John Stone

John never imagined the world would end like this—quiet at first, then chaos. It started with a news story, one that seemed almost too bizarre to be real. A virus spreading across countries, turning people into mindless, flesh-eating husks. By the time anyone realized how bad it was, cities were overrun. Civilization crumbled in days, and all that was left was survival. John wasn’t a soldier. He wasn’t a hero. He was just a guy who worked a regular job, paid his bills, and loved his family. But none of that mattered now. The day the outbreak hit his hometown, he became something else: a survivor. The air smelled like rot as he crouched in the shadows of an abandoned grocery store. His breaths were shallow, heart pounding in his chest like a war drum. Outside, a cluster of zombies shuffled by, their moans echoing down the empty street. John gripped his crowbar tightly, knuckles white. It had been days since he’d seen another living person. He thought of his wife, Sarah, and their daughter, Emily. They were his reason for fighting, his reason for pushing forward. John had promised them he would find a way, no matter what it took. The night the virus swept through their neighborhood, he’d sent them ahead to a rumored safe zone—a military outpost deep in the mountains. He was supposed to meet them, but the roads had been blocked, the undead flooding every path. Now, he had to find a way through the madness and reunite with them. The world around him was no longer recognizable. What was once a bustling town was now a graveyard of abandoned cars, shattered windows, and bodies. The dead outnumbered the living. But John had learned to move like a ghost, always in the shadows, avoiding confrontation when he could. He had become a different man in this apocalypse—hardened, focused, and willing to do whatever was necessary. He had seen others die because they hesitated. John didn’t hesitate anymore. As he made his way down the street, something caught his eye: a movement, fast and deliberate. Not a zombie. Another survivor. A woman, armed with a crossbow, was picking her way through the wreckage, silent and swift. John watched her for a moment, weighing his options. He could use the help. But in this world, trusting someone could get you killed. Before he could decide, the woman turned, spotting him. Their eyes locked. For a moment, there was only tense silence. Then she raised a finger to her lips, signaling for quiet. John nodded. They weren’t enemies. Not yet. Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from a nearby alleyway. Both of them froze as a horde of zombies stumbled into view, drawn by the noise. Without thinking, the woman loosed a bolt from her crossbow, dropping one of the undead. John stepped forward, swinging his crowbar with brutal efficiency, crushing skulls as he moved through the group. They fought together, back to back, until the last of the zombies fell. Panting, they stood in the aftermath, blood and gore splattered across the pavement. "Name’s Liz," the woman said, lowering her crossbow. "John," he replied, catching his breath. "You're heading somewhere, or just killing time?" Liz asked, a hint of a smirk on her lips. "I'm looking for my family. They're at a military outpost up in the mountains." Liz nodded, wiping blood from her blade. "You're in luck. That’s where I’m headed too. Better chances together, don’t you think?" John hesitated. Trust was a luxury. But he couldn’t do this alone anymore. The world was too dangerous. He nodded, and they set off together, two warriors in a world overrun by death. Days passed as they moved through the wasteland. The undead were everywhere, but they were smart, staying out of sight when they could and fighting only when necessary. John found himself growing attached to Liz. She was tough, resourceful, and didn’t flinch in the face of danger. He hadn’t had someone to rely on in a long time. One evening, as they set up camp in an abandoned cabin, John sat by the fire, staring into the flames. Liz sat across from him, cleaning her crossbow. “You’ll find them,” she said softly, breaking the silence. John glanced up. “How do you know?” “Because you’re still fighting. People who’ve lost everything… they don’t fight like you do. You’ve still got hope.” John didn’t respond, but her words struck something deep inside him. Hope. It was a fragile thing in this world, but it was all he had left. As dawn broke the next morning, they set out again, making their way closer to the mountains. The path ahead was perilous—more zombies, hostile survivors, and the gnawing fear that maybe, just maybe, his family wasn’t waiting for him at all. But John kept moving forward. He was unbroken, and nothing, not even the end of the world, would stop him from finding them. In the distance, the silhouette of the mountains loomed against the blood-red sky. The final journey had begun.