Outside the highway, in an abandoned house.
The dim glow of a kerosene lamp illuminated the dark bedroom.
Brian sat on the edge of the bed, carefully examining Sarah’s dislocated knee.
Earlier, after learning that a horde of infected was heading toward the bridge, they’d known it was too dangerous to go there.
They’d found a high vantage point, hoping to spot Joel and Tommy from above.
But beyond the pools of streetlight, everything was swallowed by darkness.
Only the distant crackle of gunfire from the bridge and the piercing screams of infected echoed through the night.
Unable to find the others, Brian had carried Sarah on his back and continued along the highway in the opposite direction.
Near a lake, they’d found this abandoned house.
The plan was to rest here for the night and head back to the bridge at first light.
When they’d entered, the place was already ransacked.
Furniture overturned, belongings scattered everywhere.
The previous occupants had clearly fled in a hurry.
The power was out.
There was a generator in the basement, but the fuel tank was empty, drained by the owners before they left.
Fortunately, Brian had found a working kerosene lamp in the shed outside, giving them a sliver of light in the darkness.
Sarah’s knee joint was already swollen.
If it wasn’t treated properly, the swelling would worsen, possibly causing permanent damage.
“This is bad.” Brian looked at Sarah, who was already half-asleep from exhaustion.
He sighed, helped her lie flat on the bed, then went downstairs to find a wooden splint and two scarves from a coat rack.
Back in the bedroom, he placed the splint beside her injured leg and wrapped the scarves tightly around it, layer after layer.
He had no idea if the treatment for a fracture worked for a dislocation, but he had no other options.
Better than nothing.
Afterward, Brian grabbed a blanket from the next room and spread it on the floor.
He locked the bedroom door, then jammed a chair against it.
Better safe than sorry.
He blew out the lamp.
On the table lay a notebook with a letter tucked inside, likely left by the departing residents for their family.
He didn’t bother reading it.
He tossed it aside and used the notebook as a pillow.
The long night of running and fighting had drained every ounce of his strength.
The warmth of the blanket wrapped around him like a comfort he hadn’t felt in days.
“Finally…” The moment he closed his eyes, exhaustion crashed over him like a wave.
His consciousness blurred.
Within seconds, he was asleep.
Creak…
creak…
Brian didn’t know how long he’d been out, but a faint noise jolted him awake.
His eyes snapped open.
It was midday.
Sunlight streamed through the window.
He rose slowly, grabbed the pistol from the table, and aimed it at the door.
The sound was unmistakable.
Footsteps on the stairs, the wood groaning under weight.
Whoever it was, they were trying to move quietly.
But Brian caught it anyway.
He crept to the bed and gently shook Sarah awake.
The moment she opened her eyes, he pointed at the door and pressed a finger to his lips.
She understood immediately.
No words.
No sounds.
Just a quiet nod.
Silence fell over the room.
For a long moment, nothing happened.
Brian began to wonder if he’d imagined it.
Then the doorknob turned.
Their hearts slammed against their ribs.
“Is someone in there?” The voice was old.
Tired, but calm.
And it was coming from right outside the door.
Brian hesitated, then answered.
“Who are you?” A surprised grunt from the other side.
The old man hadn’t expected to hear a child’s voice.
“My name is Herman.
This is my daughter’s house.
I won’t hurt you, son.
Can you open the door?” Brian was silent for a moment.
Then: “Can you reset a dislocated joint?” “What?” Herman was caught off guard.
But he understood.
“I was a medic in the army.
If it’s not too bad, I can help.” That was enough.
Brian pulled the chair away from the door and unlocked it, then stepped back quickly, pistol still aimed at the entrance.
“Come in.” The door creaked open.
An elderly man with white hair and a kind face stood in the doorway.
He held a hunting rifle, and his eyes swept the room in surprise.
“Just you two?
Where are your parents?” Brian didn’t answer.
Some instinct from his old life, from every movie and book about the apocalypse, told him to trust no strangers.
But Sarah spoke up before he could stop her.
“There’s just us now.
My dad and uncle led the infected away.
We got separated.” She turned to Brian.
“Put the gun down.
This isn’t right.” Brian looked into her eyes.
There was something pure there, something he’d forgotten.
He lowered the pistol.
“I’m Brian.
This is Sarah.
Sorry about the greeting.” Herman waved it off.
“No harm done.” He walked to Sarah’s bedside and examined the splint job.
“Did you do this?” Brian winced at the tone in the old man’s voice.
“Yeah.” “Good grief.” Herman shook his head and carefully unwrapped the scarves.
Overnight, the swelling had worsened.
The entire leg was starting to puff up.
“Get your blanket and roll it up.
Let her lean back on it.” Seeing the old man’s concern, Brian felt a pang of guilt.
He’d made things worse.
He scrambled to follow the instructions.
“Relax, child.” Once Sarah was propped against the blanket, Herman lifted her injured leg, bent the knee to ninety degrees, then pressed down on her calf while pulling upward on her knee.
“You doing okay, Sarah?” “Huh?” She’d been staring at her leg, terrified.
The sudden question made her look up at his face.
CRACK.
A sharp pop.
The joint slipped back into place.
Sarah screamed.
Pain lanced through her leg.
Then it faded.
And she felt it.
Feeling.
Sensation.
Her leg was back.
Tears welled in her eyes, but these were tears of relief.
All night, she’d been a burden.
Her father and uncle had sacrificed themselves to draw the infected away because she couldn’t run.
Brian had carried her through the woods, struggling with every step.
She’d been dead weight.
But now she could walk again.
She clenched her fists.
No more.
She would never be a burden again.
She had to get stronger.
“Thank you, Herman.” The old man patted her head, smiling at the warmth in her voice.
He nodded, accepting her gratitude.
Then his expression sobered.
“When you came here, did you see anyone else?” Brian remembered.
This was Herman’s daughter’s house.
He’d come looking for his family.
He started to shake his head.
But then the memory hit him.
The notebook.
The letter.
He slapped his forehead and scrambled to search the floor.
Under the bed, in the corner, he found it.
The paper, still folded.
“Is this what you’re looking for?”