Hugo tightened the straps of his backpack and took a steadying breath. He had made his decision—he was going to look for the cat. It was a strange priority, but in this world, where every second felt like borrowed time, the idea of having even the smallest bit of companionship felt like an anchor to his sanity.

  He moved carefully through the apartment, his footsteps deliberately slow to avoid making noise. The old wooden floor was uneven in places, but the concrete beneath it kept his steps from echoing too loudly. His eyes darted around the dimly lit space, scanning every corner for a flicker of movement.

  Where would a cat hide? He thought back to every time he had encountered strays in the city. They liked confined spaces, somewhere they could squeeze into and feel safe. Behind furniture, inside cabinets, under beds.

  His first stop was the couch. He crouched low, tilting his head to peer underneath. Dust had collected in thick patches, but there was no sign of a feline presence. He turned to the armchair next, giving it a gentle push with his foot to see if anything darted out. Still nothing.

  As he stepped toward the hallway, a soft noise pricked his ears—a faint rustling, almost imperceptible. His breath hitched, and he froze, listening. It wasn’t coming from the locked bedroom. It was closer.

  Hugo turned his head slowly, his grip tightening on the pan in his hand. The sound had come from the kitchen. Carefully, he retraced his steps, angling his body to see around the counter. His pulse quickened when he spotted a dark shape near the lower cabinets. Two glowing yellow eyes stared back at him.

  The cat.

  Relief flooded through him, but he forced himself to stay calm. Sudden movements would only startle it. He crouched slowly, extending a hand. "Hey there..." he whispered, keeping his voice as soft as possible. "You’re not gonna scratch me, are you?"

  The cat didn’t move, its tail flicking once as it watched him with wary eyes. Hugo could see its fur was slightly matted, its ribs faintly visible beneath its sleek black coat. It had been surviving on its own for who knows how long.

  He reached into his backpack, carefully pulling out the bag of cat food he had taken earlier. Tearing it open as quietly as he could, he shook out a small handful and placed it on the floor in front of him. The scent seemed to register immediately. The cat’s nose twitched, its ears perked slightly. Still, it didn’t move.

  Hugo stayed perfectly still, giving it time to decide. Seconds passed like minutes, but eventually, the cat took a hesitant step forward, then another. It sniffed the food before finally lowering its head to eat. Hugo let out a slow breath, relief washing over him.

  "There you go," he murmured. "See? I’m not so bad."

  He wasn’t sure if the cat could actually help him in any way, but having it around made him feel less alone. And right now, that was enough.

  The cat finished eating, licking his lips before lifting his head to stare at Hugo again. His yellow eyes were sharp, observant, as if judging whether Hugo was worth trusting. Hugo stayed still, letting the cat make the next move. After a long moment, Salem flicked his tail and padded a few cautious steps closer.

  "You're a quiet one, huh?" Hugo muttered, watching as the cat sniffed at his knee before rubbing against his leg, tail curling slightly. He exhaled, tension easing from his shoulders. "Guess that means we’re cool now."

  Carefully, he reached out and ran his fingers along the cat’s back. Salem twitched at first but didn’t pull away. His fur was sleek but slightly matted from days—or weeks—of fending for himself. Hugo scratched gently behind his ears, earning a slow blink from the feline.

  "Alright, buddy," he murmured. "I gotta move. You coming with me or staying here?"

  He slung his backpack off one shoulder and unzipped it, giving Salem a moment to inspect it. The cat hesitated, then, to Hugo’s surprise, climbed right in, curling up against the spare space between supplies. Hugo let out a small chuckle.

  "Guess that answers that," he said, securing the zipper just enough to keep it open for airflow. He adjusted the straps and shifted the backpack to his front, letting it rest against his chest. This way, he could keep an eye on Salem while moving. The extra weight pressed against him, but he didn’t mind.

  "He paused, glancing down at the cat curled up in his backpack. "I should probably call you something, huh?" He thought for a moment, then smirked slightly. "Salem. Yeah, that fits."

  Adjusting the straps, he took a steadying breath. "Alright, Salem. Let's see if we can make it through this together."

  With Salem settled, Hugo turned his attention back to the supplies he had gathered. It wasn’t much. A can of soup, some crackers—barely enough to last a day or two. His stomach twisted at the thought. He needed more if he was going to survive longer than that.

  He rubbed the back of his neck, his mind cycling through options. What now? Where else could he find supplies? His eyes flickered toward the bathroom. Medicine. Even if he wasn’t sick or injured now, having something on hand could be the difference between life and death. And while he was at it—

  Toilet paper.

  He let out a quiet scoff. It wasn’t glamorous, but in an apocalypse, it was a luxury. He made his way toward the bathroom, stepping carefully over scattered toiletries on the floor.

  The cabinet above the sink was slightly ajar. He reached up and pulled it open, scanning the shelves. As expected, it was filled with the kind of medicine one would find in an old lady’s house—painkillers, antacids, a half-empty bottle of cough syrup, and an assortment of prescription bottles he couldn’t even begin to decipher. He grabbed the painkillers and antacids—those could be useful—and shoved them into his backpack.

  Next, he reached for the lower cabinet. Inside, he found bars of soap, a couple of travel-sized bottles of toothpaste, and, to his relief, a pack of wet wipes. Those went into the bag too. Hygiene might not be a priority in a world falling apart, but staying clean could prevent infection.

  With a final glance, he spotted a couple of rolls of toilet paper tucked into the corner. Smirking, he snatched them up. "Gold," he muttered under his breath before stuffing them into his pack.

  Satisfied, he zipped up the backpack and adjusted Salem’s position slightly. Just as he turned to leave, another thought struck him.

  The cat would need a place to relieve himself. His eyes scanned the apartment until they landed on the litter box tucked near the corner of the kitchen. It was old, the litter inside clumped and stale, but it was better than nothing. If he was going to keep Salem with him, he needed to make sure the cat was comfortable enough to stick around.

  Balancing the backpack on one shoulder, he carefully lifted the litter box and carried it under his arm. It wasn’t ideal, but it would do for now.

  With everything gathered, he made his way to the entrance of Apartment 302. He hesitated for a moment before reaching out and gently closing the door. He wasn’t coming back in here again. Whatever was behind that locked bedroom door could stay there.

  Turning, he moved cautiously toward his own apartment, his senses on high alert, but the hallway was just as silent as before. No movement. No sound. He retrieved his key, unlocking his door quickly before slipping inside and shutting it behind him. Just to be safe, he immediately shoved the heavy dresser against it.

  Finally, he exhaled. He was safe. For now.

  Setting the backpack down, he unzipped it, allowing Salem to hop out onto the floor. The cat stretched, arching his back before silently padding across the room, inspecting his new surroundings. Hugo placed the litter box in the corner and refilled a small bowl with the cat food he had scavenged.

  "Alright, buddy, you’re officially moved in," he muttered, watching as Salem sniffed at the food before settling in to eat. Hugo took a seat on the couch, rubbing his hands over his face. His muscles ached from tension, but at least he had supplies. A little food, some medicine, and now, a cat.

  He pulled out a pack of crackers and opened it, chewing slowly as he watched Salem. The cat finished eating, then gracefully leapt onto the couch beside him, curling up without a sound. Hugo smirked, shaking his head. "Not much of a talker, huh?" He reached out, giving the cat a slow scratch behind the ears. Salem let out a quiet purr, a rare sound, but a comforting one.

  For the first time in what felt like forever, Hugo didn’t feel entirely alone.

  But that thought brought another with it—his family.

  He leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling, the remnants of a cracker still in his hand. He had been so focused on surviving, on the immediate danger around him, that he hadn't let himself dwell on them. Now that he had company—even if it was just a cat—the loneliness pressed down harder.

  He had three brothers. They had always been close, even if life had pulled them in different directions.

  One lived hours away, too far to even consider reaching in this chaos. The other two had been in the next city over. That was closer… but what were the chances they had made it? What were the chances anyone had?

  His chest tightened. He could remember their last conversation, joking around over a group chat about some dumb movie they had all watched as kids. He had promised to visit when work slowed down, but that had never happened. The restaurant had always kept him busy, and now, none of that mattered anymore.

  He rubbed his eyes, sighing. Thinking about them wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t bring them back, wouldn’t tell him if they were alive or dead. All it did was make the emptiness inside him grow heavier.

  A soft weight pressed against his side. He blinked, looking down to see Salem, now curled up beside him, his sleek body rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. The cat had settled in, comfortable, unbothered by the turmoil in Hugo’s mind.

  Hugo exhaled slowly, scratching behind Salem’s ears. "Guess it’s just us now, huh?" He wasn’t sure if he was talking to the cat or himself.

  Salem’s tail flicked slightly, but he didn’t move away.

  Hugo let the silence linger. He wasn’t ready to face the truth about his family. Not yet. But at least, for now, he wasn’t completely alone.

  The exhaustion of the day settled deep into his bones, and before he realized it, his body gave in. His eyes grew heavy, and he let himself sink into the couch, Salem's warmth beside him a small comfort. Sleep crept in, pulling him under.

  When he woke, the room was dimmer. He blinked, momentarily disoriented, before rubbing his face and glancing around. Salem was still curled up beside him, stretching lazily as Hugo sat up. His stomach rumbled, a sharp reminder that it had been too long since he’d eaten a proper meal.

  He forced himself to his feet and moved toward the kitchen, grabbing the can of soup he had scavenged. It wasn’t much, and it was cold, but it was food. He found a pot and set it on the gas stove, relieved to hear the faint click as the flame ignited. The familiar scent of broth filled the room as he stirred, waiting for it to heat through.

  Once ready, he poured the soup into a bowl and sat back down, the warmth spreading through his fingers. He took slow sips, savoring each one. Salem sat nearby, watching him with half-lidded eyes, content but alert. Hugo tore off a small piece of cracker and placed it beside the cat, who sniffed at it before dismissing it entirely.

  "Figured as much," Hugo muttered, smirking slightly. He let Salem be, focusing instead on his own meal. The simple act of eating in peace felt surreal, a moment of normalcy in an abnormal world.

  But as he scraped the last spoonful from the bowl, reality settled in again. That was the last of the soup. All he had left were some crackers. Barely anything to keep him going.

  His expression hardened. He needed to go out again. Soon.