Apocalypse Rewound: Saving Hana

Chapter 4: Scavenging and Sparks

Dust and pulverized concrete tasted like copper and old basement air. Herman coughed, waving a hand through the thick, violet-tinted haze as he pulled Hana through the jagged hole where a wall used to be.

"Everyone still has all their limbs, right?" Herman wheezed, his eyes darting toward the shadows. "Lando? You still breathing, or did you find a way to annoy the rubble into letting you pass?"

"I’m here! I’m here!" Lando’s voice emerged from the dust cloud, followed by his motorcycle helmet, which was now missing its visor. "But I think I chipped a tooth. Can I sue the apocalypse? Is there a claims department for 'acts of cosmic horror'?"

"Keep moving," Herman said, tightening his grip on Hana’s hand. "We need to get off the main road. The Ravagers have ears like bats and the temperament of a landlord on the first of the month."

Hana stumbled beside him, her breathing ragged. "Herman, my hand. You’re... you’re squeezing a bit hard."

"Oh. Sorry." Herman loosened his grip but didn't let go. His heart was doing a frantic tap-dance against his ribs. Internal Note: Stop acting like a Victorian gentleman and start acting like a guy who knows what he’s doing. Also, her hand is surprisingly soft for someone who just smashed a door with a brass pedestal. Focus, Herman!

"It’s okay," Hana whispered, her fingers curling slightly around his. "Just... where are we going? The streets are... they’re not streets anymore."

"There’s a 'Stop-N-Go' three blocks down, hidden behind that construction site," Herman said, pointing toward a skeleton of a half-finished skyscraper. "It’s too small for the big monsters to care about, and hopefully, the looters haven't realized it’s there yet."

"A convenience store?" Lando caught up, clutching his baseball bat like a holy relic. "Please tell me they have those little powdered donuts. If I’m going to die, I want my last breath to be fifty percent sugar and fifty percent regret."

"They’ll have water and bandages, Lando. Move your ass."

They slipped into a narrow alleyway, the walls weeping a strange, glowing moisture that smelled like burnt ozone. Above them, the massive monoliths hummed, a sound that made Herman’s teeth ache.

"Herman," Hana said, her voice low as they ducked behind a dumpster. "Back there... you said you watched me die. What did you mean?"

Herman froze. He looked at her—really looked at her. In the dim, purple light, she looked like a ghost from a future that hadn't happened yet. "I... it was a dream. A very, very long dream."

"You don't fight like a guy who just had a dream," she countered, her eyes searching his. "You fight like a guy who’s been running for years."

"I've always been a fast learner," Herman lied, his internal monologue screaming: She’s onto you! Quick, say something funny or tactical! "Besides, I’ve played a lot of survival horror games. Turns out, the mechanics are surprisingly accurate."

"Is there a save point nearby?" Lando whispered, peering around the corner. "Because I’d really like to skip this level. The graphics are great, but the difficulty curve is a nightmare."

"Quiet," Herman hissed. "The store is just across the street. On my count. Three... two... one... run!"

They bolted across the cracked asphalt, their shadows stretching long and distorted under the violet sky. Herman slammed his shoulder into the glass door of the Stop-N-Go. It was already unlocked, the security alarm let out a pathetic, dying chirp before falling silent.

The interior was a mess. Shelves were overturned, and the smell of spilled soda and stale cigarettes hung heavy in the air.

"Lando, guard the door. Anything bigger than a poodle comes near, you yell," Herman ordered.

"And if it is a poodle?" Lando asked, taking his post.

"Then God help us all. Poodles are vicious."

Herman turned to the aisles, his mind automatically categorizing the chaos. "Hana, grab the heavy stuff. Canned meat, protein bars, anything with a long shelf life. I’ll look for medical supplies."

"Got it," she said, already pulling a discarded shopping bag from the floor.

As Herman scrambled through the debris of the pharmacy aisle, his hand brushed against Hana’s as they both reached for the last bottle of antiseptic. A sharp, electric jolt shot up his arm. It wasn't the monsters or the world ending—it was a purely human spark that felt wildly out of place.

"Sorry," Herman muttered, his face heating up. Smooth, Herman. Real smooth. The world is ending and you’re having a 'meet-cute' over rubbing alcohol.

"No, you take it," Hana said, her voice softening. "You’re the one doing the heavy lifting. I’m just the barista who’s good with a pedestal."

"You saved our necks back there," Herman said, finally looking her in the eye. "Don't sell yourself short. In this world, 'barista' is just code for 'combat specialist in high-stress environments.'"

Hana laughed, a small, fragile sound that seemed to push back the darkness of the store. "I’ll add that to my resume. If there’s anyone left to hire me."

"Hey! Lovebirds! Less flirting, more looting!" Lando called out from the front. "We’ve got company!"

Herman’s blood turned to ice. He gripped his machete and moved toward the front windows. Three men were standing on the sidewalk, illuminated by the pulsing violet sky. They weren't monsters. They were worse. They were people who had decided that the end of the world was an invitation to be their worst selves.

One of them, a burly guy with a crowbar, kicked the door frame. "Hey! We saw you go in! This is our spot! Toss out the bags and maybe we won't have to come in and take 'em!"

"Herman," Hana whispered, stepping up behind him. Her hand was trembling, but her grip on a heavy glass bottle was firm. "What do we do?"

Herman took a breath. He remembered these guys from the first timeline. Scavengers. Bottom-feeders. They didn't want a fight; they wanted easy prey.

"Stay behind me," Herman said. He stepped into the light of the doorway, his face twisted into a mask of cold, calculated madness. He didn't look like a scared survivor; he looked like a man who had already died and didn't mind doing it again.

"You want the bags?" Herman shouted, his voice echoing in the empty street. "Sure. Come and get them. But just so you know, I’ve already been bitten. Three times."

The men froze. The one with the crowbar squinted. "What?"

"The purple stuff? The 'Black Rain'?" Herman let out a high, jagged laugh that sounded genuinely unhinged. "It’s in my blood now. I can feel my teeth itching. I was just looking for someone to help me... spread the joy."

Herman took a step forward, twitching his neck violently. He raised the machete, which was still stained with the grey, acidic blood of the Spitters. "Do you guys want to be first? I think I can make it quick. Or maybe I’ll take my time. I haven't decided yet!"

"Whoa, whoa!" The man with the crowbar backed up, his eyes wide. "He’s a loony! He’s turned already!"

"I’m not turned!" Herman shrieked, charging forward a single step. "I’m just evolving! Come here and give me a hug!"

The three men didn't wait. They turned and sprinted down the street as if the Ravager itself was on their heels.

Herman stood there for a moment, his chest heaving, until the sound of their footsteps faded. He slowly lowered the machete, his shoulders slumping.

"That... was the most terrifying thing I have ever seen," Lando said, staring at his roommate. "And I’ve seen you try to do yoga."

"Did it work?" Herman asked, wiping sweat from his forehead.

"They’re halfway to the suburbs by now," Hana said, stepping out from the shadows. She was looking at Herman with a mixture of awe and concern. "That was... quite a performance, Herman."

"I wasn't entirely acting," Herman muttered, leaning against the doorframe. "My teeth do itch. But that’s probably just the stress."

"Come on," Hana said, reaching into her bag. "We got what we needed. Let’s get out of here before they realize you aren't actually a zombie."

They retreated into the back of the store, slipping out through the delivery exit. The air outside was cooler now, but the sky remained a bruised, angry purple. They found a small, reinforced basement under an old laundromat and hunkered down, the heavy steel door locked from the inside.

Lando was already in the corner, meticulously organizing his "donut stash."

Herman sat against the wall, his head thumping against the concrete. His body was screaming for sleep, but his mind was a chaotic map of things that no longer existed.

"Herman?"

He opened his eyes. Hana was sitting cross-legged in front of him. She held out a small, slightly crushed bar of chocolate.

"A Kit-Kat?" Herman asked, a ghost of a smile appearing.

"You said you wanted a break," she said, her eyes crinkling. "Well, this is the best I can do."

Herman took the chocolate, his fingers lingering against hers. The silence in the basement was heavy, but for the first time in either of his lives, it didn't feel lonely.

"Thanks, Hana."

"Don't thank me yet," she said, leaning her head against his shoulder. "You still have to explain the 'dream' where I die. And maybe why you think poodles are the ultimate threat."

Herman felt the warmth of her body against his, a stark contrast to the cold stone at his back. He took a bite of the chocolate—it tasted like the old world, sweet and simple.

"It’s a long story," Herman whispered.

"We have all night," she replied.

"Herman?" Lando called out from the darkness of the corner.

"Yeah, Lando?"

"Is it okay if I eat the spicy beef jerky now? Or are we saving that for when we meet the King of the Monsters?"

"Eat the jerky, Lando."

"Excellent. The apocalypse just got a four-star rating."

Herman closed his eyes, the sound of Hana’s steady breathing and Lando’s aggressive chewing filling the small space. He was still terrified. He still didn't know what tomorrow looked like. But as Hana leaned more of her weight against him, Herman realized that for once, he wasn't just surviving.

He was starting to live.

"Herman?" Hana’s voice was a soft murmur, nearly lost to sleep.

"Yeah?"

"I’m glad you had that dream. Even if it was scary."

"Me too, Hana," he whispered into the dark. "Me too."