Requiem of the Dead

The night had been quiet—too quiet. The wind outside whispered through the trees, but the unsettling howls had stopped. The silence was almost unnatural, a hollow absence of life that sent an eerie shiver down Leila's spine. She sat near the edge of the clearing, watching the fire flicker low as the embers pulsed like a dying heartbeat. The group was finally resting, exhaustion pressing down on them after the chaos of the escape. But sleep wouldn't come for her. Not yet.

She felt the weight of what was coming, the pressure of time slipping through her fingers. Three months had led to this moment, and now there was no more waiting, no more second-guessing. The first real signs of the outbreak had hit the nearby towns—faster than even she had predicted. Fever, confusion, then violence. The infection wasn't just killing people. It was changing them.

Leila ran her fingers over the edge of her rifle, the cool metal grounding her. She had prepared for this, but preparation didn't erase fear. It didn't stop the gnawing uncertainty in her gut. She knew what was coming, but the others didn't—not yet.

Mark sat a few feet away, sharpening his knife with slow, methodical movements. The rhythmic scrape of steel against stone was the only real sound besides the crackling fire. Darren was stationed just beyond the fire's glow, his silhouette rigid against the darkness, scanning the tree line for any movement. He hadn't spoken much since they reached the clearing, but Leila could sense his tension. Fiona had retreated to her bedroll, shifting every so often, but Leila knew she wasn't asleep. None of them truly were. Only Jace and Ellie, still oblivious in their own way, had settled against a fallen log, their hushed murmurs filling the quiet spaces between the crackling embers.

"Leila."

Jace's voice broke through the silence, low but firm. She turned her gaze to meet his. Even in the dim light, she could see the suspicion flickering in his eyes. His fingers drummed lightly against his knee, a nervous tic that betrayed his forced composure. "You've been different. Ever since this started."

Leila held his stare, unblinking. "We all have."

Ellie shifted, pulling her jacket tighter around her. The cold was biting now, but that wasn't what made her uneasy. "But you're ahead of this, somehow. You knew to get out of the city before things really went to hell. You knew exactly where to go, what supplies to grab. And now, you're watching us like we're the ones you can't trust."

Leila's jaw tightened, but she kept her tone even. "I trust actions, not words. And so far, I've had to save your asses more times than I can count."

Jace leaned forward, his voice quiet but sharp. "What aren't you telling us?"

Mark's knife scraped against the whetstone, punctuating the heavy silence. Darren glanced over from his post but said nothing, letting Leila handle it.

She could lie. She could spin another half-truth, tell them she just had good instincts, that she'd been watching the signs more carefully than the rest of them. But it wouldn't matter. They were already doubting her. Jace and Ellie had always been quick to turn when things got hard.

Leila exhaled slowly. "The outbreak isn't stopping. It's already taken the cities. It's spreading through the smaller towns. And soon, it'll be everywhere."

Ellie scoffed. "We already know that."

"No, you don't." Leila's voice was cold, unwavering. "Because it's not just about the dead coming back. People are changing before they die. They're losing themselves, turning violent, attacking the ones they love. It's not just a sickness. It's something else."

A heavy silence followed.

Fiona sat up slightly, rubbing her eyes. Her fingers instinctively brushed against the bandage on her arm, a scrape she had gotten during their escape. "How do you know that?"

Leila hesitated. She couldn't tell them the truth. That she had lived through this once before, that she had watched the world crumble under the weight of its own mistakes. That she had died screaming, torn apart by the very people she once trusted.

Instead, she simply said, "Because I've seen it happen before."

The fire crackled between them, the tension thick. Mark exchanged a glance with Darren, his fingers tightening around his knife handle.

Jace narrowed his eyes. "And what's your plan, then?"

Leila stood, brushing the dirt from her pants. "We keep moving at first light. We reach the cabin, we fortify it, and we gather supplies. If we're lucky, we buy ourselves time before things get worse."

Jace scoffed but didn't argue. Ellie looked away, arms crossed. The doubt was still there, but they had no choice but to follow her. For now.

Then, from the darkness beyond the clearing, a twig snapped.

Darren was already on his feet, gun raised. Mark followed, his grip on his blade tightening.

Leila didn't hesitate. She grabbed her rifle, eyes scanning the trees. The firelight cast eerie shadows against the thick trunks, making it impossible to tell where the sound had come from.

The group fell into a tense silence, every muscle coiled, waiting.

Then, a voice. Low. Steady.

"Easy. Not looking for trouble."

A figure stepped into the light—a man, broad-shouldered, dressed in weathered gear that suggested he had been on the move for some time. His dark hair was slightly unkempt, his face lined with exhaustion but sharp with awareness. His clothes were dusted with dried mud and faint smears of blood, but he carried himself with the ease of someone who had spent a long time surviving on his own.

He raised his hands slightly, palms outward, a universal sign of non-threat. But Leila wasn't lowering her weapon just yet.

"Who the hell are you?" Mark demanded, his knife still raised.

The man didn't flinch. "Kai Darrow," he said simply, his voice rough with wear. "I've been tracking the outbreak. And I think you already know—it's worse than you're telling them."

Leila kept her rifle trained on him, but her pulse quickened. "How do you know that?"

Kai's gaze met hers, unwavering. "Because I've seen what's coming. And trust me—you're going to want me around when it does."

The fire crackled louder as a gust of wind rushed through the clearing. The world beyond them felt impossibly vast, the darkness stretching on endlessly. But standing there, staring at this stranger who spoke with certainty and warning, Leila had the distinct feeling that something had shifted.

She wasn't sure if it was for better or worse.

Kai took another step closer, his gaze sweeping over the group. He read them quickly, assessing the tension in their stances, the distrust in their eyes. "I'm not here to fight," he added. "But if you want to live through this, you're going to need more than just blind luck."

Mark's grip on his knife didn't loosen. "And what exactly do you bring to the table?"

Kai smirked, but there was no humor in it. "I know where to go when things get worse. I know what's out there. And I know that if you stay here too long, you're all as good as dead."

Leila studied him, weighing her options. Letting a stranger into their group was dangerous. But leaving him out there, knowing what she knew, might be even worse.

She lowered her rifle—just slightly. "Then start talking."

Kai's eyes flickered with something unreadable before he spoke again. "I know a place. A real safe zone. Not some shack in the woods waiting to be overrun. I know people who are armed, prepared. But more than that—I know how to survive what's coming next. And trust me, it's worse than you think."

The firelight danced across his face, but his expression remained cold, calculated.

Leila felt the weight of the choice before her. And she knew, whatever happened next, nothing would be the same.