The wind that cut across the ridge wasn't the kind you could just shrug off.It was sharp, biting into skin and clothes alike, carrying with it the stale, metallic tang of decay. Kane Wylder adjusted the sling of his battered rifle and scanned the forested slopes below. The mountain air still had that high-altitude chill, even with the sun hanging low and heavy over the western horizon — but the cold wasn't what made his jaw clench.
The valley city below was burning.
Plumes of smoke rose in lazy columns from collapsed buildings, curling against the darkening sky. Flames licked the skeletons of what were once homes, storefronts, schools. He could make out faint movement even at this distance — jerking, unnatural silhouettes staggering through the streets. Too many. Always too many.
Kane exhaled through his nose, the sound lost to the whisper of pine trees swaying in the wind.
Behind him, the cabin stood silent. A single-story house, more wood than stone, resting in a clearing halfway up the mountain slope. His grandfather had built it decades ago — part hunting lodge, part stubborn defiance of city life. The place had been Kane's home for years now, ever since the crash had stolen everything else.
Parents. Grandfather. Gone in an instant, somewhere over the ocean. The military funeral had been full of sharp uniforms, gun salutes, and words about honor and service — but none of it filled the hole left behind.
All that remained of his family now was Reina.
Two years old. Soft brown hair that always stuck up in the back. A stubborn streak that could probably punch through concrete. She was inside now, asleep in the back room, curled under the thick quilts their grandfather had sworn were "wolf-proof." Kane had checked the windows and doors three times before stepping out.
Habit. Military training drilled into his bones.
It had started long before the world went to hell. His father, a decorated army colonel. His mother, a logistics officer who could break down a supply chain faster than most people could open a can of soup. And his grandfather — retired general, sharp-eyed and steel-spined even into his seventies.
Kane hadn't been given a choice about learning. Marksmanship. Close-quarters combat. Field repairs. Reading terrain. Years of weekend drills, hunting trips that doubled as training exercises, lectures about "discipline" and "responsibility" until they became part of his reflexes.
At eighteen, he'd joined the army himself. Three years in uniform. A tour overseas. Enough experience to know exactly what it looked like when society started to crack — and exactly how bad it was about to get.
He turned his eyes back toward the city.
The apocalypse had been slow in its beginning, deceptively so.The first reports had come from far away — strange outbreaks in places no one in the mountains cared much about. Kane had recognized the early signs for what they were, but most people… they'd laughed it off. Fake news. Overblown stories. A bad flu.
It wasn't until the infected reached the city that reality hit like a hammer.
Kane had moved fast. Stockpiling supplies. Checking the defensive perimeter around the cabin. Teaching Reina to hide in a crawl space beneath the floor if anything got inside. The first month had been nothing but barricading and scavenging — venturing down into the edges of the city when food and ammunition started running thin.
He'd kept them alive that way. Longer than most.
But in the end… nothing lasted forever.
It started with the smoke.
By noon that day, the horizon was already choked with it. Kane had returned from a supply run to find a fresh crack in the northern treeline — the sound of splintering wood and guttural roars echoing up the slope. Something big was moving through the forest. Bigger than the shambling infected they'd grown used to avoiding.
By dusk, the valley was on fire. And they were coming uphill.
Kane turned from the ridge, striding toward the cabin. Every step felt heavier. The shadows stretched long now, pulling across the clearing like grasping fingers. He reached the porch, boots thudding against the weathered boards, and stepped inside.
Reina was awake. She sat on the floor near the couch, clutching a ragged stuffed bear, wide eyes fixed on him the moment he entered.
"You're back," she said softly, her voice still wrapped in the uncertain tones of toddler speech.
"Always," Kane replied, forcing a small smile. He closed the door behind him and slid the locking bar into place. "How's my little soldier?"
She puffed her cheeks. "I'm not little!"
Kane crouched, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "You'll always be little to me, kiddo."
He glanced toward the back room. His pack was already there, loaded with what remained of their food, a change of clothes for Reina, ammunition, and the hand-drawn map of the mountain routes he'd scouted. If they had to run, they'd run light and fast.
But deep down, he knew there was nowhere left to run.
The first one came after midnight.
Kane had been sitting in the dark, rifle across his knees, listening to the faint static of a dead radio, when the sound reached him — a slow, scraping drag against the porch boards. His hand tightened around the rifle. A shadow shifted near the window.
Then the glass shattered.
The thing that clawed its way inside wasn't the mindless, stumbling infected he'd fought before. Its movements were too deliberate, too fast — a hunched, sinewy frame with pale, stretched skin and teeth bared in a grotesque snarl. Kane didn't hesitate. One shot to the head dropped it instantly, the report echoing off the walls.
But the sound drew more.
By the time he'd shoved the corpse back through the window, the forest outside was alive with movement. Shapes between the trees. Eyes glinting in the dark.
"Kane?" Reina's voice was small, frightened.
He turned, forcing calm into his tone. "We're leaving, sweetheart."
The night that followed was a blur of fire and blood.
They moved fast through the treeline, Kane carrying Reina against his chest, rifle in one hand. The city's glow burned behind them, smoke stinging their eyes even from miles away. The infected were everywhere now — some slow, some unnervingly fast, all relentless.
Twice, they had to duck into a gully, holding still as a hunting pack passed above them. Once, a shriek from somewhere in the dark sent the smaller infected scattering, replaced by a silhouette so massive it bent the branches around it. Kane didn't even try to fight it. He waited, breath held, until the sound of its heavy steps faded.
Hours later, they reached the base of the northern ridge.
That's where they made their stand.
Kane had chosen the spot weeks ago — a narrow pass between rock faces, a natural choke point. He set Reina down behind a boulder, pressing the stuffed bear into her hands.
"No matter what happens," he said quietly, "you don't move until I say. Understand?"
Her lower lip trembled. "I don't want—"
"I know," he cut in, voice firm but gentle. "But I need you to be brave for me. Like we practiced."
She nodded, tears clinging to her lashes.
Then the first of the infected rounded the bend.
Kane fired. One shot, two, three. Each echo slammed into the stone walls around them, the flashes briefly painting the night in red and white. The bodies piled fast, but more kept coming, clambering over their own dead.
Minutes felt like hours.
A clawed hand raked across his shoulder, hot blood blooming under his jacket. He slammed the butt of his rifle into the creature's skull and fired point-blank. Another came from the side — lean, fast — and tackled him into the dirt. Kane rolled, drawing the combat knife from his belt, driving it into its temple.
But the tide didn't stop.
Something massive roared beyond the bend, and the infected seemed to surge all at once. Kane backed up until his shoulders hit the rock. He glanced toward the boulder.
Reina's eyes were wide, unblinking, staring at him.
"I love you," Kane mouthed.
The next impact knocked the rifle from his grip. Claws tore into him. Teeth closed on his neck. The world became heat and pain and choking darkness.
And then he was standing in his kitchen.
The light through the window was wrong — pale and gold, spilling across the counter. The smell of pine and coffee drifted through the air. His rifle was gone. His wounds were gone.
Somewhere in the back room, Reina's voice sang along to a half-remembered nursery rhyme.
Kane's breath came fast, chest tight. The clock on the wall ticked steadily. Outside, the world was calm. No smoke. No roars. No infected.
It wasn't possible.
It shouldn't have been possible.
Then his eyes landed on the calendar.
The date hit him like a blow.
Sixty days before the apocalypse began.