Ember’s boots crunched over the broken stones as she made her way down the dirt path.

  The ruined house appeared through the fading light, walls half-collapsed, roof caved in. Shadows stretched out across the ground, twisting in the evening air.

  Safe?

  She wasn’t sure. The map said it was okay for the night, but empty ruins had a way of hiding danger.

  “This is the place he said I could stay at… let’s hope he was right,” she muttered, tightening up the strap of her backpack. Her heart picked up pace. Even familiar directions didn’t make the night quiet or friendly.

  She stopped up and tilted her head, listening. A faint scraping sound came from inside. A zombie. Ember’s stomach tightened, but she forced herself to calm down. She crouched slightly, eyes narrowing to watch the shape in the dim light. The zombie shuffled, dragging a broken foot.

  Her lips twitched into a sardonic smile. “Just one… not exactly a welcoming committee,” she whispered. She looked over the ground carefully.

  Loose stones, broken boards, and small bends in the dirt could give away traps.

  She remembered getting caught up in a snare not long ago. That memory made her slow down, step carefully, and pay attention to every little detail.

  The air smelled of rotting wood and damp moss.

  Ember sniffed subtly, trying to pick up any other hint of danger. A metallic tang made her pause—old blood? Could be from the zombie. She adjusted her path, stepping lightly, keeping her weight low.

  Among the rubble, she spotted a long piece of wire. Perfect. She could set up a snare to trap the zombie below. Hands trembling slightly, she rolled out the wire and checked the tension. The narrow passage beside the wall looked ideal. She imagined the zombie walking into it.

  “Let’s see if my past mistakes can come in handy now,” she muttered, tying the wire to a loose stone and crouching low, keeping herself hidden.

  A small rock threw across the floorboards inside made the zombie look up and shuffle toward the sound.

  Ember held her breath, stepping over a broken board and a small pile of dirt. Every nerve was alert. “Come on… just walk in, you idiot,” she whispered.

  The zombie’s foot caught on the wire. The loop tightened, and it fell with a heavy thud, dragging itself uselessly. It tried to rise, but couldn’t.

  Ember exhaled slowly, a quiet laugh escaping her lips.

  “That’s a cut! Stay put and don’t ruin my night,” she said softly. One problem solved. She paused, listening and sniffing, eyes constantly scanning. Every sound—the rustle of leaves, the distant howl of a coyote, the zombie groaning in the snare—kept her alert.

  The wall to the second floor looked rough but climbable. Ember approached cautiously, testing each foothold and handhold before moving. The second floor was safe; zombies couldn’t climb. Still, she moved like a cat: slow, careful, checking up on every step.

  A faint click under her foot made her freeze. A large trap, half-hidden under rubble. Her first real encounter with one. She nudged it aside with her foot, careful not to make it snap.

  “I hope this is a warning, not a welcome gift,” she muttered, shaking her head.

  Step by step, she climbed. Each handhold and foothold tested before she committed her weight. Her senses screamed: every rustle in the leaves, every whisper of wind against the broken boards, every groan from below demanded attention. She kept one eye on the trapped zombie, one on the walls, and one on the shadows dancing in the fading light.

  Finally, she pulled herself onto the second floor. A dry corner offered a safe spot. Ember eased herself down, backpack under her head, knife within reach. The night surrounded her, and she allowed herself a small, sardonic smile.

  “One more night alive. I know what I’m doing… mostly,” she murmured.

  The wilderness filled the night with sounds: coyotes howling, wind rattling old boards, the zombie groaning below. Ember hugged her knees, letting the tense symphony of the ruined house and night rock her into a cautious, uneasy sleep.

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  Even though she was tired, every sense alert, she felt a spark of confidence. The careful steps, the measured breathing, the sarcastic little jokes to herself—this was survival, and she was learning fast. She closed her eyes, knowing that tomorrow, the wasteland would demand more. But for now, she was ready.

  ***

  Morning light came through the broken windows, soft and pale, touching the second-floor boards.

  Ember stirred, blinking against the dim glow. Her stomach grumbled. She reached for a small piece of dried food in her backpack and took a few bites, washing it down with water. She needed energy for the day ahead.

  Feeling slightly stronger, she picked up her backpack and tested the weight. Slowly, she leaned over the edge and lowered it to the ground below with a soft thud. Her hands trembled slightly—not from fear, but from tension.

  She paused, taking a deep breath.

  The house was quiet, except for distant bird calls and the faint groan of a zombie trapped somewhere below.

  Ember slid her legs over the edge and started her careful descent, testing every foothold, scanning the shadows and debris. Finally, she reached the first floor. Her boots crunched softly against broken boards and rubble. Near the back, she spotted the metal trap half-hidden among the debris. Her stomach tightened. Yesterday, she had almost stepped into this very trap—she was not going to make the same mistake again. Carefully, she nudged it to the side, making sure it would not be in her way if she returned here later to spend another night.

  “Not today, death trap,” she muttered. “I will check it out and make sure it does not catch me next time.” She straightened and adjusted her backpack.

  She started moving toward the area where the map showed the cache would be, keeping low and cautious. Every small sound—the creak of a loose board, the rustle of dry leaves, the faint groan of a zombie—made her pause. She stepped lightly, avoiding loose stones and disturbed dirt.

  A shuffle from a shadow made her freeze. A zombie dragged its broken foot, head tilted oddly. Ember held her breath, stepping carefully around it.

  The creature did not notice her.

  “Step around it and keep moving. Too easy,” she muttered under her breath, smirking.

  Then a low growl made her stomach drop. A dog appeared, fur matted, eyes sharp and predatory.

  Ember tensed. Zombies were predictable. Dogs were fast, clever, and unpredictable.

  The dog lunged.

  Ember stumbled but jabbed with her knife, kicked, and ducked under a snap of teeth.

  It circled her, snapping and growling.

  She rolled, shoved, and dodged, trying to keep it off balance. Her arms burned, her breath came fast. She realized she could not fight it on the ground forever.

  Her eyes landed on a nearby tree. Sprinting, she grabbed the rough bark and scrambled up, boots finding holds. The dog snapped at her heels, but she climbed higher until she was safely out of reach. She perched on a thick branch, catching her breath, heart hammering.

  The animal circled the trunk, teeth bared, growling and snapping, barking sharply. It scratched at the wood, pacing back and forth, restless, testing for a weak spot.

  Every movement, every sound, made her stomach twist. She knew the noise could attract other dogs—or worse, zombies.

  Ember clenched her knife in one hand, thinking quickly. Running was not an option. Fighting on the ground could get her bitten. She needed a plan. Her eyes scanned the branches above and landed on a dry stick, sturdy enough to hold a strip of cloth. A spark of an idea came to her. Tie this up and set it on fire. That should hold it back. Hold on… steady hands, Ember.

  Slowly, she shifted her weight, gripping the tree tightly. She climbed down a little, moving onto a lower branch to be closer to the dog without giving it a chance to leap. Her hands shook as she pulled a strip of cloth from her pack and wrapped it carefully around one end of the stick. She poured a small amount of alcohol from her pack onto the cloth, careful not to spill any on herself. Then she struck sparks with her fire steel. The cloth caught quickly, flames licking the dry wood.

  The dog froze for a moment, then continued circling, growling, unsure of the burning threat.

  Ember waved the torch slowly, testing its reaction. “Step back… keep away… you do not get me.”

  The animal barked, snapped, and ran a few steps closer, then backed off, still growling, still wary.

  Step by cautious step, Ember edged it back.

  The dog had retreated a few meters, still growling and watching from a safe distance.

  Ember stayed perfectly still for a moment, heart still racing. She waited until it slowed its pacing and seemed less eager to attack. Only then did she carefully shift her weight and lower herself to a thicker branch closer to the ground.

  Her feet finally touched solid earth. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her shaking hands. The wasteland stretched around her, quiet for now, but full of hidden dangers. She glanced around, scanning for signs of zombies or other animals. Every sound made her jump—leaves rustling, distant snapping of twigs, the faint echo of a crow.

  Ember picked up her pack, checked that the cloth and fire steel were safely stowed again, and adjusted the straps. She drank a little water, letting her mind focus on the next step: the path to the hidden stash. She moved cautiously, one careful step at a time, listening and watching.

  The dog ran off. Ember let out a quiet laugh. “That’s a cut! Now I can get back to moving forward.” She shook out the tension from her arms and continued on.

  following the series—there are many more chapters to come!

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