CHAPTER 18: 18: THE WORLD STILL HAD ITS MOMENTS

City B, September 24th? Year 0 of the Great Collapse

The ruins of the city stretched endlessly, broken buildings casting long, jagged shadows in the fading daylight. Winter moved quickly but cautiously, his boots crunching against shattered glass and debris.

As always, the air smelled of rust, ash, and decay, a mixture that had become too familiar.

He kept his hand close to his blade, every muscle coiled like a spring. Time was precious, and the cache wasn’t far now.

He could tell from the reduced amount of zombies in the area. More powerful people had cleared out most of them, so he was likelier to run into people here than actual zombies.

But then, a sound stopped him dead in his tracks.

A faint, muffled cry.

Winter froze, narrowing his eyes and scanning the area. It came again—a choked sob, high-pitched and fragile. His instincts screamed at him to ignore it. Sound attracted attention in this desolate place, and staying still too long was a risk.

Yet his feet refused to move.

Damn it.

The crying grew louder as Winter stepped cautiously toward the sound, his hand tightening on the hilt of his weapon. His eyes darted across the crumbled walls and piles of rubble.

Then he saw them—a small figure curled up behind a crumbling support beam, their knees hugged tightly to their chest.

It was a child, no older than six or seven.

Were there still children in the apocalypse? he thought incredulously.

He looked up as Winter approached, his face streaked with dirt and tears. Wide, terrified eyes met winters’, and the boy shrank back further against the beam.

"Hey," Winter said, his voice low and calm, though he wasn’t used to speaking like this. "I’m not going to hurt you."

The child sniffled but didn’t respond, his tiny hands clutching a torn blanket. Winter crouched to their level, keeping a safe distance. He studied the child carefully: tangled hair, thin frame, and trembling shoulders. A wave of unease crept over him. What is a kid doing out here alone?

"Are you hurt?" he asked, his tone softer this time.

The child shook their head but didn’t say anything. Winter sighed, glancing over his shoulder. The area wasn’t safe, and the longer they stayed here, the more danger they were in.

"You can’t stay here. Where’s your family?" he asked, keeping his voice steady.

The child hesitated, then pointed weakly toward the east. "T-There," they whispered, their voice barely audible.

Winter looked in the direction they indicated. The ruins stretched out endlessly, with no sign of life. He clenched his jaw. I don’t have time for this.

He glanced back at the child, who was watching him with cautious hope. His chest tightened unexpectedly, and for a moment, the air around him seemed to shift.

Flashes of something blurred and painful flickered in his mind—a faint laugh, a small hand reaching for his, and the sound of something exploding. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the memory away.

When he opened them again, the child was still there, waiting.

"Alright," Winter muttered under his breath. "Let’s find your family."

The relief on the child’s face was immediate, and it stung in a way Winter didn’t expect. He motioned for them to follow and kept his pace slow enough for their small legs to keep up. The child walked close to him, clutching their blanket like a lifeline.

"What’s your name?" Winter asked after a moment.

The child hesitated before answering. "M-Milo."

"Milo," Winter repeated, nodding. "Okay. Stay close, Milo. Don’t wander off."

As they moved through the ruins, Winter’s senses remained sharp. His eyes scanned every corner, every shadow, for signs of danger. Milo’s presence was a liability, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave the child behind.

"Are you... a soldier?" Milo asked suddenly, his voice breaking the heavy silence.

Winter glanced down at him. "Not anymore."

"Oh." Milo seemed to think for a moment, then added, "You look like one."

What did that mean? Children say the weirdest things.

Winter didn’t respond. He kept his focus ahead, though Milo’s words tugged at something deep inside him. The boy’s innocent questions were disarming in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

The sound of rubble shifting nearby made Winter stop abruptly, holding out an arm to block Milo from moving forward. His other hand gripped his blade as his eyes scanned the area.

"Stay quiet," he whispered.

Milo nodded, his small frame trembling as he clutched Winter’s sleeve. The sound grew louder, closer. Winter’s muscles tensed, his grip tightening on the hilt of his weapon. Then, a shadow moved just beyond the rubble—a lone figure staggering aimlessly.

A zombie.

It seemed to be one of the mindless kinds that just ambled about, it was alone too.

Good.

Winter’s heart pounded as he stepped in front of Milo, shielding the child with his body. The walker didn’t seem to notice them yet, its movements slow and uncoordinated.

"Stay here, closeyour eyes," Winter motioned for Milo to stay back, then crept forward silently.

One clean strike. That’s all it took. The zombie crumpled to the ground, and Winter exhaled slowly, wiping his blade on his sleeve. He turned back to Milo, who was staring at him with wide eyes.

Didn’t he ask the kid to close his eyes? Winter frowned. Milo didn’t seem too phased by the death, probably already used to the carnage. Especially if he had survived this long, he thought walking up to the boy.

"Is it... gone?" Milo asked.

"Yes," Winter said firmly. "But we need to keep moving."

Milo nodded, and they continued their journey in silence. The boy stayed closer now, his small hand gripping the edge of Winter’s coat. Despite himself, Winter found it oddly comforting.

As they walked, Milo began to talk, his voice hesitant at first but growing steadier. He spoke about his family—a mother and a little sister—who had been with him before they were separated. He didn’t cry, but his voice wavered as he described the chaos that had torn them apart.

Winter listened quietly, his mind drifting to memories he tried to bury. The child’s words stirred something painful and familiar, but he pushed it aside. There was no room for sentiment in a world like this.

Finally, they reached what appeared to be a makeshift shelter—a crumbled building with a faint light flickering inside. Winter motioned for Milo to stay back as he approached cautiously, his blade ready.

"Milo!" A woman’s voice rang out, filled with relief and desperation.

Winter lowered his weapon as a woman emerged from the shelter, her arms outstretched. Milo ran to her, his small frame colliding with hers as she pulled him into a tight embrace.

The mother clung to the child, tears streaming down her face. "I thought I lost you," she sobbed, her voice breaking. "I thought..."

"I’m okay, Mama. I’m okay," Milo whispered, his small hands clutching at his mother’s clothes as he sobbed too.

Winter watched the reunion from a distance, his expression unreadable. He could see othe people step out of the surrounding alleys and greet corners. It was clear they had been searching for the child.

So a traveling squad huh? He thought frowning slightly. They didn’t seem like raiders or militia members so he could avoid confrontation.

He should have felt relieved, maybe even proud, but all he felt was an emptiness that threatened to consume him.

The sight of the mother and child brought back flashes of a life he could barely remember—a life that had been ripped away at the start of this madness.

The woman looked up at him, her tear-streaked face softening with gratitude. "Thank you," she said, her voice trembling. "Thank you for bringing him back."

"It’s nothing," he mumbled, not expecting her to have his time.

"I... I don’t know how to—" her voice was hoarse as she tried to find her words.

Another owrosn stepped forward, a man with a resemblance to the boy he just brought back. "Thank you sir," he nodded his head politely.

Winter could see the lines of tension on his face. The man had probably been searching too.

"You shouldn’t let your child wonder off in these circumstances, it could have been someone else who found him."

The man’s eyes narrowed at his words but he simply nodded again. "I understand, can we give you anything to show our gratitude? Supplies? Information?"

Winter’s eyes roamed over to the mother and child in the back and the images overlapped in his head.

"No, I will be leaving now," he said instead, taking his eyes away from the duo. He already wasted too much time.

His squad might have gotten to City H by now.

Winter nodded, his jaw tight. "Stay safe," he said gruffly, turning to leave.

"Wait!" Milo called after him. "Will I see you again?"

Winter paused but didn’t look back. "Probably not."

With that, he disappeared into the shadows, his footsteps fading into the night.

The cache was still waiting, but as Winter walked, he couldn’t shake the lingering ache in his chest. He had done the right thing, but the cost was a reminder of everything he had lost—and everything he could never get back.