The Apocalypse Survivor Who Can Plant Memories

Chapter 3: Shadows of the Past

The scavenger dogs didn't just growl; they vibrated with a predatory frequency that set Vinícius’s teeth on edge. The lead dog, a mangy, hairless creature with ribs like rusted piano wires, snarled, its lips curling back to reveal rows of yellowed, serrated teeth. The golden light from the sapling hit their wet eyes, reflecting a dull, dead green.

"Easy, boys," Vinícius muttered, his voice barely a tremor in the suffocating silence. He shifted his weight, the cold metal of the rebar biting into his palm. "I’m not much of a meal. Mostly gristle and bad memories."

[Warning: Biological stress spiking. Cognitive stability falling. Recommend immediate defensive projection.]

"Yeah, no kidding, you bucket of bolts," Vinícius spat, his eyes darting between the three creatures circling him. "Do you have any suggestions, or are you just going to keep counting my heartbeats until I stop?"

[Memory Garden: Suggestion: Barrier construction. Utilize environment. Focus on restrictive, impenetrable structures.]

"A barrier? With what? I’m starving, remember?"

[Focus: The Iron Gate of the Old District. The one that couldn't be broken.]

"That gate? It was rusted shut for twenty years," Vinícius groaned, clutching his head as the familiar, jagged ache returned. "Fine. Fine! Let’s see what this does."

The dogs lunged.

The movement was a blur of motion, a synchronized snap of jaws and claws. Vinícius dropped to his knees, his forehead pressed against the glowing, pulsating bark of the sapling. He didn't think about the peaches anymore. He thought about the heavy, wrought-iron gate at his grandmother’s old house. He remembered the feeling of the cold, oxidized metal, the heavy hinges, the way it stood immovable against the storms.

"Stay back!" he screamed, his voice raw.

[Synthesis initiated. Focus energy: High.]

The air in front of him tore open. It wasn't the soft, golden hum of the sapling this time; it was a screech of tearing space. From the grey ash, jagged, rusted iron rods erupted upward, spiraling together with a sickening crunch. The material felt wrong—too heavy, too dense—a phantom limb of a gate appearing out of the ether.

CLANG!

The lead dog slammed face-first into the barrier as it solidified, its yelp cut short by a wet thud. The other two skidded to a halt, paws sliding through the ash, their claws scraping against the cold, iron bars that had manifested in seconds.

"Get back! Get back!" Vinícius yelled, his voice cracking. He scrambled backward, his lungs burning with every breath.

The dogs paced along the fence line, whining in frustration. Their claws clattered against the iron, leaving sparks in the dark.

"See that?" Vinícius gasped, leaning heavily against a piece of debris. "You don't want to mess with that. It’s got a bite worse than yours."

[Stability at 15%. Warning: Energy reserves nearing exhaustion.]

"Shut up," he whispered, a hot, metallic trickle sliding from his left nostril. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, staring at the dark smear of blood against his skin. "I’m keeping it up. Just... let them leave."

The lead dog, shaking off the impact, let out a piercing, mournful howl that echoed off the crumbling skyscrapers. It stepped away, its gaze locking onto Vinícius through the bars. The other two followed, their posture shifting from aggression to a wary, low-slung trot. They knew the scent of a trap when they saw one, even if they couldn't understand how it had been birthed from nothing.

"That’s right," Vinícius wheezed, his vision beginning to tunnel at the edges. "Keep moving. There’s nothing here for you."

He watched them disappear into the gloom of the department store, their silhouettes fading like smoke. As soon as the last one vanished, his strength failed him. The iron gate flickered, turning translucent for a heartbeat before shattering into a fine, glittering dust that drifted harmlessly to the ground.

"Down... finally," he muttered.

His knees hit the ash with a jarring impact. The world tilted violently. The golden light of the sapling, which had flared during the manifestation, dimmed back to a soft, rhythmic throb. It felt like his own pulse was dragging, slowing down to match the tree.

[Status: Critical. Nutrient depletion at 99.8%. Immediate rest mandatory.]

"Rest?" Vinícius let out a dry, hacking laugh that quickly turned into a cough. "I’d love to. But I think I’m done, aren't I? The system is going to shut down, and I’m going to be just another stain on the concrete."

He didn't move. He sat there, his head lolling against the base of the sapling. The warmth of the tree was the only thing keeping the encroaching cold at bay. It was ironic, he thought. He had finally found a way to manifest his memories, to touch the past, and it was going to be the very thing that finished him off.

"Hey, little tree," he whispered, his eyelids heavy. "Did we do okay? Was that enough?"

The sapling pulsed, a warm, golden ripple that washed over his skin. It felt like a pat on the shoulder, a strange, silent comfort.

"Yeah. I guess we did."

He closed his eyes, the roar of the wind dying down into a gentle, rhythmic lullaby. The darkness behind his eyelids was supposed to be empty, but for the first time in years, it was filled with color. Not the grey of the ash, but the green of an orchard, the red of a peach, and the cold, unyielding black of a gate.

He drifted into a shallow, fitful sleep, his hand still resting on the sapling’s trunk.

Minutes passed—or maybe hours. Time had no meaning in the silence of the ruins.

He was pulled back to consciousness not by the system, but by a sound. It wasn't the clicking of claws or the howling of a pack. It was the soft, muffled crunch of a boot pressing into ash.

Vinícius snapped his eyes open. His body screamed in protest, every muscle aching as he tried to shift. The sapling was still glowing, casting a circle of light that reached about six feet around him.

He peered into the darkness beyond the glow.

At the edge of the light, standing amidst the skeletal shadows of a collapsed bus stop, stood a figure. She was draped in a heavy, tattered grey poncho that blended almost perfectly with the debris. Her face was obscured by the hood, but her eyes—sharp, steady, and entirely too human—were locked on him.

She didn't move. She didn't growl. She just stood there, her hands shoved deep into her pockets, watching the sapling with an intensity that made Vinícius’s blood run cold.

"Who are you?" Vinícius rasped, his voice barely audible. He gripped the rebar again, though he knew he didn't have the strength to swing it. "What do you want?"

The woman didn't answer right away. She tilted her head, her gaze shifting from the sapling to Vinícius, analyzing him as if he were a puzzle she had been trying to solve for years.

Finally, she stepped forward, just an inch, bringing her face into the very outer rim of the golden light. Her skin was smudged with soot, but her expression was unreadable.

"You're not a scavenger," she said, her voice smooth, low, and terrifyingly calm. It sounded like the chime of a bell in a graveyard.

Vinícius blinked, his heart hammering against his ribs. "And you're not a dog."

She let out a soft, humorless huff. "No. I suppose I’m not. But you’re playing a dangerous game, lighting a candle in the middle of a slaughterhouse. Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?"

"I survived," Vinícius retorted, his grip on the rebar tightening. "That's what I did."

The woman looked down at the sapling, then back at him. Her eyes softened, just for a fraction of a second, before turning cold again.

"You didn't survive," she said quietly. "You just signaled every nightmare within ten miles that there’s something new to eat. And you’re not the only one listening."

She took another step closer, the light catching the sharp, defined edges of her face. "Tell me, boy. Does that thing know how to grow anything other than fruit and ghosts, or is it just waiting for you to become the fertilizer?"

Vinícius tried to stand, but his legs remained anchored to the ash, heavy and dead. "Why do you care?"

"Because," she whispered, her shadow stretching long and thin across the ruins, "I’ve been looking f

or someone who could make the world bloom again. And I think you’ve just made a very big mistake."