CHAPTER 9

I stood there, hugging myself in the silence that followed, feeling like the ground had just been ripped from beneath me. Everything—the food, the supplies I had risked so much to gather—it was all gone, now in the hands of someone who didn't give a damn about me.

I'm at his mercy. The realization settled in, heavy and suffocating.

He was in the kitchen, making noise, sorting through the bag like it was nothing, like it wasn't all that I had. I heard the sound of cans being opened, the clink of metal against the counter. My stomach growled, reminding me of how long it had been since I had last eaten, but I knew better than to ask.

Instead, I looked around the room, taking in my surroundings. It was small, just like mine, but more lived-in—messy, with dishes piled in the sink, blankets strewn across the couch. There were empty beer bottles on the table and a makeshift barricade against the windows, the curtains drawn tight.

I thought my apartment was bad. This place didn't feel any safer.

My thoughts were interrupted when he came back, a can of beans in his hand, already half-empty. He didn't offer me any. Of course, he didn't.

"So," he said, leaning against the wall, eyes still cold and calculating, "how long you been on your own?"

I hesitated, not sure how much to tell him. But lying didn't seem like a good idea either. "Since… since the first outbreak," I muttered, staring at the floor. "I was at my apartment when it all happened."

He nodded, chewing slowly as if weighing my words. "Lucky. Most people didn't even make it home that day."

I didn't feel lucky. Not at all. But I kept my mouth shut, sensing that any hint of weakness would only make things worse.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and tossed the empty can onto the floor, where it joined the others. "Here's how this is gonna work," he said, his voice low but firm. "You stay quiet, do what I say, and you'll get by. I don't need any drama, and I sure as hell don't need you slowing me down."

I bit the inside of my cheek, fighting the urge to scream. I'm not slowing you down—I'm not doing anything! But I forced myself to nod instead.

"Got it," I whispered, though my voice trembled with the effort.

He watched me for a moment longer, his eyes unreadable, then pushed himself off the wall. "Good. You can sleep on the couch. Don't touch anything without asking."

With that, he turned and walked toward what I assumed was the bedroom, shutting the door behind him with a thud. I stood there, rooted to the spot, my mind reeling. I thought finding another survivor would bring some sense of security, some relief. But instead, I felt more trapped than ever.

I looked at the couch—an old, stained thing with lumpy cushions—and then back at the door he had disappeared behind. The urge to run was overwhelming, to get away from this place, from him. But where would I go? The hallways were crawling with those… things. I couldn't risk it.

I sank onto the couch, the springs groaning under my weight. The apartment was eerily quiet now, save for the faint hum of the fridge and the occasional distant sound of something outside—maybe wind, or maybe worse.

What now? I buried my face in my hands, trying to block out the reality pressing in from all sides. I had survived this long, but for what? To be holed up with a stranger who didn't care if I lived or died?

I felt a lump rise in my throat, and I tried to swallow it down, but it was no use. The tears came, hot and silent, sliding down my cheeks. All the fear, the loneliness, the grief of everything I had lost—it hit me all at once.

I didn't sob. I couldn't afford to make noise. But the tears kept coming, and I curled up on the couch, arms wrapped around myself, trying to hold in the overwhelming flood of emotions.

Eventually, exhaustion took over. My body, worn down by hunger, fear, and adrenaline, gave in. I drifted into a restless sleep, curled up on the lumpy cushions, too tired to worry about what would come next.

But even in sleep, there was no peace. My dreams were filled with shadows—things lurking in the corners, reaching for me, gnashing teeth and bloodstained hands. I saw my sister's face again, pale and desperate, crying for help I couldn't give.

When I woke, the room was dark, and I didn't know how long I'd been out. The apartment was silent except for my own breathing, and the cold dread in my stomach hadn't gone anywhere.

I sat up, blinking into the darkness, and for a moment, I didn't know where I was. But slowly reality started to creep in.

Even my dreams didn't let me escape reality even for a moment.

I was fucked.

Stuck in this hell hole with a fucking food thief.