Chapter 16
Morning light filtered through cracks in the boarded-up windows, falling across Elias's face. He groaned, blinking gritty eyes open.
Every muscle screamed in protest as he pushed himself up on the dusty couch. His shoulders ached, his legs felt like lead weights, and a deep bruise throbbed along his ribs from yesterday's frantic escape.
Just sitting up sent sharp twinges through his back.
He forced himself to stand, the old floorboards creaking under his worn boots. Survival demanded movement. He shuffled to his backpack, slumped near the door, the rough canvas cold under his fingers.
Unzipping it, he inventoried the meager contents with a sinking feeling. A few dented cans of beans and soup, two crushed protein bars, a half-empty bottle of warm water.
The hoarder's chase yesterday cost him precious supplies he dropped while fleeing the alley. Frustration tightened his chest, but there was no point in dwelling on it. He needed more.
He carried the scavenged food into the kitchen. He placed the cans carefully into a nearly bare cupboard.
Selecting a can of beans, he worked the manual opener, the sharp metal teeth grinding against the lid with a harsh, tinny rasp.
He sat alone at the chipped kitchen table. He scooped the cold, pasty beans directly from the can with his fingers.
The silence pressed down on the room was heavy and suffocating. No chatter, no shared glances, no one to watch the door while he ate. The loneliness was a physical weight, colder than the beans.
He stared blankly at the wall. The utter isolation didn't feel right.
He pulled the phone from his pocket, its screen a dark, blank eye. He pressed the power button. Nothing. No signal.
A wave of longing for his mother washed over him, tightening his throat. He missed her voice, her presence, the simple certainty of home.
He scraped the last of the beans from the can.
He shoved the phone back into his pocket, stood up, and slung the near-empty backpack over his shoulders—time to move.
Outside, the ruined city greeted him under a washed-out sky.
Shattered glass littered the cracked pavement like glittering ice. Abandoned cars sat on flat tires, windows smashed, interiors gutted.
Silence reigned, broken only by the scuttle of debris in the breeze and the distant, mournful cry of some unseen creature. It was a landscape of utter desolation.
Elias moved cautiously. He scanned the skeletal remains of shops.
One storefront, its windows blown out but the interior relatively intact, caught his eye. A faded sign read 'Quick Mart'. He slipped inside.
The dim interior smelled of spoiled milk, dust, and rodent droppings. Shelves were overturned, littered with wrappers and broken packaging.
Most fresh food was a lost cause – pools of congealed liquid, fuzzy mold, and the sickly-sweet stench of rot.
Only dented cans and sealed packets of crackers seemed salvageable, tucked away on high shelves or fallen behind counters.
He sighed, the prospect of another meal of cold beans or dry crackers settling heavily in his stomach. The monotony was its kind of torture.
Then, a sound was heard.
A muffled thud.
It came from behind the closed door of a small janitor's closet near the back.
Elias froze, his breath catching in his throat. His hand instinctively went to the crowbar strapped to his pack.
As he approached the door, his heart was pounding against his ribs like a trapped bird, the doorknob twisted with a faint, metallic snick. The door itself gave a slow, agonizing creak, inching open just a crack.
And then, an eye was seen peering into the crack of the door.