Chapter Text
The world had changed, and no one remembered exactly when it began. The whispers of sickness, the first burned-out hospitals, and the rumors of the dead walking. Till had learned quickly that the streets weren’t safe, that barricades could only hold for so long, and that trust was a currency more precious than food.
He crouched on the roof of an abandoned building, scanning the horizon with the binoculars he’d scavenged. Below, the city was silent, eerily empty except for the occasional stumble of the infected. He counted— three, maybe four —shuffling toward the west. None of them were a threat if they didn’t notice him.
Then he saw him.
At first, it didn’t make sense. The figure moved slowly, deliberately, staggering like the others— but something was different. Till squinted. The posture, the tilt of the head, the almost thoughtful pause as it moved. His heart stuttered.
It couldn’t be…could it?
Memories flooded back unbidden. The boy who had lived next door, the one who had watched him draw sketches and bothered him as kids, the one who had stolen his pen only to return them later with a smirk. Ivan— the stubborn, fiercely loyal, infuriatingly clever friend he had grown up with. Till had thought he lost him forever in the chaos of the outbreak, separated when the infection first spread through the city. And now, here he was.
Till swallowed hard, voice trembling despite himself. “Ivan?”
The zombie tilted its head as though it recognized the sound. Then it took a cautious step toward him. It wasn’t fast, but it didn’t matter. Till knew instinctively: this one wouldn’t attack. Not like the others.
The memories and recognition were overwhelming. Ivan wasn’t just another infected— he was the friend he had loved, the boy who had once saved him from bullies and whose laugh had filled the quiet streets before everything fell apart. Even now, in this twisted form, a fragment of that boy remained. And that was why Till dared to call him by name.
Back at their makeshift warehouse, Till’s group had carved out a fragile safe space in the ruins. Luka, Hyuna, Isaac, Dewey, Mizi, and Sua were his family now— not by blood, but by necessity. Till hesitated to tell them about Ivan, unsure if anyone would understand.
“I…found something,” he finally admitted, voice tight. “A zombie. But…he’s different. I think he’s tame.”
“Don’t mess with it,” Isaac said immediately, gripping his spear tighter. “It doesn’t matter if he seems calm. Zombies are zombies.”
Till shook his head. “I know what I saw. He didn’t…attack. He followed me. Almost like— like he recognizes me.”
Dewey snorted, but Mizi looked thoughtful. “You’re saying he recognizes you? That’s…impossible.”
Sua, quiet as ever, tilted her head. “Not impossible. But dangerous.”
Till nodded. “I’ll be careful. But I think…he could help us. If we can trust him.”
Luka frowned. “Trust a zombie? Till…you must be crazy”
Till didn’t answer. He couldn’t explain it fully. But he knew one thing: Ivan wasn’t just another corpse wandering the streets. He was him.
Days passed. Till began sneaking food to Ivan, keeping him hidden at the edge of the warehouse. Slowly, the others noticed how Ivan would sit near Till, never attacking, even moving cautiously when they entered the room.
“I don’t like it,” Luka muttered one evening as Ivan leaned near Till while he patched a wound. “Every time I look at him, he reminds me of…what we’ve lost. It’s unsettling.” Hyuna put a hand on his shoulder. “Weird or not, he’s helping us survive. That counts for something.” Till watched Ivan carefully, heart pounding. “He’s not just…a zombie. He’s still Ivan. Just…different. He trusts me.”
The city outside grew darker, more dangerous. Supplies dwindled, and the infected moved like predators now, coordinating without brains to guide them. Hyuna spotted groups that seemed to communicate with subtle signals, her sharp eyes noting patterns the others missed.
“We can’t stay here much longer,” Isaac warned. “They’re getting smarter, faster.”
Leaving was risky. Every step outside reminded them of the world’s cruelty.
At dawn, the group set out, Till leading Ivan with a makeshift leash, trusting him to follow without startling the others. The streets were littered with abandoned cars, tipped-over furniture, and broken glass. Shadows moved in corners, groans echoing eerily between buildings.
“Keep your eyes open,” Dewey whispered, gripping his bat tightly.
A sudden shriek split the morning air. Another horde had found them. Chaos erupted.
Ivan lunged, throwing back creature after creature with surprising precision. Till watched, horrified and awed. Ivan wasn’t mindless— he was aware, strategic, protective.
“Stay behind me!” Till shouted, guiding the group as Ivan intercepted a staggering zombie that had almost reached Mizi. “Damn, he’s fast!” Sua breathed, eyes wide. “Faster than any of us can fight!” Hyuna said, ducking as Ivan shoved another away with unnatural strength.
The group was forced to retreat through narrow alleyways, Ivan at Till’s side, intercepting every threat. But then— disaster. A trap, misjudged by another desperate survivor, struck Ivan. Spikes pierced him. Till screamed, dropping to his knees.
“Ivan! No!”
The others fought off the infected, but Ivan staggered, bloodied and slowing. Till cradled his friend’s face, tears stinging his eyes. “Please…stay with me. I know you can hear me.” Ivan blinked slowly, one hand reaching, almost grasping Till’s face. And then he went still.
The world seemed to hold its breath. The group made it to a temporary refuge, but the loss hung over them like a storm cloud. Till didn’t speak for days, haunted by Ivan’s eyes— still familiar, still human in some fragment.
Luka placed a hand on his shoulder. “He was…special. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Till nodded, tears streaking his dirt-stained face. “He…he wasn’t just a zombie. He was him. And he trusted me.”
Even with comforting words, the emptiness remained. Till whispered into the empty space where Ivan had stood, “I’ll survive. For both of us.”
In the quiet moments of the night, Till would go to the edge of the warehouse, staring at the horizon, remembering the boy who had once stolen his pencil, watched and bothered him as he sketched, and now—had saved them all one final time.
Weeks turned into months. The survivors found a settlement fortified by sturdy walls and alert guards. Life was harsh but sustainable. Till walked along the cliff’s edge one evening, watching the wind push clouds across the red-stained sky.
And then— a figure moved in the distance. Slow, deliberate, familiar.
Could it be? Impossible. Yet familiar.
Till’s heart thudded in his chest. “Ivan…” he whispered, voice cracking, uncertain if hope was cruelty or reality.
The figure shuffled closer, cautious but unmistakable. Till’s breath caught. Could a fragment of the boy he had lost truly have survived this long, through everything?
A small smile formed on Till’s face, tears threatening to spill. “Welcome back…if it’s really you.”
The wind carried the faint shuffle of footsteps more than just the dead. And for a fleeting, fragile moment, hope returned to the world.