Olive had eaten and was staring out the window for a while. She hesitated to start a conversation, then suddenly broke the silence.
— What are you planning to do next? — Olive's voice echoed through the grave silence.
Her brown eyes met the cold green gaze of Andy.
— Survive. What happens after... I don't know, to be honest. I haven't talked to people in a long time. Sometimes it feels like… — she abruptly fell silent.
Andy realized she was starting to open up to Olive — and immediately stopped. She wasn't used to trusting people. Who knows when and where your secrets and weaknesses could be used against you. Olive watched her for a moment, studying her face, trying to understand what she was thinking. They sat in silence. Olive tried to find the right words, but was afraid she'd be misunderstood. And who was she, anyway, to talk about such personal things?
Outside, it had already grown dark. In the distance, a low rumble could be heard — sometimes even screams.
— I think I'll get some rest. Wake me if anything happens. — the redhead curled up in a chair and dozed off. Andy nodded and went to her room. She spent the evening observing the zombies outside and, only when she was sure everything was calm, allowed herself to sleep.
In the morning, when Olive woke up, Andy was nowhere to be found. She got off the couch and looked around the rooms. When she entered Andy's bedroom, she saw a collection of weapons — all either broken or very old.
— How long did it take her to collect all this? And how does she even plan to carry it?
The brown-eyed girl examined the weapons carefully. Near the window was a pair of binoculars — probably Andy's lookout post. On the cluttered table lay a note:"Went out for supplies. Don't wait for me — might not be back until the middle of the night. Please don't wreck the base while I'm gone."Olive put on a mock pout.
— Hmph. Didn't even wake me up. In other groups, they always took me along, even if I was basically useless...
She tossed the note onto the nightstand and turned to leave, but tripped over a crowbar and crashed to the floor with a loud clatter. Some things fell onto her. She groaned in pain — she'd slightly hurt her leg. As she lay there wincing, she noticed some strange boxes under the bed.
The boxes were filled with various items — likely clean clothes, in case of blood stains. In one box, she noticed a smaller one. Inside it were photos and a battered journal. The photos showed Andy's family — clearly long gone now. There was also a silver pendant. The journal looked like a diary but held nothing particularly remarkable — except for the entry about sleeping several days in a rotting shack. It was clear Andy had been through rough times and had been abandoned by other survivors. And it was clear... she was very lonely.
Olive flipped through a few pages, then closed the journal and placed it back in the box. She looked back at the mess she had made."I should clean this up before she gets back…"She winced as her injured leg throbbed at the thought. She reached for the crowbar, planning to put it back, when she heard a noise coming from the stairwell.
A cold sweat broke out across her back.
— God, please let that be Andy… though who am I kidding...
Crowbar in hand, she crept to the dining room. When she looked at the entrance, she saw a couple of zombies.
— NO, NO, NO, GOD NO!Stupid building! Anywhere else I could've escaped, but here the only exit is a damn window… on the eighth floor!
A dull crack rang out as the crowbar smashed into a zombie's skull. It collapsed. The second took a blow to the jaw — it hung by the skin — then another to the head. Both were motionless.
— Are you okay? Any cuts or injuries? — Andy's voice held an awkward concern. She wasn't used to asking about anyone's well-being.
Earlier that day, Andy had snuck into a nearby office building — crawling with zombies, which meant plenty of supplies. She moved silently, stealthy as a ghost. But then, she heard something — noise from their base. Her eyes widened. She immediately turned back.
Olive's hands trembled, whether from fear or the weight of the crowbar she no longer knew. She looked at Andy in shock, trying to process what had just happened. Andy checked her over quickly.
— I'm fine. No wounds. — Olive replied quietly. — You said you'd be back tonight. Why are you early?
— Well... I wasn't far when I heard noise near our place. It's usually dead silent here, but there was a crash and the zombies started moving toward our building... — Andy sighed, as if she wanted to say more, but didn't. She dropped her bag by the couch and flopped down.
— I hope you didn't break anything? What was that crash?
Olive's thoughts jumped back to the mess in Andy's room.
— No, I didn't break anything. It's fine. I just tripped over the crowbar. Nothing major. — She gently placed the crowbar on the floor to avoid more noise. — We should probably get rid of those… They're starting to stink.
One of the zombies twitched — still alive. Andy didn't seem to notice. She began unpacking her bag: batteries, wires, gadgets, and a few books. One read: "Electricity for Dummies."
— Here. Do something useful. I've got other stuff to deal with. — Andy grabbed a few devices and the book, then headed to her room.
Olive's eyes followed her until the door shut.
— You do it yourself then... — she muttered, mimicking Andy's voice mockingly. — I didn't even clean her room…
Suddenly, one of the zombies grabbed Olive's leg. She shrieked and yanked it back, then smashed its head again with the crowbar.
— Ugh, disgusting... — she dragged one of the corpses to the window with great effort and shoved it out. Then she groaned at the sight of the second one.
Time passed. Evening came, the sun dipped behind the horizon. Andy hadn't left her room once, except to grab a quick bite before returning to her work. She spent hours tinkering with electronics, never once asking for help — even though it would've gone faster together. As the saying goes, "Two heads are better than one."
Olive walked into the bedroom. Andy was engrossed in her book. The redhead sat beside her.
— Andy, what are you doing?
— Trying to figure out how to get electricity in here. I'm sick of candles and flashlights. Do you need something? Or are we out of food again? — Andy didn't even look up.
— No, it's fine. I just think... you're putting a lot into this base…
Olive carefully picked her words not to offend Andy.
— Sooner or later, we'll have to leave it. It's not very safe or convenient. And we can't carry everything with us anyway.
— Why do you think that? Seems safe enough to me. Besides, I'm not planning to leave. There's nowhere to go. — Andy finally looked up from her book.
Olive gave her a skeptical look.
— A high-rise is a terrible long-term option. There are too many zombies outside. And last night proves that even the eighth floor isn't safe. Supplies will run out eventually.
Andy was silent. Thinking.
— That never happened before! Maybe it's because of you! You can't even defend yourself! What kind of security is that?! — she snapped, a flicker of pride flashing across her face. She didn't want to admit she'd picked a poor location.
Olive didn't argue. The facts were clear. But the words stung.
— Sure, it's great you can fight. But please just consider it. This place isn't ideal. — Olive stood and walked away, giving Andy time to think.
Andy threw the book aside and stepped out onto the balcony, lighting a cigarette. She smoked often — an addiction — and she was running low. That was part of why she scavenged so frequently.
— Should've left her to those corpses... Why did I even bring her here? — she muttered to herself, exhaling smoke and debating what to do next.
An hour and a half passed. Andy wasn't a child — she wasn't too stubborn — but it was hard to admit she'd made a bad call. Especially when nerves were frayed, and her precious cigarettes were nearly gone.
She finished her second-to-last one, tucked the pack in her pocket, and returned to the living room to talk to Olive.
Olive sat in an armchair, pulling out her notebook.
"So much happened today…"She began writing in her elegant, looping script — slowly at first, then faster and more forcefully.
"Stupid Andy. So stubborn. So cruel. No wonder she was al—"
She stopped. Then crossed it all out. As if realizing what she was doing.
She stared at the ceiling.
"…I hope Andy thinks about this. Maybe together we'll make a smart choice."
Her thoughts wandered. Back to peaceful days. Exams that once seemed terrifying. Friends. Family…She started to write a poem — one that reflected the colors of the past: yellow, green, pink...But the last lines turned grey. Dirty. Bitter.