The morning air had a heavy, metallic taste to it, the kind that settled on Mason's tongue and made every breath feel like it came through a filter of dust and smoke. The city always smelled like this now. Stale. Used. Wrong.
Samantha stayed behind at the apartment, reinforcing the barricades and checking their supplies. But Mason wasn't heading out alone, not today. Cheshire padded beside him, tail low, steps silent. The dog kept glancing up at him as if reading every shift in his posture, every breath he took.
"Stay close," Mason murmured, patting her head. "If something moves that I miss, you let me know."
Cheshire's ears perked, then rotated toward the distant groan of a walker somewhere between the ruins of a broken-down laundromat and a burned grocery store. Mason crouched, pressed two fingers to her chest to keep her still, then waited until the sound faded.
He'd been doing runs closer to home a hardware store, corner pharmacy, a liquor store that miraculously still had canned fruit untouched. But today he needed more. More medicine. More food. More things that made this life feel survivable. That meant heading deeper into the city.
~~~~
He kept to alleys and parking lots, ducking between wrecked cars and using dumpsters as cover. Cheshire moved like she was built for this—low, sharp, silent. Her training made her invaluable. She sniffed out threats before Mason saw them, stiffened whenever something moaned too close, and growled quietly when she caught a scent he needed to avoid.
Twice they detoured. Once they hid behind an overturned sedan while a pack of six walkers shuffled by. Mason crouched while Cheshire stood on guard ready to pounce on anything that threanted her human. His pulse hammered in his ears until the last walker dragged its foot around the corner.
"Good girl," Mason whispered, to her only when he was sure they were safe.
He scavenged water filters from a busted camping store, a few canned soups from a corner market, and a handful of expired-but-still-good meds from a looted pharmacy cabinet. Not a bad haul for a single morning.
He was halfway through checking out an abandoned sporting goods shop for propane canisters when he heard it.
A scream.
Not a distant, dying wail.
Not a walker's guttural moan.
A real scream.
A man.
"God no, no, no!"
Cheshire barked once, sharp, urgent.
"Shit." Mason swung his pack onto his shoulder, knife in hand. "Let's go!", They sprinted toward the sound.
The street ahead opened wide, sunlight glaring off shattered windshields. A lone figure sprinted down the middle of the road, arms flailing, breath ragged.
A man, Asian, maybe in his early twenties, running like hell. Behind him? Five roamers, gaining fast.
"Hey!" Mason shouted. "Here! Over here!"
The man turned mid-run, eyes wide with panic, then nearly tripped as he spotted Mason waving him over. He didn't hesitate, just redirected instantly, sprinting toward him with desperate intensity.
"Keep coming!" Mason yelled.
Cheshire barked and ran a few steps forward until Mason snapped his fingers for her to heel. The man closed the distance fast.
"Move!" he rasped out as he blew past Mason. "No time, trust me!"
Mason blinked at the speed of it, then gritted his teeth and ran after him. "Damn it. Fine!"
They dashed down the nearest alleyway, only to skid to a stop.
Another group of walkers stumbled in from the opposite end, seven or eight of them, by Mason's count.
"Aw, hell no-" Mason muttered.
The young man froze. "We're boxed in."
"Not yet." Mason swung his Glock up. "GET DOWN!"
The kid ducked hard to the left, nearly throwing himself against the wall.
Mason fired.
BANG.
BANG
BANG
BANG
Four roamers dropped, headshots clean. But the echoes slammed through the alley like thunder. Cheshire whined loudly, ears flattening.
The young man looked horrified. "Oh, that's… that's definitely gonna bring friends."
Mason grabbed him by the back of his shirt and shoved him forward. "Then stop talking and RUN!"
The distant moans thickened almost multiplying. Roamer began spilling in behind them, drawn by the gunfire. Shadows moved between wrecked cars at both ends of the block.
The man's voice cracked. "We're dead--we're actually dead--"
"Shut up and follow me!" Mason barked.
He took the lead, weaving them between alleyways, cutting across streets, dodging fallen streetlamps and broken awnings. Cheshire led part of the way, stopping them just before rounding a corner where two walkers roamed.
Mason took them out with the bowie knife clean, practiced. The kid flinched with every strike.
"You done?" Mason hissed.
"Not--no--I mean yes--just keep going!" he stammered.
Walkers poured into the streets behind them. A horde was forming. They didn't have long.
"This way!" Mason pointed toward the residential block. "Fire escape! Move!"
They sprinted the last stretch. Cheshire got there first, then Mason down jumped up and pulled the ladder down. He shoved the young man up first before hauling Cheshire onto his shoulder and climbing up himself.
"Hurry!" the man said, grabbing Cheshire off Mason's shoulder and then pulling him up aswell.
Shadows filled the street below. Cold groans rose like a wave.
The man scrambled through the third-floor window first, tumbling into Mason's living room. Mason shoved Cheshire inside next and hauled himself through just as the first walkers reached the wall below.
He slammed the window shut. Locked it.
Only when the moaning faded to a distant murmur did anyone breathe.
~~~~
The apartment was dim and quiet. Samantha bolted to her feet from the couch, hand on the kitchen knife she carried. "Mason--?"
"It's okay," Mason panted, leaning against the wall. "We're good. Mostly."
Her eyes darted to the stranger.
He stood with his hands raised slightly, breathing hard, sweat dripping from his chin. His dark hair stuck to his forehead, and his eyes were wild but sharp and alert, assessing everything in the room.
"Uh--hey," he said awkwardly, forcing a nervous smile. "Sorry about the… dramatic entrance."
Samantha blinked, unsure. Cheshire sniffed him, tail half-wagging.
Mason finally answered, catching his breath. "Name's Mason Wood. This is Samantha. And the dog is Cheshire."
The young man lowered his hands.
"Glenn," he said. "Glenn Rhee."
Mason straightened, studying him. Glenn was smaller than Mason by an inch or so but was quick and wiry. The kind of build made for slipping through tight spaces and running like hell. His backpack was worn to threads, but he held onto it like it was life itself.
"You aren't bit, are you?" Mason asked.
"No," Glenn said immediately. "Checked already. Just… terrified. Which I assume doesn't count as an infection, right?"
Samantha let out a tiny laugh despite herself.
Mason nodded. "Good. Then welcome to our home. Temporary home."
Glenn let out a slow, relieved exhale. "Man… I thought I was a goner. I owe you one. Big time."
"You can pay me back by explaining what you were doing out there alone," Mason said.
Glenn scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. "Scouting. Looking for supplies. Looking for… people." He shrugged weakly. "Trying to keep moving. That sort of thing."
"Not the safest hobby."
"Yeah, well… surviving's kind of a team sport," Glenn said with a faint, tired grin. "Or at least it works better with one."
Mason exchanged a glance with Samantha.
Something told him their world had just changed again.
And Glenn Rhee, jittery, resourceful, fast-talking, surprisingly brave Glenn… was going to matter.
~End
(A/N; And it begins)