Chapter 4(ii): Echoes Between Us
Grey's POV
We'd been walking for what felt like hours, the sun now hanging almost at its peak—nearly noon. The heat pressed down like a heavy hand, and even with the streets mostly empty, the world didn't feel silent. Not really. The sounds we made—footsteps, bags rustling, distant birds, whispers between survivors—echoed back like ghosts that wouldn't let go.
Luke kept glancing at me. I didn't say anything, just raised an eyebrow the fourth time his eyes lingered.
"You good?" he asked quietly, matching my pace.
I shrugged. "Alive."
Scarlett snorted softly behind us. "For you, that's practically a sonnet."
I allowed the corner of my mouth to twitch. "Careful. Might start writing love poems if you keep encouraging me."
"Please don't," Blair said from behind, chuckling.
There was lightness in the group now. Subtle. Earned. Still fragile.
Jane and Scarlett were walking together, their conversation hushed but easy. The two office women trailed near Jonah and Blair, who were discussing routes and watching rooftops. I noticed one of them—short hair, black hoodie—kept a hand on a wrench tucked in her belt.
It wasn't tensionless, just... survivable.
Then Jonah piped up, loud enough for all of us. "Hey, weird question, but… where the hell are the pets?"
Everyone paused.
Scarlett looked up. "What?"
"You know," Jonah continued, "cats, dogs. Strays. I haven't seen one since day one. Not even a bark or a meow."
We all exchanged glances. It was something none of us had considered. A silence stretched too long.
"Maybe they ran off," Jane offered. "Hiding somewhere?"
Luke shook his head. "But none? That's… strange."
Blair shrugged. "We don't need more weird."
"Brush it off," I muttered, more to myself than anyone. But I made another mental note. Something about it itched. Just like other things i had noticed.
As we continued, I couldn't help but notice the way the group moved. Looser now. Less paranoid. Chuckles came easier. Even Scarlett, ever the blade in silence, seemed more at ease.
I, on the other hand, kept my eyes peeled. The world was still burning. We couldn't afford comfort.
Luke nudged me again. "You've been quiet."
"Shocking," I said.
"I mean quieter than usual."
I sighed, slowing just enough that only he and Scarlett heard me. "I'm watching. That's all."
He gave me that look again—half concern, half brotherly frustration. "You can talk. You don't always have to carry it in your head."
Scarlett added, "We're still here, Grey. You don't have to be alone inside your skull all the time."
I glanced at her. "That's exactly how you survive."
"Not anymore," she said. "You survive by staying sharp, not by cutting everyone out."
I didn't respond. Not verbally.
Up ahead, shadows flickered. Not undead. Movement too organized.
Another group.
We slowed instinctively, our small band tightening in formation. The others did too.
They were ten, maybe twelve. All armed, all older than us by a few years. Their clothes were worn. Faces harder. They had the look of people who had already buried a few friends.
They scanned us as we did them.
One of them—their apparent leader—gave a tight nod. "We heading the same way?"
"Probably," Blair said cautiously.
No one spoke for a beat. Then we all just… kept walking. Together. But not as one.
I could feel their eyes, though. On us. Our cleaner clothes. Our newer gear. Our youth.
We looked too clean.
Too untouched.
Like pushovers.
They shouldn't take the chance.