Between the Dead

Chapter 4 - Running on Empty

Elara spent three days moving camp, settling into a new, smaller space: a defunct electrical substation ten miles east of the warehouse. It was fortified by a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire, providing a perimeter she didn't have to build herself. But the area was sparse. To restock, she had to risk the densely populated central business district—an area she'd marked with the highest concentration of red Xs on her map.
Her anxiety level, usually a dull background hum, was now a sharp, insistent whine. The energy she'd expended moving was debt she had to repay. All thanks to a group. They moved like silent predators and left pizza boxes like tourists.
She chose today's target: a small, forgotten bank branch. Banks always had supplies, if not cash, then fire extinguishers, first-aid kits, and heavy doors.
She entered the city, at what felt like peak daylight, hoping to avoid the evening rush of the Runners. The air was thick with decay, the silence broken only by the perpetual, soft rustle of wind through the broken skyscrapers.
She moved with her axe drawn, held low at her side. Every sense was extended. She skirted the main avenues, sticking to back alleys where the sightlines were limited but the cover was infinite. She navigated around two stationary groups of Shamblers, her body pressed flat against damp brick, holding her breath until her lungs burned.
The bank was at the end of a narrow street, blocked by a single, flipped-over police cruiser—a perfect natural chokepoint. The doors were already twisted open, but the interior looked untouched, strangely dark and silent. A good sign, or a good trap. In Elara's experience, usually both.
She slipped through the broken glass entrance, her boots padding softly on the marble floor. She was checking the lobby desks when she saw it: a small, almost invisible piece of white cloth snagged on the handle of a vault door. A marker. The group was here.
They were either nearby, or they had just left. A wave of ice-cold fury mixed with dread washed over her. Her new territory was compromised before she'd even unpacked.
She pivoted, ready to leave, ready to break the first three rules of survival and run screaming into the suburbs—anything to get away from them.
But she was already too late.