The cold wind bit into Kaizen's face as he walked toward the distant fire flickering on the horizon like a red demonic eye. Every step reminded him of his wounds. The gash in his left shoulder bled slowly beneath the makeshift bandage, and the bite in his right arm burned as if fire flowed through his veins. But he did not stop. Stopping meant death in this world.
The woman he had saved—or who had saved him, he did not yet know—walked behind him with unsteady steps. Her naked body trembled from the cold, dried blood covering her thighs and stomach. She had not spoken since they left the cellar. She only gripped the axe with both hands as if it were the last thing tying her to life.
"Cover yourself," Kaizen said roughly without turning.
He threw her a torn shirt he had taken from one of the dead men. It fell at her feet. She bent slowly, picked it up, and put it on. It was too large for her, but it partially covered her broken body.
"Your name?" he asked after some distance.
A long silence. Then she answered in a broken voice, as if she had not spoken in weeks:
"Lira."
"Lira," Kaizen repeated in his mind. An old foreign name, like most names in this world. It didn't matter. A name meant nothing. Today a companion, tomorrow a traitor. That was the rule.
They walked for hours. The sky remained a heavy gray, as if the sun had died long ago and only a faint light like eternal dawn remained. The ground beneath their feet was cracked and uneven, and from time to time black thorny plants appeared that would burn the skin if touched.
Suddenly, Kaizen stopped. He raised his hand, signaling Lira to stay still.
Ahead of them, about two hundred meters away, something lay on the ground. He approached cautiously, knife ready. It was a man. Or what remained of one. The body was horribly torn apart. His stomach was open, intestines spilled onto the dirt, bones broken. This was not the work of ordinary beasts. Human bite marks were clearly visible.
"Flesh Eaters," Kaizen whispered. "We're close."
Lira said nothing, but her grip on the axe trembled.
They moved on more carefully. Soon they reached a small ridge. From above, they could clearly see the camp.
It was large, for this world. Around fifty people or more. Tents made of animal skins and torn cloth, a large fire at the center, and fences of barbed wire and iron poles. Human skulls hung on the fences—some still with flesh attached.
Men guarded the entrances with axes, clubs, and metal pipes. Women sat around the fire, some half-naked, cooking something. The smell reaching Kaizen was a mixture of roasted meat and rot.
"We wait for darkness," Kaizen said calmly. "We go in, take what we can, and leave. No heroics. No rescuing. Just survival."
Lira looked at him. Her eyes held a clear question: what about me?
"You stay with me or die alone," he answered coldly. "Your choice."
They waited behind rocks. Kaizen's shoulder throbbed badly. He took a piece of dog meat from his pouch and handed it to her.
"Eat. You'll need strength."
Lira ate hungrily, tearing into the gray meat. Kaizen ate as well—but kept watching the camp.
When darkness fell—or what passed for darkness—the activity in the camp slowed. Some guards slept, others drank crude alcohol made from fermented plants.
"Now," Kaizen said.
They descended silently, slipping through a gap in the back fence. Inside, the smell was stronger: sweat, blood, roasted meat, and something else—the faint metallic scent of radiation.
They approached a large tent. Kaizen cut the fabric quietly and entered. Inside were crates and sacks. He opened one—canned food, metal tools, and a leather bag filled with relatively clean water.
Then—
A sound behind him.
He turned sharply.
A small child stood at the entrance. No older than ten. Thin. Hair falling out from radiation. One arm deformed. The boy stared at them with wide eyes.
Kaizen raised his knife.
Lira grabbed his arm. "No… he's a child."
Kaizen looked at her coldly. "The child today is the man who kills you tomorrow."
The boy didn't scream. He pointed at the food… then his mouth.
Hungry.
Kaizen hesitated for a brief moment.
Then he gave him a small piece of meat.
"Don't scream," he whispered. "Or I kill you."
The child took it and ran.
"You should have killed him," Lira said quietly.
"Maybe," Kaizen replied. "But now we have more time before they notice."
They gathered what they could: four cans, water, cloth for bandages, an extra knife.
As they were leaving—
A shout.
"Thieves! Thieves in the camp!"
Chaos erupted.
Men ran. Torches lit. Weapons drawn.
"Run!" Kaizen snapped.
They burst out of the tent. A guard saw them—swung an axe at Lira.
Kaizen shoved her aside. The axe struck his injured shoulder, tearing it open. He screamed—but turned and slit the man's throat.
They ran toward the fence. Four men chased them.
Kaizen cut the wire. Escaped first. Pulled Lira through—but one man grabbed her leg.
She screamed.
Kaizen stabbed the man's head repeatedly until he let go.
They ran into the darkness.
The men did not follow far. Night outside the camp was death.
They stopped at a safe distance.
Kaizen bled heavily.
Lira sat beside him, breathing hard.
"Why did you push me?" she asked.
"Because you're useful now," he said coldly. "Tomorrow, maybe not."
He bandaged his shoulder tightly.
"We have food for days. But the wound is deep. If it rots… I cut it out myself."
He looked toward a distant valley.
"We go there. Find something to stop infection."
They walked again. This time, Lira walked beside him.
Then—
She froze.
"What?" Kaizen asked.
"Something is following us."
Kaizen turned.
Eyes in the dark.
Many eyes.
A pack of mutated dogs.
More than ten.
"Damn," he muttered.
He gripped his knife. Lira raised the axe.
The dogs approached slowly, teeth glinting.
Kaizen was wounded. Carrying supplies.
This fight would be brutal.
He smiled.
Cold.
"Come then," he said quietly. "Let's see… who eats who."
And the pack lunged.