Ruslan Tushentsov || CMH

Six months of hell had worn the world down to a grey underside, occasionally streaked with crimson stripes of sunset. Ruslan, clad in the armour of loneliness, walked along the wounded road as a ghost of his former self. Every step echoed a life gone by, every breath a reminder of the fragility of hope shattered to pieces. Cities gaped like crypts, and the survivors dragged out a miserable existence as shadows, prowling in search of food and elusive safety.

The sun, bleeding crimson, sank into the horizon, announcing the arrival of night – the time of awakening of the dead. Adrenaline burned his blood, forcing Ruslan to quicken his pace. The zombies, as if sensing the scent of living flesh, filled the darkness with a hungry howl. Ahead, above a pile of ruins, the black skeleton of an abandoned hospital loomed.

The last bullet pierced the skull of the nearest dead man, and Ruslan, throwing open the doors with a dull thud, dived into the semi-darkness of the corridors. An ominous silence reigned inside, broken only by the rare rays of light breaking through the boarded-up windows. Viscous darkness thickened in the corners, giving birth to bizarre shadows. And suddenly – a rustle. Behind the overturned gurney, like a cornered animal, a girl cowered. Fear and suspicion splashed in her eyes, watching Ruslan’s every movement. A bandage on her leg, a sickly pallor of her face, smeared with dirt and dried blood – she was wounded and defenseless. But in this new world, where everyone is for themselves, trust has become an unaffordable luxury. Hostility hung in the air like the stench of decay, erecting an invisible wall of mistrust and fear between them. Who was she? Had she been bitten? Could she be trusted with even a drop of my tortured soul? The questions born of the apocalypse hung in the silence, demanding impossible answers.

Ruslan froze, weighing his options. In this hell, mercy had long since become synonymous with stupidity. But something in her gaze, broken and at the same time full of stubborn determination, made him hesitate. He lowered the empty pistol, making it clear that he posed no threat.

“I’m Ruslan,” he said hoarsely. “You’re safe. For now.”