The next few days passed with an uneasy sense of calm. There was no denying that things had changed forever, but within the walls of their colony, life managed to settle into something resembling normalcy.
People worked together, securing supplies, fortifying their homes, and setting up routines to keep everyone safe. It wasn't perfect, but it was something.
Maarg's father naturally took on the role of leader. His experience as a chemist, his calm demeanor, and his ability to think logically under pressure made him the person everyone turned to for guidance. More than that, he became the doctor for the colony. Whenever someone fell sick, suffered an injury, or simply needed reassurance, he was there. His presence alone kept people from spiraling into panic.
Not everyone shared the same sense of community, though.
The man who owned the dog—the same dog that had barked at the zombies days ago—made it clear he had no interest in helping anyone but his own family. He hoarded supplies, refused to contribute, and ignored the efforts of the others. While most people tolerated him for now, Maarg knew that in a crisis, selfishness could be more dangerous than the undead outside.
Still, for now, things remained stable.
Every night, once things had quieted down, Maarg found himself at Remmy's window.
At first, it had been a one-time thing—checking on her after the chaos of that first day. But somehow, it had become routine.
They never talked about it. He would just show up, sitting on the ledge of her window, and they would talk.
At first, their conversations were simple. Casual. They spoke about the people in the colony, the weird quirks they noticed in others, and the strange behaviors of the zombies outside. But as the nights passed, their talks drifted into something deeper.
They spoke about the past—not in full detail, never diving too deep—but enough. Enough to acknowledge things that had been left unsaid for years.
They were here now, together, and that was enough.
The more they talked, the more the weight of the past seemed to lift. Their old school rivalry, the teasing, the moments of cruelty—it all felt so distant compared to the world they lived in now.
It didn't matter who they had been before.
All that mattered was who they were now.
And now, they were… something else. Something neither of them had quite put into words.
But whatever it was, Maarg knew he wouldn't let it go.
While Maarg spent his nights talking to Remmy, Jack and Sammy had also grown closer.
At first, Sammy had been distant. Understandably so. The world as she knew it had fallen apart overnight, and she had been thrown into survival mode. But little by little, she started to settle.
Maybe it was the routine. Maybe it was the sense of community. Or maybe it was just Jack.
Unlike Maarg, who had a quiet intensity about him, Jack had a way of making things feel normal. He joked, he teased, he talked about things beyond just survival. He reminded people what it was like to live, not just exist.
Sammy wasn't immune to it.
They spent a lot of time together, whether it was cooking, working on small tasks around the colony, or simply existing in the same space. At first, their conversations were just practical—discussions about food, supplies, and plans.
But then, one evening, Jack casually said something that caught Sammy off guard.
"You know, I don't think I've ever seen you genuinely relax."
Sammy, who had been stirring a pot of rice, blinked. "What?"
Jack leaned back in his chair, smirking. "You're always so… tense. Always thinking, always planning. Even when you're just sitting, you're listening to everything around you like you're waiting for an ambush."
Sammy frowned. "We're in the middle of a zombie outbreak. I think being cautious is justified."
"I never said it wasn't." Jack's smirk softened into something else. "I just think you deserve a break every once in a while."
Sammy didn't respond immediately. Instead, she looked down at the pot, stirring a little slower.
"Maybe," she admitted after a while.
Jack grinned. "Hey, progress."
Sammy rolled her eyes but didn't argue.
And just like that, something shifted between them.
Despite the small moments of peace, Maarg couldn't shake the feeling that something was coming.
The air felt heavier.
People were growing restless.
And worst of all, the zombies outside weren't going away.
They weren't getting tired. They weren't leaving.
They were waiting.
But more than that—something about fire disturbed them.
That was useful information.
It made him feel like he had some level of control. Like he could do something about this nightmare they had all been thrown into.
Still, he knew deep down that this fragile peace wouldn't last.
The next storm was coming.
And when it did…
They had to be ready.