Snow fell like ashes from a dead sky.
Elian Voss tightened the strap of his worn-out backpack, the cold biting through the layers of his coat like needles. Every breath he exhaled turned into a thin mist, dissolving in the frozen silence that gripped the ruins of Velmora. The once-bustling city was now a skeleton of its former self—buildings half-swallowed by snow, streets buried in white, and cars entombed like fossils.
There was no wind. No birds. No footsteps but his own.
He moved carefully, boots crunching on the ice-glazed pavement. A crowbar hung from his belt, swaying softly with every step. He didn't carry guns—not because he couldn't find one, but because noise meant death. The infected were drawn to it like moths to flame.
Elian paused at the shattered remains of what used to be a bakery. The red signage above the door still bore the name "Pavel's Bread", though the 'P' had long since fallen off. The windows were cracked, and ice clung to the corners like veins. He pressed a gloved hand against the door and gave it a push. It creaked open slowly, protesting after months—maybe years—of silence.
He stepped inside, ears alert.
Shelves stood in decay, scattered with rotted bread, crumpled packaging, and mouse-nibbled crumbs. The scent of mold and dust stung his nostrils. He moved behind the counter, checking the drawers. A crushed can of beans. Two batteries. A half-used roll of gauze.
Better than nothing.
Suddenly—crack.
He froze. A sound from outside.
Not the wind. Not falling snow. Something else.
Elian crept to the doorway, eyes scanning the fog-draped street. For a moment, nothing. And then, through the blur of snow—movement.
A shadow crossed the road and vanished behind a ruined van.
Not infected. Too fast. Too deliberate.
He ducked back inside, heart hammering. Could be a scavenger. Could be worse.
But he didn't have time to investigate.
---
Twenty minutes later, he reached the alley behind the old subway station—a narrow path buried beneath snowdrifts and collapsed fencing. He knocked twice on a rusted maintenance door, waited, then tapped once more.
A faint knock came from inside.
The door cracked open.
"Elian?" a small voice whispered.
He stepped in quickly and shut the door behind him. "It's me."
A dim lantern flickered to life, illuminating the underground room. Exposed pipes crisscrossed the ceiling. Makeshift beds lined the walls. In the center, wrapped in layers of blankets, sat Mila Voss—his younger sister. Her cheeks were flushed red, hair tangled, and eyes dim with fever.
"Elian..." she coughed. "Did you find food?"
He crouched beside her, pulling out the can of beans and gauze. "Not much. But we'll make it last."
She gave a tired smile and leaned against his shoulder. Her body burned with heat. The fever had been getting worse.
"I heard something again," she mumbled. "Voices. On the radio."
He glanced toward the broken radio unit sitting on the crate beside her. It had been silent for weeks.
"You were dreaming again, Mila."
She frowned. "No. I swear. It said... Velmora East. There are people there."
Elian said nothing. He hated giving her false hope.
---
Later that night, as snow blanketed the streets above, Elian sat alone by the radio, tapping at wires, trying to fix what he knew was hopeless. But her words clung to him—Velmora East.
He remembered the shadow outside the bakery.
Maybe someone was out there.
Maybe Mila wasn't hallucinating.
A soft click snapped him out of thought. The lantern flickered. The radio crackled for half a second.
Nothing.
Elian rubbed his eyes, exhaustion gnawing at him. He stood, grabbed his crowbar, and made his way back to the service ladder that led topside.
He had to know.
---
The street was darker now. Thick fog crawled along the ground. Elian moved like a ghost through the snow, keeping low behind cars and debris.
He reached the building where he'd seen the flicker of movement earlier. It used to be a medical clinic—one of the few that hadn't been burned down when the riots began.
The door was ajar.
He stepped inside, slowly.
The interior was trashed. Medical posters still clung to the walls, warped from damp. A toppled gurney lay in the hallway. Blood dried black on the floor.
Footsteps.
He turned sharply.
And then—a hand grabbed him from behind.
Elian twisted, slammed his elbow back, but the figure was fast. A swift jab to his side, and he dropped to one knee.
A flashlight turned on.
"Stop," a voice commanded. Calm. Cold. Female.
Elian squinted against the beam. His hand reached for the crowbar.
"I wouldn't," the woman said.
The light lowered.
She stepped into view.
Tall. Wrapped in a dark coat and scarf. Her eyes were sharp, calculating. A thin scar ran along her cheek. She held no gun, only a metal rod shaped like a baton.
"Who the hell are you?" Elian growled.
"I could ask you the same," she replied. "You're lucky I didn't gut you the moment you walked in."
He narrowed his eyes. "This is my sector. You're the intruder."
The woman tilted her head. "Interesting... Then you must be Elian."
He froze.
"How do you know my name?"
A long pause.
"I heard your sister's voice. Through the radio."
Elian's blood turned cold.
"Liar."
"I'm not," she said. "She reached me. A faint signal... enough to find you."
"Then who are you?"
She hesitated. Then quietly said, "My name is Astrid Lennox."
---
The silence stretched.
Elian kept his grip on the crowbar. Astrid didn't flinch.
"You're a scientist," he said slowly. "A real one."
"I was," she replied. "Before everything fell apart."
Before Elian could respond, a groan echoed from upstairs.
Both turned toward the staircase.
Astrid pulled the scarf over her mouth. "We have to go. Now."
"I'm not leaving until you tell me what you want."
"I came here to help Mila."
He blinked.
"What?"
Astrid stepped past him and threw open a supply cabinet. Inside were sealed medical bags and a portable heater.
"I don't have time to explain. Your sister doesn't have long if the fever continues."
"You're lying."
"No," she snapped. "She's special. That fever—it's not normal."
A deep growl rolled from the upper floor.
Then came the scraping of claws.
Astrid looked at Elian.
"Decide. You want answers, or you want to live?"
Elian stared at her. Then the ceiling cracked above them.
And they ran.