs, bouncing against their hips as they jogged the last few yards to the first building.
Store 1: Mulligan's Hardware & Tools
Aiden pried the metal security gate open with a crowbar, while Glenn kept watch and Silva tested the side door. Inside, the hardware store smelled of oil, rust, and damp wood. Sunlight filtered through holes in the roof.
"Check for rats," Aiden muttered. "And tripwires."
They moved quickly, disciplined. On the shelves, they found:
Boxes of nails, screws, and bolts.
Heavy-duty duct tape, two mostly full rolls.
Three hand axes and a hatchet with a cracked handle — Silva pocketed it anyway.
Several cans of WD-40.
An old but working chainsaw is missing its fuel.
Spools of wire, one copper, one coated — Aiden marked it for potential electrical rigging later.
In the back room, they scored two solar-powered work lights and a nearly full can of kerosene. There were also dusty shelves of hand tools: hammers, screwdrivers, wrenches, and pliers, most of which were thrown into Glenn's bag.
Aiden also found a rugged crowbar that looked stronger than his current one and swapped it out with a grin. "Mulligan's, you've done us proud."
Store 2: Everfresh Grocery Mart
Across the street, shattered glass crunched under their boots as they entered the looted grocery. Shelves had been ransacked long ago, and aisles were overturned. But some places always held surprises.
They split up. Glenn checked the shelves for cans hidden behind debris, while Silva combed the freezer section, now just cold-smelling air and rot.
Hidden behind a fallen cereal display, Glenn found a stash someone had hidden — maybe an old survivor camp. Inside a cardboard box were:
6 cans of beans (dented, but intact).
3 jars of peanut butter.
1 unopened bag of rice.
1 bottle of honey, sealed and precious.
2 boxes of instant coffee packets.
Aiden found a locked staff room and forced the door with his new crowbar. Inside, a vending machine had been smashed, but behind it was an old mini fridge — inside, three bottles of clean water and one bottle of cooking oil. Jackpot.
Silva returned with a pair of unopened boxes from the storage freezer, now just room temperature: powdered milk and a box of individually wrapped protein bars. Probably kept as employee rations.
They bagged everything. Food was survival.
Store 3: Travis' Outdoor & Camping
The next building was a narrow shop that sold outdoor gear. The front had been burned during the riots — black soot marked the entry — but the rear half was mostly untouched.
Inside, they found:
2 sleeping bags.
A full set of cooking gear (small portable stove, collapsible pans, utensils).
A tactical flashlight with rechargeable batteries.
1 thermal blanket, dusty but usable.
Paracord — meters of it.
Waterproof matches and firestarter sticks.
1 map of Ohio's rural regions — useful for future excursions.
"Feels like someone meant to come back here," Glenn muttered, seeing the half-packed bag behind the counter.
"Too slow," Aiden said grimly.
Store 4: Clean N' Quick Pharmacy
Half a block down, a corner drugstore. The windows were cracked, but not smashed. Aiden signaled for silence, and they crept in carefully, knives drawn.
Inside, they passed rows of pill bottles and collapsed shelves. Some shelves were stripped bare, but not all. Looters were picky or in a rush. Aiden wasn't.
They gathered:
Over-the-counter painkillers — Advil, Tylenol.
Antibiotic ointments.
Gauze, alcohol wipes, and surgical tape.
2 boxes of bandages and one roll of elastic wrap.
3 sealed syringes (unused, in sterile packs).
An old first aid kit for vehicle use — dusty but stocked.
1 bottle of amoxicillin pills.
Glenn even found a drawer of eyeglasses in various prescriptions and took them. "Never know who'll need 'em."
Aiden grabbed an inhaler from the ground. No label, but it was full. He stuffed it into his coat.
Store 5: Reds' Pawn & Guns
This was the final building on the strip — a reinforced pawn shop. The front had been fortified and held, likely for a time, but the door now hung half-open, and the windows were shot out. Inside were dried bloodstains and shell casings. No bodies. Whoever held this place made a stand.
Aiden swept carefully with his flashlight. They found:
A box of .45 ACP ammo (half full).
2 magazines for a Glock (no Glock in sight).
A battered crossbow missing the string, but with 8 intact bolts.
A roll of silver coins.
An old but working revolver.
1 pump-action shotgun with a cracked grip.
A bag of heavy batteries for flashlights and walkies.
Several knives, hatchets, and an old machete with rust on the blade.
They even found a gold ring tucked into the corner of a drawer. Glenn took it and stared for a moment before sliding it into his coat.
"Belonged to someone," he said softly.
"They all did," Aiden replied. "That doesn't change what we need to do."
Heading Back
Their bags were full, their backs aching, and the sun had risen high above the haze when they finally turned back toward the motel. Silva took point. Glenn and Aiden covered the rear, checking every alley and rooftop for movement.
Halfway back, a walker stumbled into the road — just one. Aiden let Glenn handle it, and he did. Quick, quiet, straight to the head.
When they returned, Rourke was waiting on the balcony, watching through binoculars.
"You're late," he called down.
"We're full," Aiden replied, holding up a heavy bag. "Worth every step."
They unloaded in silence. Sorted. Logged what they had. Silva cooked up a hot meal using some beans and rice. Glenn took first watch while Aiden wrote down everything they'd found in a small notebook, his handwriting careful.
And as the sun dipped low again, casting long shadows across their little outpost, they had one more thing: hope.
For now, Cleveland hadn't broken them. It was feeding them. And tomorrow, they'd go even deeper.
The air was warmer now, the morning haze having burned off completely, leaving a pale blue sky smeared with drifting clouds. After unloading the first round of supplies and sharing a quick snack — just some cold beans with stale crackers and a swig of bottled water — Aiden didn't let the group rest for long. Time was the one luxury they couldn't afford. They had daylight, full stomachs, and a little momentum.
"Glenn, Silva — back on your feet," Aiden said, slinging his now-empty duffel bag back over his shoulder. "This block's still rich. Let's clear out the rest."
They moved with practiced speed, cautious but not hesitating. Every shadow could hide a walker, every alley could be a trap, but Aiden's crew was steady. They headed further down the block, moving away from the first row of shops toward a second cluster of buildings — more specialized stores, scattered industrial garages, and a few military remnants that had seen chaos at some point early in the outbreak.
Store 6: CityTech Electronics
The glass was mostly intact, and so were the metal security gates — not for long. Aiden used a pry bar and sheer strength to wedge the gates open with a groaning shriek of metal. The air inside smelled dusty, stale, and faintly of scorched plastic.
They found:
Half a box of rechargeable batteries.
3 working shortwave radios with solar crank chargers.
1 small solar panel rig — cracked but still partially operational.
USB power banks (some bloated, others still functional).
Old smartphones and tablets — stripped for parts or GPS use.
4 rolls of insulated wiring and several plug adapters.
Behind the counter, Glenn found a locked drawer. Aiden forced it open and discovered a compact inverter, perfect for makeshift power management. It wouldn't power a fridge, but it could keep walkies or flashlights going for days with the right solar input.
Garage: Blake's Auto Repair
Just behind the electronics shop was a small auto garage. The roll-up door had been broken halfway open, and inside they could see the faint glint of tools in the dark.
Aiden took the lead, machete out. Inside, it was quiet — until a walker stumbled out from the office, its legs twisted awkwardly. Aiden put it down with a clean slice and wiped the blade on his ragged uniform.
They found:
A mostly full gas can.
Motor oil and coolant bottles.
A full tool chest — socket wrenches, torque wrenches, tire irons.
Two replacement car batteries — heavy, but Aiden insisted on carrying one back.
Jumper cables, zip ties, and sealant foam.
In a locked cabinet, they discovered a stash of emergency supplies: two flares, a fire extinguisher, and a road kit with thermal blankets, gloves, and road spikes. Silva grinned widely at the find.
Military Vehicle: Wrecked Humvee
Down the street, halfway into a chain-link fence, sat a wrecked Humvee—flat tires, shattered windshield, and one door half ripped off. A few dead soldiers lay nearby, riddled with bullets and deep walker bites.
Aiden motioned for silence. They approached slowly, checking each body. One groaned faintly — not dead. Not yet. Aiden put it down quickly, with a single blow, his expression unreadable.
Inside the Humvee, they scored:
A military-grade trauma kit (one morphine injector used, the rest intact).
1 loaded sidearm — M9 Beretta with 9 rounds.
2 spare mags, each half-full.
Field rations: dried meat, energy bars, water purification tablets.
Tactical gloves, night-vision goggles (lens cracked but repairable).
A folded map with markings, likely showing old patrol routes or safe zones — Aiden tucked it carefully into his coat.
They stripped the Humvee of what they could, including the radio unit — Silva suggested it could be rigged to their base system.
SWAT Van
Parked behind a half-collapsed overpass, a reinforced SWAT van sat abandoned. Its rear door was slightly ajar. Blood smeared the door, but it was quiet.
Inside, they found chaos — but also treasure.
2 full riot shields (one cracked, one solid).
1 full-body Kevlar vest — heavy, but invaluable.
A box of flashbangs (3 intact).
Several nightsticks and batons.
A full riot helmet with visor intact.
A tactical breaching tool — like a crowbar but designed for door-forcing.
A box of 12 gauge rubber rounds — non-lethal, but could still cripple walkers at close range.
Glenn let out a low whistle. "Whoever left this didn't leave by choice."
Aiden nodded. "Let's make sure we do."
Military Checkpoint
Further down the road, partially blocked by abandoned vehicles and sandbags, was the real prize: a military checkpoint. Two guard towers and a folding barricade surrounded a tented area filled with rusted crates and overturned desks. Old blood stains marked the ground.
The place looked like it had been overrun months ago. No bodies remained — just shell casings and dried rot.
They moved cautiously, checking every crate and container.
3 crates of MREs (12 packs each).
1 radio terminal — dead, but maybe restorable.
2 spare fuel tanks (1 partially full).
Old crates of concertina wire.
Water storage barrels (still sealed).
One camouflaged backpack with spare boots, gloves, socks, and a waterproof tarp.
One locked ammo box — Aiden pried it open to find: 2 grenades, 4 smoke canisters, and 40 rounds of 5.56 NATO ammo.
Aiden paused here longer than usual. He looked at the barricade, the towers, and the way the checkpoint had fallen. He imagined the last stand — officers screaming over radios, soldiers running out of ammo, people turning inside the tents. He said nothing. But his jaw clenched.
The Return
As dusk crept closer, the three moved back toward the motel, their bags and arms full. They moved slower now, not from fatigue alone, but from weight and vigilance. A few walkers had to be put down on the return — two trapped under cars, one shambling from a nearby alley.
Silva knelt beside a trapped walker in riot gear, pried the helmet off, and examined it. "Still good."
By the time they reached the motel, Rourke was already lowering the reinforced entry gate and waving them in.
"Busy day?" he asked as they crossed the threshold.
Aiden gave a rare smirk. "Productive."
They spent the rest of the evening inventorying supplies, splitting gear, and setting new objectives. The motel was slowly transforming — no longer just a temporary outpost, but a fortress in the middle of a dead city.
And Cleveland, despite its dangers, was proving to be a treasure trove for those bold enough to take it.
The night had settled thick over the broken skyline of Cleveland, its silence interrupted only by the low crackle of flames inside a metal drum. The makeshift fire pit, fashioned from an old oil barrel they had found behind the motel, cast flickering shadows across the faces of Aiden and his group. The motel's parking lot, partially barricaded and dimly lit, was quiet, but the unease was unmistakable.
They sat on scavenged chairs, crates, and the edges of rusting curbs, eating slowly from opened MRE packs and cans of beans. The fire gave little warmth, but it was something. Comfort in a world that had none.
Glenn poked at his food and glanced at the empty street beyond the motel fence. "I don't get it," he said finally. "This place should be crawling with people. Or at least signs of them. We've been here two days now and we've seen—what? Maybe a dozen walkers, and no one else?"
Silva, chewing quietly on a protein bar, nodded. "Yeah. And all those supplies we pulled today? Intact. Dusty. Not looted. Not touched. Like nobody's even tried to take them."
Aiden didn't respond right away. He leaned back against the motel wall, staring into the flames. His expression was hard to read, the light dancing in his eyes, but not softening the tension in his jaw. The others had noticed it too—he'd been even more watchful than usual, eyes constantly scanning the skyline, the shadows, the rooftops.
"There's something off about this city," Rourke muttered, breaking the silence. "It's not natural. Abandoned? Sure. Quiet? Maybe. But this is quiet? This… empty?" He shook his head. "It's like someone cleared it."
Aiden finally spoke, voice low and even. "Or something."
The others glanced at him. Glenn looked uneasy. "You think there's something worse out there than walkers?"
"There's always something worse," Aiden said simply, setting his empty MRE pouch aside. "But it's not about ghosts or myths. This city was alive once. Not just civilians—military. SWAT. National Guard checkpoints. You saw what we found. There were organized attempts to hold this city. Then… nothing. No barricades. No survivor camps. No signs of fallback points. Just rot. And silence."
Silva looked toward the darkened skyline. "If a group moved through here and wiped everything out, they'd have left signs. Bullet holes. Burned buildings. Shells. But there's barely any of that."
"Which means either they cleaned up everything afterward…" Glenn offered, hesitantly.
"Or the people here never stood a chance," Aiden finished, his voice colder now. "Something fast. Something overwhelming. It could be a smarter group. It could be something else. Either way, stay sharp."
The fire cracked again, the sound too loud in the stillness. No birds. No wind. No city noise. Just the occasional distant groan of a walker echoing somewhere too far off to be seen.
"I don't like this," Silva murmured, tightening her grip on her sidearm. "Cities like this? They're never this clean. I've seen war zones with more signs of life."
"We're not going to be here forever," Aiden said. "We hit a few more spots tomorrow. Medical, hardware, anything solar. Then we plan our exit."
"And if we run into people?" Glenn asked.
Aiden looked at him flatly. "We don't assume they're friendly. Not here. Not with a city this silent."
The group fell into silence again, the flames popping softly. Each person stared into the fire, their minds turning over the same question they couldn't voice: What happened to this city?
Somewhere in the distance, a metallic clatter echoed — faint, but deliberate. Not the wind. Not an animal. They all heard it.
Everyone froze.
Aiden was the first to stand, slowly and silently. He grabbed his bow from where it leaned against the wall, nocked an arrow without a word. Glenn followed, drawing his hatchet. Silva reached for her rifle, eyes scanning the shadows beyond the fire's light.
No movement. No second sound. Just that one metal rattle in the distance — and then silence again.
"Get some rest," Aiden said after a few moments, voice quieter now. "I'll take first watch. And keep your gear close. We may need to move sooner than planned."
They nodded. The fire burned lower, the flickering light slowly fading into the motel walls.
And beyond them, Cleveland slept — or waited.
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