Ember and Grace

Reed House

Three shapes closed the distance fast, boots slapping hard against the pavement, no hesitation in their stride. Noah grabbed Tyler by the arm and pulled him toward the narrow gap between two buildings.

This way. Move.

They cut into the alley, boots crunching over broken glass and loose gravel. Behind them, the shapes didn't slow down at the corne they turned into the alley too, closing the gap instead of losing it.

They are not stopping, Grace said, breathing hard as they ran.

Why don't they stopping?

Just keep moving. Noah's voice stayed level even as his legs burned.

He had never run this far in his life, not since gym class in high school, but something in him had switched to pure motion, no room left for thinking about how tired he was.

The alley opened onto a side street lined with parked cars, half of them left with doors hanging open, engines dead where drivers had abandoned them the night before. Noah spotted a gap between two delivery trucks and pushed Tyler and Grace toward it.

Behind the trucks. Now.

They ducked low, pressed against the cold metal of the truck's side panel, breathing hard, listening. Footsteps pounded past on the other side, three sets, uneven but relentless, close enough that Noah could hear the ragged breathing of whatever was chasing them. Then the footsteps kept going, drawn by something else, fading down the block.

Grace exhaled shaky and slow.

That not normal. People don't run like that. Not without stopping, not without slowing down when they're tired.

Whatever is in their heads, Tyler whispered, still clutching his bandaged leg, it's not letting them feel tired either.

Noah peeked around the edge of the truck. The street ahead looked clear, but clear didn't mean safe anymore, not after last night.

Tyler, which house is yours?

Third one on the left. Blue door.

They moved fast and low, sticking close to parked cars, until they reached a small house with peeling blue paint and a busted porch light hanging from its wire. From inside, muffled but clear, a woman's voice was shouting, and under it, a low, steady thudding against wood.

Tyler shoved past Noah and ran for the door.

Mom! Mom, I'm back, open up!

The door cracked open just enough for a middle aged woman to pull Tyler inside, her face pale and streaked with tears. Behind her, in the hallway, a large shape pressed against a smaller interior door, the wood splintering slightly with each impact.

He's been at that door for an hour, she said, voice shaking.

It not gonna hold.

Grace moved without waiting to be asked, grabbing a kitchen chair from nearby and wedging it under the door handle at an angle, adding pressure against the frame. Noah checked the hinges, found a heavier bookshelf against the far wall, and together they dragged it in front of the door, stacking weight against the wood.

The thudding continued, but slower now, muffled further by the added barrier.

That should hold a while, Noah said, stepping back.

Not forever.

You need to get somewhere safer than this house.

Tyler's mother nodded, already gathering a small bag of supplies.

There's a shelter forming at the old community center. We heard on the radio before it cut out. People are gathering there, pooling supplies.

You should head there, Noah said.

Together, while it's quiet outside.

Tyler looked at Noah, something grateful and unsure in his eyes. "Thank you. For coming back for us."

Get somewhere safe, Noah said.

That all that matters now.

Grace and Noah didn't wait around for the goodbye to stretch longer than it needed to. They slipped back out into the street, moving fast toward the direction of Noah's house, three miles that suddenly felt like an impossible distance.

They kept to alleys and side streets where they could, avoiding the wider roads where cars sat abandoned and doors hung open. Twice they saw shapes in the distance, but neither noticed them, moving instead toward sounds coming from somewhere else.

By the time they reached Noah's street, the sun had climbed higher, casting long shadows over cracked driveways and dead lawns. Noah's house sat at the end of the block, small and unremarkable, the same house he'd grown up in.

The front door was already barricaded from the inside with a refrigerator pushed against it. Noah banged on the wood, three quick knocks, a pause, then two more a pattern he and Emily had used since they were kids, some old signal from a game that had turned into something real.

The fridge scraped away from the door, and Emily's face appeared in the gap, sharp and alert, a kitchen knife gripped tight in one hand.

You're alive, she said, relief cracking through her usual sarcasm. I was starting to think I'd have to deal with Mom by myself forever.

Where is she?

Noah pushed past into the house.

Living room.

She's not good, Noah.

Emily's voice dropped, some of the edge falling away. Fever been climbing since last night. I gave her the medicine we had, but it's almost out.

Noah moved fast toward the living room, Grace close behind him. Diane lay on the couch, blankets pulled up to her chin, skin pale and damp with sweat, breathing shallow and uneven. She stirred slightly at the sound of footsteps, eyes fluttering open.

Noah, she whispered, voice thin. You're here.

I'm here, Mom. He knelt beside the couch, taking her hand, checking her forehead with the back of his fingers. Too warm. Way too warm. You're gonna be okay.

Emily crossed her arms, watching from the doorway. Who's this? she asked, nodding toward Grace.

Grace. She helped me get here. Noah didn't look up from his mother. Grace, this is my sister, Emily.

Nice to meet you, Grace said, already moving toward the kitchen without waiting for a response, checking cabinets, taking stock of what little food and water remained.

Emily watched her for a second, then looked back at Noah.

You brought a stranger into the house during the end of the world. Bold move.

She's not a stranger anymore. Noah kept his voice steady, focused on his mother's shallow breathing. She helped save my life twice in twelve hours.

Emily raised an eyebrow but didn't argue further, kneeling down beside him instead, checking their mother's pulse the way she'd learned from some online course months before any of this happened, back when it seemed like a random hobby instead of something that might save their mother's life.

Fever's the real problem, Emily said quietly. Not the stuff outside. She was already sick before any of this started. This is just making it worse.

Grace stepped back into the room, arms crossed, expression serious. There's barely any food here. Maybe two days if we stretch it. Same with water.

Noah looked between his mother's pale face and his sister's tired eyes, the weight of every decision suddenly resting heavier than it had all morning. We need medicine. Real medicine, not just what's left in the cabinet."

The pharmacy on Fifth Street, Emily said. If it hasn't been looted already.

And if it has? Grace asked.

Nobody answered right away, because nobody wanted to say the next part out loud that somewhere out there, whoever controlled the supplies now controlled who got to survive.

Diane's hand tightened suddenly around Noah's, her whole body going rigid, breath catching sharp in her throat. Her eyes rolled back for a brief, terrifying second before snapping open again, wide and unfocused, staring at nothing.

Mom? Noah's voice cracked. Mom, look at me.

Her breathing turned ragged, harsh, and for one horrible moment, her whole body convulsed like something inside her was trying to break free.