She noticed a door slightly open to her right. The weak light from her torch flickered across the gap. She moved closer, every step slow and careful. Her heart thumped.

  Peeking inside, she saw thick and thin pipes running along the walls and ceiling. Two old boilers stood in the corner, their metal surfaces scratched and rusted. A tall metal cabinet caught her eye. Its door was slightly ajar.

  She edged forward, keeping her axe raised, and let the torch beam sweep over the cabinet. The metal creaked under the faint movement of air. She swallowed, forcing herself to stay calm.

  Nothing stirred—yet. The basement felt alive with shadows. Every drip, every distant scuffle, made her muscles tense. She needed that badge. Somewhere in this dark, damp room, it had to be.

  She stepped cautiously toward the cabinet. Suddenly, a rat scurried past her feet, squeaking loudly. She jumped back, heart pounding, and almost lost her balance on the edge of the slightly open hatch in the floor.

  Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself and moved closer to the cabinet. Her torch beam swept over its contents. Old clothes, yellowed newspapers, nothing useful. Only one funny thing from the past, capable of brightening a woman's loneliness. Too big to fit in a pocket.

  She smiled and hid it in her bosom.

  She let out a quiet sigh, pressing the axe tighter to her side. The badge wasn’t here. Not yet. And every second in this dark basement made her feel the weight of the danger all around her.

  Ember stepped out of the boiler room, torch in one hand, axe in the other. She moved toward the next open door, ears straining for any sound.

  A groan echoed from inside. A zombie lunged from the shadows. She jabbed with the axe, aiming for the head. The first strike glanced off; it stumbled, but kept coming. She swung again, harder, breaking through the skull. The creature collapsed, still twitching slightly. Her pulse raced, every nerve on edge.

  She searched the room quickly. Old papers filled the crates, police batons lined a shelf, and some kitchen utensils were scattered in a corner. Nothing useful. Frustrated, she turned toward the corridor. The basement stretched before her, dark and silent, but she had to keep moving.

  Ember moved from room to room, torch swinging, axe ready. She opened every cabinet, rummaged through crates, and checked under tables. Old papers, broken chairs, police batons, rifles—nothing useful.

  She paused, breathing hard, chest tight. The basement felt endless, silent except for the drip of water and distant scuffles. Locked doors blocked some rooms, leaving parts of the basement out of reach.

  Her shoulders slumped. The badge wasn’t here. Every empty cabinet, every useless crate pushed the weight of the basement down on her. She swallowed, forcing herself to keep moving. There was no choice. She had to keep searching.

  ***

  Ember climbed the stairs to the first floor. Every hallway, every room, she checked again, not for the badge this time, but for the keys that could unlock the basement doors.

  Cabinets, drawers, even old lockers—she rummaged through everything. Her stomach growled, and her throat felt dry. Each step made her feel the weight of hunger and thirst pressing down.

  By the time she reached the second floor, she had gathered several keys. Sweat ran down her face, and her hands trembled slightly. The badge wasn’t here, but these keys might finally give her access to the rooms she couldn’t reach before. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to move forward despite the gnawing emptiness inside.

  Ember paused at the windows, peering out. Hundreds of zombies shuffled below, milling around the building. Her stomach tightened. She couldn’t stay here.

  She made her way back down to the basement, keys in hand. One by one, she tried the locked doors. Two finally gave way, creaking open under her push.

  She stepped inside the first room, sweeping her torch over the contents. Old filing cabinets, empty crates, nothing worth taking. The second room was no better—dusty shelves, broken chairs, stacks of useless papers. She pressed her axe tighter to her side, frustration and desperation gnawing at her. There was still no sign of the badge.

  Ember stepped back from the windows, heart racing. She needed to get back to her shelter—there was water, food, a chance to rest. But how?

  She crept along the hallways, peering out of every window. Outside, the streets were crawling with zombies. The branch she had jumped from before was too far to reach. Every visible exit was blocked.

  She searched the rooms again, hoping to find something—rope, cords, anything she could use to get down safely. Nothing. Empty. Her stomach growled, throat dry. The weight of desperation pressed down on her. She had to find a way, or she wouldn’t survive much longer.

  ***

  Ember pressed her back against the wall and took a deep breath. Then she remembered the floor hatch in the boiler room—the only way down.

  She quickly fashioned a new torch, wrapping cloth around the end of a stick and lighting it carefully. Its weak flame flickered, casting long shadows across the empty hall.

  With an axe in one hand, torch in the other, she made her way back to the basement stairs. Every creak, every drip of water made her muscles tense. The hatch waited below, dark and silent, but it was her only path forward.

  ***

  Ember wedged the fire axe under the heavy hatch and pushed. It groaned but finally shifted. She peered into the darkness below.

  Metal brackets lined the edges of the opening. She tested the first one with her foot, then the next, moving carefully.

  Step by step, she lowered herself into the shadows. The basement above faded, leaving only the black silence around her. Every muscle tensed, every sound sharper now.

  Before her stretched a narrow tunnel. She had to crouch low to move, every step careful and slow.

  The faint sound of running water echoed from somewhere ahead, distant but constant. Her torch flickered against the rough walls, casting long, trembling shadows.

  She crept forward, body tense, listening to every drip and distant scuffle. Each step brought her deeper into the darkness, farther from the basement above and closer to whatever waited in the shadows.

  The tunnel opened into a T-shaped junction. Ember froze for a moment, listening.

  She looked to the right. A wide pipe stretched ahead, and along its bottom ran a narrow stream of water, flowing slowly to the left. The sound echoed softly off the walls, guiding her eyes along the dim path.

  She stayed low, stepping carefully. The junction was silent, but she knew danger could be anywhere, hiding in the shadows of the twisting pipes.

  A soft growl came from the left. Ember froze, then slowly turned her head toward the sound, heart hammering. Her muscles tensed, every sense alert.

  Before she could react further, a gray hand shot out from the shadows and grabbed her shoulder. She yelped, spinning around in the narrow pipe, axe raised.

  The zombi’s empty eyes locked on hers, jaw opening in a low, hungry hiss. It was tall, a hulking figure in a torn and filthy police uniform. A battered helmet rested on its head, and a dented bulletproof vest covered its chest. Every movement was slow but heavy, the weight of its body making the narrow pipe even more threatening.

  Ember swung the axe at the plastic helmet. It cracked with a sharp snap, but the zombi only growled louder.

  It lunged, grabbing her shoulder with a strength that nearly tore her arm from its socket. She stumbled backward, the axe slipping slightly in her grasp.

  The torch flew from her hand, clattering to the floor. She slammed against the zombie's chest, the impact knocking the wind out of her. Shadows twisted wildly as the narrow pipe seemed to close around them both.

  Ember shoved against the zombie with all her strength, twisting her body to create space.

  She swung the axe at its head. The blade struck with a dull, heavy thud—and then stuck. The plastic helmet cracked, but the axe wouldn’t pull free.

  The zombie growled, straining against her. She yanked and twisted, heart racing, trying to free the weapon before it was too late.

  The zombi’s other hand shot out, clamping around her neck. Pain flared, and her head felt heavy.

  Dark spots danced at the edges of her vision. Her pulse raced, each breath coming in short, desperate gasps. The narrow pipe seemed to shrink around her, the walls pressing closer.

  She clawed at its grip, fighting to stay conscious. Every second stretched, and the world blurred at the edges as darkness crept in.

  The zombie yanked her closer, its grip tightening around her neck. Panic surged through her.

  With a swift motion, she drew the pistol from her belt. Five precise shots rang out—quiet, muffled by the silencer. Each bullet hit the zombie's head.

  It staggered once, then collapsed, lying still. Ember sank to her knees, gasping, heart hammering. The narrow pipe was silent again, shadows flickering in the weak torchlight.

  Ember lifted the torch, hands still trembling. She let the light fall over the fallen zombie.

  The torn police uniform, the battered vest, the cracked helmet—it all looked more menacing in the flickering glow.

  Then she saw it. Clipped to the zombi’s belt, glinting faintly, was the police badge. Her heart leapt. Finally, after all this chaos, she had found what she came for.

  Ember laughed, a wild, hysterical sound, tears streaming down her face. Relief and triumph washed over her in a sudden, dizzying wave.

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  After a moment, she forced herself to calm down. Carefully, she unclipped the badge and slid it into her chest pocket.

  She turned back to the narrow stream of water flowing through the pipe. Following it might lead her out. Every step was cautious, but hope had returned, and she moved forward, deeper into the shadows, toward the promise of an exit.

  ***

  Ember crept through the narrow collector, torch sputtering in her hand. The weak flame flickered and dimmed, casting long, twitching shadows along the damp walls.

  Rats scurried around her feet, squeaking and darting into the darkness. Every sound made her muscles tense, heart racing.

  Then, far ahead, a soft glow appeared. Light. Real light. She swallowed hard, pushing forward, drawn toward it, each cautious step carrying her closer to the promise of escape.

  Ember climbed out of the pipe into the ravine, her legs trembling from the long crawl. She pulled herself up the slope, dirt slipping beneath her hands.

  When she reached the top, she paused, breathing hard, and looked around. There were no zombies in sight.

  Not far ahead, she could see her temporary shelter. Water and food waited there. Relief surged through her, mingled with exhaustion. She took a shaky step forward, finally moving toward safety.

  Ember crept closer to her shelter, heart hammering in her chest. Relief faded as her eyes fell on the scene before her.

  Around her temporary refuge, monsters shuffled and moaned—at least ten of them. Their torn clothes and vacant eyes reflected the dim light of the evening.

  ***

  Ember slipped into the nearest house, moving as quietly as she could.

  A zombie lurked in the corner. She swung the axe quickly, striking with precision. The creature crumpled, and she didn’t wait to see it move again.

  She climbed the stairs, muscles burning, and pushed open the hatch to the roof. Once on top, she paused, catching her breath and scanning the area below. The shelter—and the monsters around it—lay within sight, but from here, she could plan her next move.

  Ember crouched, then leapt from roof to roof, muscles straining as she landed on each one. The wind whipped past her, and the distance between buildings seemed endless, but she kept moving, careful and precise.

  Finally, she reached the roof of the house she had been aiming for. She slid open a loose panel, pulled herself inside, and dropped silently onto the floor.

  She finally found herself in her temporary shelter, and for the first time in hours, she felt a flicker of safety.

  “That’s a cut!” she said, relief in her voice.

  Ember sank onto the bed and opened her backpack. She drank water greedily, feeling it soothe her parched throat. Then she chewed on the dried meat, savoring each bite, letting the taste and warmth wash over her.

  Ember leaned back against the wall, letting the exhaustion sink into her bones. Her body ached, and every muscle begged for rest.

  She knew she was too tired to move tonight. Tomorrow, she would start the journey back. For now, she would rest, letting the safety of her temporary shelter wrap around her like a fragile shield.

  Ember sank onto the bed, muscles trembling from exhaustion. For the first time in hours, she could truly rest in safety.

  ***

  The next morning, Ember finished the last of her water, put on her backpack, slung the shotgun over her shoulder, and set off on the way back.

  A few zombies shambled in her path, and she dealt with them swiftly, careful to conserve her energy.

  Step by step, she made her way toward the settlement, finally spotting the familiar outlines ahead.

  The gates loomed ahead, sun-glared and familiar. As Ember stepped into view, the two guards straightened.

  “Em? That you?” one called out, squinting. “Where the hell have you been? We thought you were gone for good.” The other nodded quickly. “Yeah… we kinda missed you.”

  She shrugged lightly, dust shifting off her shoulders. “Took a little walk through the eastern ruins.”

  Both men froze.

  “The eastern—? You’re joking.”

  Their voices cracked at the same time.

  Ember unslung the shotgun and held up the badge she’d fought so hard for. The metal caught the light.

  Their eyes went wide—comically wide. One of them let out a sound between a cough and a gasp.

  “Stay here—I’m getting the doctor,” he blurted, already sprinting down the walkway.

  The second guard just stared at her, helmet tilted back, disbelief written across his face.

  “The eastern ruins… Em, that place eats people alive. No one’s gonna believe you made it out.”

  A grin broke across her face, half tired, half triumphant.

  “Then they’re in for a surprise.”

  Footsteps rushed back toward them. The doctor appeared, breathing hard, a metal bucket sloshing with water in one hand and a rag thrown over his shoulder.

  He stopped in front of her, eyes narrowing as he took in the dirt, dried blood, and exhaustion on her face.

  The doctor set the bucket down and straightened, his tone firm and businesslike.

  “Ember, you’ll need to get fully undressed,” he said. “I can’t risk missing a scratch or a bite under torn clothes.”

  “Sure,” she said without hesitation, then added with a crooked grin, “free show for everyone!”

  Ember was already pulling off her clothes, unbothered, moving with the same casual confidence she had back when she danced on stage. Cold air brushed her skin, but she barely noticed. She stepped to the bucket, scooped the water with the rag, and began washing herself — arms, legs, neck, every inch that needed clearing of grime from the tunnels.

  When she finished, the doctor approached and examined her with brisk, clinical focus.

  “No bites. No cuts. Just bruises,” he concluded. “You’re clear.”

  A small burst of applause rose behind him — a few men and women who had watched the whole thing from a respectful distance. Ember blinked in surprise, then laughed. The tension inside her finally broke loose in a warm rush.

  She lifted her hands and blew them playful kisses. That only made the little crowd clap louder.

  Still smiling, she took her time getting dressed, feeling lighter than she had in days.

  Ember turned away from the small crowd and started toward Zed, but then she spotted the sheriff, leaning against the gate, and Muddy Joe trailing behind him.

  She adjusted her backpack and strode over, every step confident. As she approached, the sheriff raised an eyebrow. “Where’ve you been all this time?”

  Ember paused, letting the moment hang. Then she lifted the police badge, letting it catch the sunlight.

  Both of them froze, eyes widening. Triumph curled in her chest, and a small, satisfied smile spread across her face.

  The sheriff stared at the badge like he couldn’t believe his own eyes.

  “No way. You actually went out there? Why would you do something that stupid?”

  Ember jerked her chin toward Muddy Joe. “He sent me to get the badge.”

  The sheriff swung his glare to Joe. “Are you out of your damn mind? You trying to get someone killed? You want a trial?!”

  Joe threw up his hands. “It was my wife! Her stupid joke, not me!”

  Ember laughed once, sharp. “Really? You didn’t argue. You just stood there nodding along. So—” she tapped the badge with her finger “—you’re taking me on the team now, right?”

  “No!” Joe snapped.

  “You promised,” she shot back.

  “I didn’t promise a thing! My idiot wife did!”

  The sheriff’s face darkened. “Joe. Talk. Now. You sent Ember to her death and you think you can blame your wife?”

  “I didn’t send her! She did!” Joe insisted.

  Ember stepped closer, eyes locked on him. “Promise is a promise. Take me.”

  “No!” he barked. “I have to think about the whole team. If you’re with us, no one will be thinking about my orders. They’ll be staring at your ass!”

  Ember smirked. “If you don’t take me, I’ll tell everyone you’re full of hot air. A liar who can’t back up his words.”

  “Don’t you even start!” Joe growled.

  The sheriff sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead. “Ember… you really don’t belong in their team. You’re a woman. They’ll get distracted.”

  “Take me,” Ember demanded, stepping right up to Joe. “You promised.”

  “No!” Joe snapped back. “Not happening. You’re not fit for the team.”

  Heat flashed through her, anger rising fast. “You said you needed a silent weapon — I got one. You said ‘bring the badge’ — I almost died, but I brought it! Either you take me, or you’ll regret it.”

  “Never,” Joe shot back, shaking his head.

  “Fine,” Ember said, voice sharp. “Let’s ask the team.”

  “No,” Joe barked. “They’re my team. I decide.”

  Ember let out a cold laugh. “So that’s it. You’re scared. Scared of losing control. Scared someone might not obey little, tiny, lying Joe.”

  Joe’s face went red. The sheriff shifted uncomfortably beside him. A few people nearby stopped pretending not to listen.

  Ember leaned in closer, voice low and fierce.

  “You’re not protecting the team. You’re protecting your ego.”

  Joe snorted. “No. Your job is dancing and shaking your tits. You’re not for us.”

  Ember’s jaw tightened. “I proved I can do it.”

  The sheriff lifted his hands. “Joe… she did prove it. But Ember, you don’t need this. Dance, live your life. We don’t have many things that keep us sane. You’re one of them. People missed you.”

  Ember stared at him, stunned for a heartbeat. Then her voice cracked into anger.

  “So that’s what I am to you? Girl, take your clothes off. Girl, dance for us. That’s all?”

  She shook her head, eyes burning. “Go to hell. All of you.”

  She ripped the badge from her pocket and threw it at Joe’s face. The metal hit him with a sharp clack. Before he could react, she turned and sprinted toward Zed, fury pushing her forward.

  ***

  Ember slammed the door behind her, breathing hard. “I’m nothing to them! Just a damn dancer! I’m nobody! Go to hell!”

  She yanked a pair of scissors from the counter and, in a flash of rage, chopped off her long, red hair. Strands fell to the floor like fire.

  Zed appeared in the doorway, eyes wide. “Em… wait, don’t—”

  But Ember turned toward him, tears streaming, voice shaking with fury. “They mocked me! Treated me like I’m some toy! I risked everything, and for what? For a bunch of idiots who can’t see what I can do!”

  Zed stepped closer, hands raised, trying to calm her. “Em, listen—”

  “No!” she shouted. “Don’t try to calm me! Don’t tell me to breathe or think! You don’t get it!”

  He froze, startled by her intensity, unsure what to do next. She trembled with anger, raw and unfiltered, letting all the frustration pour out in words and movement.

  Ember said, “I brought the badge and the shotgun. They almost got me…”

  Zed: “Em, everything will be fine, you’ll see.”

  She looked at him, eyes serious. “Only you treat me like a person.”

  Then she undressed completely, sat on the bed, spread her legs, and said, “Zed, shave me, please…”

  He doesn’t blink. Gets the foam, razor, small bowl of water — everything always ready on the shelf.

  “Okay. Stay still.”

  He kneels between her feet. Warm foam on his fingers. He spreads it slow over her pussy, covering every red hair. Ember’s breath is fast and angry at first.

  Razor touches skin. First slow stroke. Second. Clean line. She watches the ceiling, fists tight.

  Stroke after stroke. Skin gets smoother. Her thighs stop shaking. Anger starts to melt.

  He wipes, checks, does the lips carefully, pulls skin gentle so the blade slides perfect. No cuts.

  Last touch — warm wet towel. He cleans everything. Her pussy now pink, baby-smooth, shining a little.

  Ember sighs long, body soft. Anger gone.

  Zed puts things away. “Clean now. Tomorrow you take what’s yours.”

  She nods, curls on her side, bare ass toward him.

  He lies back on his bunk. Three feet of air between them.

  Light clicks off.

  Only their breathing in the dark. Slow. Together.

  ***

  The next morning, Ember woke late. Her mood was sour. She lay there, thinking about what to do next.

  Suddenly, Zed burst in, grinning. “Em! Shake off that gloom! Smile!”

  She frowned. “Why all of a sudden?”

  “The caravan’s here! Forget the scavengers! You’re heading to the fort to find a buyer for our treasure!”

  Ember shot up from the bed—didn’t matter that she was still naked—and threw herself at Zed, laughing as she hugged him.

  "It's coming tomorrow," he said cheerfully, and patted her on the bottom.

  ?So, I'm dancing today!?