The first floor was secured, the bodies were gone. He could finally walk through the halls without the stant threat of something lunging at him from the shadows. Now, it was time to finish what he started—looting the st four apartments on the first floor.

  Salem stretched beside him, his tail flig as he watched Hugo prepare for the day. The cat had been more active tely, regaining his energy from proper meals a. He still wasn’t thrilled about all the noise and movement, but he had settled into his new routine of watg Hugo’s every move from his per the couch or backpack.

  “Alright, buddy,” Hugo muttered as he strapped on his gear. “Let’s see what’s left to find.”

  He made his way downstairs, baseball bat in hand, just in case. The first apartment was easy to break into; the lock was flimsy, and a well-pced kick forced the door open with a loud crack.

  The air inside was stale but not as bad as some of the others he’d entered. Whoever lived here had left in a hurry. The drawers in the living room were pulled open, a few belongings scattered across the floor. A g the kit revealed that most of the food had been taken—except for a few overlooked s of soup hidden in the back of a lower et. Score.

  In the bedroom, he found a well-worn hiking backpack, which was sturdier and more spacious than the one he had been using. It even had additional partments he could use tanize his supplies. Tossing it onto the bed, he kept searg, finding a pack of batteries, a half-used box of protein bars, and, to his surprise, a roll of duct tape.

  He moved on to the sed apartment. This one was er, almost eerily so. The kit was stocked with ed goods, instant noodles, and a massive bag of rice. Hugo grihis was by far the best food haul he’d had in a while. He scooped up as much as he could fit in his nead made a mental o e back for the rest ter.

  In a closet he entrance, he found an old toolbox. Most of it was standard stuff—screwdrivers, pliers, wrenches—but at the bottom, tucked beh a rag, was a hunting knife in a leather sheath.

  Hugo pulled it out, iing the bde. It was sharp, well-maintained. Someone had cared for this tool. It would be a great backup if he ever needed something quicker than his bat or kit knife.

  Tartments down, two to go.

  The third apartment was barely furnished, just a couch, a mattress on the floor, and a small table. Whoever had lived here either didn’t own much or had taken most of it when they left. He found a wind-up fshlight in one of the kit drawers, along with some instant coffee packets. The fridge, of course, was useless, but the freezer had an ice pack that had long since melted but could still be used for first aid.

  Then, in the bedroom, he found something ued—an old CB radio.

  He stared at it for a long moment. If he could get this w, he might be able to hear if there were other survivors broadcasting messages. But it needed power. Batteries wouldn’t cut it; he’d need an actual power source.

  “I’ll figure you out ter,” he said, setting it aside.

  The st apartment was the most difficult to get into, but after some effort, he forced the lock. The living room had a small bookshelf, something he hadn’t seen much of sihe world fell apart. Most of the books were fi, but oood out: Edible and Medial Pnts of North America.

  “That’s perfect,” Hugo murmured, flipping through the pages. He didn’t know the first thing about gardening or fing, but this book could help. He added it to his growing pile of loot.

  With the apartments looted, he took his findings back to his pce, anizing everything before heading up to the roof. It was time to set up the rain-catg system with the old man.

  The sun was high by the time Hugo made his to the rooftop. The air was thick with heat, but the breeze at this height made it a little more bearable. He had expected to be the first ohere, but to his surprise, the old man was already waiting, a folded tarp and a rge pstic barrel beside him.

  “You actually came up here,” Hugo said, adjusting his grip on the supplies he’d brought.

  The old man—still just a voice behind a door until now—g him with a critical eye. He was in his seventies, maybe older, with a thin but sturdy frame. His gray hair was cropped short, and his face was lined with the weight of years. He wore an old fnnel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing wiry forearms covered in faded scars.

  “You think I was gon you screw it up on your own?” the old man grumbled. “We do this right, or we don’t do it at all.”

  Hugo smirked. “Fair enough.”

  They got to work, unfolding the tarp and positioning it at an angle over the barrel to maximize water colle. The old man showed him how to tie it down properly, seg it against the wind. As they worked, Hugo decided to push his luck.

  “So… you got a name, or am I just gonna keep calling you ‘old man’?”

  The old man snorted but didn’t look up. “Names don’t matter muymore.”

  “Maybe. But you still got one.”

  A long pause. Then, finally: “Call me Frank.”

  Hugo nodded. “o officially meet you, Frank.”

  They worked in silence for a bit before Hugo spoke again. “You always live alone?”

  Frank’s hands stilled for a fra of a sed before he tiying dowarp. “No.”

  Hugo waited, but no more words came. He figured that was as much as he was going to get for now.

  After an hour of setting everything up, they stepped baire their work. The tarp stretched perfectly, angled just right to funnel water into the barrel. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

  Frank crossed his arms, nodding in approval. “Not bad.”

  Hugo smirked. “High praise ing from you.”

  Frank shot him a sideways g said nothing.

  As Hugo picked up his gear, he hesitated. “You know,” he said carefully, “I found an old CB radio in one of the apartments. If I get it w, we might be able to pick up signals from other survivors.”

  Frank’s expression darkened slightly. “Be careful with that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because not everyo there is friendly.”

  Hugo studied him for a moment. “You’ve run into bad people before.”

  Frank didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned, heading for the stairwell. Just before disappearing inside, he muttered, “World didn’t turn to shit ht. Some folks were always like that.”

  Hugo watched him go, his mind turning over those words. There was more to Frank’s story—he just wasn’t ready to tell it yet.

  With a final g the sky, Hugo grabbed his things and followed him baside. They had water now. They had security. For the first time in weeks, Hugo felt like they had something close to stability.

  Now, he just had to make sure it sted.

  With everything in pce, Hugo finally decided it was time to veside.

  Before leaving, he stopped by Frank’s door. “I’m heading out. Gonna check around the plex, see if there’s anything worth salvaging.”

  Frank’s voice came from inside. “Be careful.”

  Hugo smirked. “You almost sound like you care.”

  “Don’t be an idiot.”

  Feeling a mix of fidend nerves, Hugo stepped outside. The air was thick with the st of decay, and the city was eerily quiet. The sun hung high, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. Weeds grew unchecked, sprouting from the asphalt aween sidewalk cracks. Cars sat abandoned, some with doors still ajar, others with shattered windows.

  He kept his bat at the ready, sing the surroundings as he moved. Every step felt heavy, his senses heightened as he listened for any movement. Birds fluttered above, disturbed by his presence, but no immediate threats emerged.

  As he turned a er, he spotted a small venieore, its entrance partially colpsed. Looters had already been through it, but that didn’t mean there was nothi. He took a deep breath and made his way ihe darkness swallowing him whole as he searched for anything useful.

  Ihe air was stale, thick with the lingering st of spoiled goods. Shelves were toppled, gss littered the floor, and the remains of looted items were scattered everywhere. Hugo moved carefully, stepping over broken dispys and crushed snack bags.

  Salem hopped out of his backpack, sniffing around the aisles. The cat moved fidently, weaviween debris and overturned shelves. As Hugo searched through what remained, Salem let out a quiet noise, his tail flig toward a er near a bottom shelf. Curious, Hugo crouched down and found a few s of cat food, dented but still sealed.

  “Good job, buddy,” Hugo muttered, tossing them into his bag. Salem’s ears twitched in satisfa before he tinued his exploration.

  Further into the store, Hugo mao find a couple of ed goods and a pack of instant noodles tucked away behind a fallen shelf. Most of the food was long gone, but he still checked every nook and y. Behind the ter, his luck improved—two bottles of hard liquor hidden behind aurned crate.

  “Well, this is a find,” he mused, examining the bels. One was whiskey, the other vodka. He had no real use for them right now, but liquor could be valuable for trade, if he ever met someone who wasn’t trying to kill him.

  Satisfied with his haul, he called Salem bad carefully made his way out of the store. The streets remained eerily quiet, but Hugo didn’t let his guard down. His trip had been successful, but he knew better than to assume it would always be this easy.

  With his backpack heavier than before, Hugo tinued his exploratiouring toward the apartment plex o his. The buildings were identical in structure, but the atmosphere was vastly different. The air felt heavier here, the stench of rot much strohe entrance artially colpsed, barricades hastily put together and ter broken through. Blood smeared the walls, old and dried, telling a story of a fight that ended in age.

  Ihe signs of struggle were everywhere—bullet holes in the walls, splintered doors barely hanging on their hinges. Whoever had lived here had fought hard, but ultimately, they had lost. The corpses were goher devoured or moved elsewhere, but the stains of their deaths remained.

  Hugo moved cautiously through the wreckage, his bat gripped tightly. Every shadow felt like a potential ambush. He checked abandoned apartments, finding little more than ransacked belongings, empty shelves, and broken furniture. This pce had been picked , not just by looters, but by the dead themselves.

  In one unit, he found a makeshift barricade still intact—whoever had built it had takeime to do it properly. Pushing aside a heavy dresser, Hugo stepped into the room and sed his surroundings. A pack of unopened energy bars sat on a ter, alongside a few ed goods that had been overlooked. He grabbed them quickly, stuffing them into his bag.

  Then, in the er of the room, something caught his eye—a small pile of notebooks stacked o a ntern. Flipping through the pages, he realized they beloo whoever had lived here st. Some were filled with survival notes, detailing sging routes, pces to avoid, and names of people long gohers tained personal thoughts, st entries written in hurried, fearful script. He didn’t linger on them. Some things were too personal to intrude upon.

  As he made his way back outside, he took o look at the building. The tragedy here had pyed out differently than his oartment plex. They had tried to hold out, but something—or someone—had overwhelmed them. The thought sent a chill down his spine.

  Hugo adjusted his bag and turned back toward his own building. He had learned something valuable today—there were no guarantees in survival. Some pces held out lohan others, but in the end, everything fell. The only thing he could do was make sure he didn’t end up like them.

  With that s thought, he quied his pace, heading home before the streets became any less dark.