THE FLICKER

chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Ashes of the Old World**

The stench of smoke and rotting meat clung to the air as Elena Carter crouched behind the rusted shell of an overturned delivery truck, her fingers pressed against Noah’s lips. His wide, terrified eyes stared up at her, but he didn’t make a sound. Good.

*They hear everything.*

Three months had passed since the world ended. Three months since she’d dragged Noah from the hospital, dodging teeth and claws and the screams of the dying. Three months since she’d last seen her husband’s body, left behind in that blood-smeared hallway.

Now, the city was a graveyard.

A low, guttural moan echoed from the street ahead. Elena held her breath as one of the infected shambled past, its milky eyes scanning the wreckage. Its jaw hung slack, tendons snapping with every jerking movement. This one was slow—decayed. The newer ones were worse. Faster. Smarter.

Noah trembled against her. She tightened her grip on the kitchen knife in her other hand, the blade dull from months of use. If it noticed them, she’d have one shot. One strike before it called the others.

The creature paused, sniffing the air.

Elena’s pulse roared in her ears.

Then—a crash. A bottle shattered somewhere in the distance. The infected’s head snapped toward the noise, and it lurched away, drawn by the sound.

She exhaled slowly, her muscles unlocking.

"We’re clear," she whispered, pulling Noah closer. "Just a little farther."

The boy nodded, his small fingers clutching the strap of her backpack. He hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words since that day at the hospital. Elena wasn’t sure if he ever would again.

They moved in silence, sticking to the shadows of broken storefronts and abandoned cars. Their destination loomed ahead—a fortified apartment complex known as *The Nest*. It wasn’t much, but it was one of the last strongholds in the city. A place with walls. With people.

With rules.

The gate creaked as they approached, and a flashlight beam immediately pinned them.

"Hold it right there," a voice barked from the guard post.

Elena shielded Noah’s eyes from the light, squinting up at the silhouette of a man with a rifle. "We’re clean," she said, hoisting her sleeve to show her forearm—no bites, no scratches.

"Who’s *we*?"

She hesitated, then stepped aside just enough to reveal Noah clinging to her leg. The guard’s posture shifted.

"Jesus. A kid?" He lowered the gun slightly. "Marcus ain’t gonna like this."

Elena’s jaw tightened. She’d heard the name before. *Marcus Reed.* Ex-military. The one who’d turned this place into a fortress. The one who decided who lived and who starved.

The gate groaned open just enough to let them slip through.

Inside, The Nest was a grim parody of normalcy. Makeshift tents and lean-to shelters dotted the courtyard, where haggard survivors huddled around small fires. A few glanced up as Elena and Noah passed, their eyes hollow with exhaustion.

Then, a voice cut through the murmurs.

"New arrivals?"

Elena turned.

A tall man with a scar running from his temple to his jawline stood with his arms crossed. His stance screamed *soldier*, from the tactical vest to the way his fingers rested near the pistol at his hip. *Marcus.*

She straightened. "Elena Carter. This is my son, Noah."

Marcus’s gaze flicked to the boy, then back to her. "We don’t take charity cases."

"He’s not deadweight," she snapped. "And neither am I. I was a paramedic. I can help."

That got his attention. His eyes narrowed, assessing her. Then, with a grunt, he jerked his chin toward the far side of the courtyard. "Medical tent’s over there. You patch people up, you earn your keep. Kid stays out of the way."

Elena nodded, relief flooding her veins. But before she could move, Marcus leaned in, his voice dropping to a growl.

"One warning. You slow us down, you put anyone at risk—you’re gone. No exceptions."

She met his glare without flinching. "Understood."

As Marcus stalked off, a woman with dark braids and a shotgun slung over her shoulder stepped forward. "Don’t mind him," she said dryly. "He’s a real sweetheart once you get to know him."

Elena blinked.

The woman smirked. "Lena Vasquez. Welcome to hell."

Noah pressed closer to Elena’s side as Lena led them toward the medical tent—a tarp strung between two pillars, stocked with scavenged supplies. A teenage girl with a bandaged arm sat on a crate, watching them with wary eyes.

"Got another doc for you, Rook," Lena called.

A lanky man in a stained lab coat turned, pushing cracked glasses up his nose. His face lit up. "Oh thank God. Someone who knows which end of a needle goes in."

Elena almost smiled. Almost.

Then a shout erupted from the gate.

"Runners coming in! Open up!"

The courtyard erupted into motion. People scrambled for weapons as the gate groaned open again, and two figures stumbled through—a man Elena didn’t recognize, half-dragging a bleeding woman.

"Infected got them at the pharmacy," the man gasped. "We lost Daniels. They’re—they’re *changing*."

Marcus was already barking orders. "Lock it down! Everyone inside, *now*!"

Elena grabbed Noah, shoving him toward Lena. "Take him."

Lena didn’t argue, hauling Noah toward the apartments as the courtyard dissolved into chaos. Elena turned toward the wounded woman—only for Marcus to block her path.

"No," he said flatly.

"She needs help—"

"She’s *bit*."

Elena’s blood ran cold. She looked past him. The woman’s sleeve was torn, the flesh beneath it mangled. Even from here, Elena could see the veins darkening beneath her skin.

The woman’s eyes met hers. Pleading. Terrified.

Marcus raised his pistol.

Elena lunged— "Wait!"

The gunshot cracked through the air.

The woman dropped.

Silence.

Then, from the streets beyond the wall—a chorus of shrieks answered.

The infected had heard.

And they were coming.

**End of Chapter 2**