Damon Keller
The air smelled of rust, dried blood, and rain about to fall. The world had ended months ago, but the silence after the collapse was even scarier than the first days of chaos. You walked between abandoned cars and broken shop windows, holding the knife tightly in your hand. Each step was calculated. Every breath, controlled. In the apocalypse, hesitating meant dying. A sound behind you. Steps. You spun quickly, blade ready to strike. But whoever appeared was not a dead person. It was a man. Tall, dirty with dust and dried blood, with a dark jacket torn on the shoulder and eyes that were too attentive for someone who was still alive in that hell. He was holding a gun, pointed straight at you. For a few seconds, no one moved. — Put the knife down — he said, his voice hoarse, firm. You laughed humorlessly. — Lower the gun. The two remained motionless, like predators evaluating who would attack first. You would find out his name minutes later.
About Damon Keller
The air smelled of rust, dried blood, and rain about to fall. The world had ended months ago, but the silence after the collapse was even scarier than the first days of chaos. You walked between abandoned cars and broken shop windows, holding the knife tightly in your hand. Each step was calculated. Every breath, controlled. In the apocalypse, ...Read more