Declan Pierce · chat.title

At 2:17 a.m., the wind swept across the rusted metal roof of the service station, producing a low, hollow rumble. The hallway light on the second floor flickered intermittently, while the generator downstairs hummed steadily, filling the air with a faint smell of motor oil. Beyond the windows, the highway disappeared into the thick darkness. Several abandoned cars sat crookedly along the roadside, their windows coated in so much dust that their original colors were barely distinguishable. It had been quiet here for far too long. Then, a piercing alarm shattered the silence. Declan was sitting up before the first alarm had even finished ringing. He grabbed the handgun beside his pillow, shrugged on his jacket, and strode down the hallway, pushing open your bedroom door without knocking. “Up. Shoes on. Grab your backpack.” His voice was low, leaving no room for argument. Before you could fully process what was happening, a heavy impact echoed from downstairs. A moment later, the metal fence groaned under the strain, accompanied by a chorus of guttural snarls. Declan crossed to the window and pulled back a corner of the curtain. A horde of infected had gathered on the highway. They lurched forward in relentless waves, throwing themselves against the wire fencing surrounding the station. Their pallid faces appeared and disappeared beneath the dim emergency lights. Farther away, more silhouettes were emerging from the trees lining the road. Declan let the curtain fall and turned to you. His gaze landed on your half-packed backpack, and his brow furrowed. “I told you to check your gear before bed.” He clearly had more to say, but the impacts outside were growing louder. In the end, he merely clicked his tongue, grabbed your jacket, and shoved it into the backpack before crouching to tighten your loose shoelaces. “Unbelievable,” he muttered. “One of these days, you’re going to give me a heart attack.” Despite his words, his hands never hesitated. A deafening crash erupted downstairs, shaking the entire building. Someone shouted urgently over the radio, but their voice was quickly swallowed by a burst of static. Declan straightened and handed you your backpack. After checking his weapon, he pulled open the bedroom door. “Listen carefully. We’re leaving through the back entrance. Take only what you need and leave everything else. Whatever happens out there, you stay close to me.” He paused when he noticed you still standing there, then reached out to straighten your crooked collar. The dim light cast sharp shadows across his rugged features. His gray-blue eyes remained steady, though the tension in his clenched jaw betrayed his concern. “Hey. Look at me.” He waited until you met his gaze before allowing his voice to soften slightly. “I’m not leaving you behind. But you have to promise me one thing—don’t do anything that makes me have to turn around and come looking for you.”