The air inside the tiny bookstore was thick, almost suffocating. Dust hung in the shafts of light streaming through the cracks in the boarded-up windows. The shelves were empty now, except for a few torn pages and forgotten memories. Loid leaned against the wall, his stomach growling, his muscles aching, his mind clouded. The others weren't doing much better.
"We're out of food," John finally muttered, his voice low, steady, but tired. "We can't stay here."
Loid looked up. "How far is the next place?"
Noah wiped the sweat off her brow. "Far enough to make us hesitate. But close enough if we risk it."
Han was fidgeting. "We can't keep waiting. We'll die starving before we get killed by monsters."
No one said anything. The silence was louder than any scream.
So they left.
The streets felt heavier than before, as if even the air itself was warning them to turn back. Abandoned cars blocked their path, their windows shattered, the interiors soaked with dried blood. The smell of rot lingered.
"Eyes open. Keep low. Stay close," John ordered, holding his makeshift spear like it was a part of his body.
Loid walked beside Noah. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," she replied, though her steps said otherwise.
They turned a corner. That's when it started.
The first screech tore through the sky like a banshee wailing in agony.
"Shit—" Han gasped.
From every alley, from every crevice, they came.
Dozens of monsters.
No. Hundreds.
They looked human—barely. Twisted. Torn. Their eyes glowed with hate. Their limbs flailed as if broken, yet they moved with terrifying speed. Their mouths stretched unnaturally wide, dripping with dark saliva.
"They're everywhere!" Marc shouted, swinging his metal pipe at the first creature that lunged toward him.
Loid reacted fast. His bat cracked a monster's skull, but three more took its place. One dove for Noah—he pushed her out of the way, barely dodging its claws.
The street became a warzone.
Screams. Grunts. Bones snapping. Blood staining the pavement.
Han was pinned down, a monster clawing at his shoulder. "GET IT OFF ME!" he yelled, panic overtaking his voice.
John rushed in, thrusting his spear into the creature's spine, yanking Han back. "Focus! Don't give in to fear!"
Loid's arms were trembling. Each swing of his bat felt heavier. His breaths came in ragged gasps. But something deep inside him awakened. Every blow he landed cracked with more force than he expected. His reflexes sharpened.
I am changing, he thought
But there was no time to process it.
More came.
A second wave.
They were cornered near an intersection. The group huddled together, forming a loose circle, back to back, defending each other.
"I can't... I can't do this..." Noah whispered, blood dripping from a cut on her leg.
"You can," Loid said, looking her in the eye. "We survive this. Together."
John's face was pale, his arm bleeding. "We're not gonna last long. Brace yourselves—"
Just then—
A thunderous bang echoed.
The sky lit up.
A flare.
Then another.
And then—gunshots.
Dozens of rapid, synchronized gunshots.
Armored figures stormed the scene from the north. Camouflage gear. Helmets. Rifles.
It was the military.
"GET DOWN!" a soldier screamed as they opened fire at the monsters.
One by one, the creatures fell, torn apart by bullets and grenades.
The group collapsed to the ground, too exhausted to even cheer.
Loid lay on his back, staring at the sky. His hands trembled not from fear—but from relief.
They were saved.
The ringing in Loid's ears finally began to fade, replaced by the sharp orders of soldiers and the crackling sound of radios.
"Area secure!"
"Clear the perimeter!"
"Get the wounded first!"
Boots stomped the pavement around them as the soldiers began rounding up survivors.
John stood first, breathing hard, his face drained of blood. "Who… the hell are you guys?"
One of the soldiers, wearing a black mask and a red band on his right shoulder, looked at them. "We're from the 9th Emergency Response Division. You're lucky we were nearby. We picked up unusual signals in this area — your flare got through the interference. You guys held out better than most."
Loid sat up, his muscles screaming. "Is it over?"
The soldier looked at him, his expression unreadable. "For now. But there's no such thing as 'over' anymore."
One of the medics knelt beside Noah, inspecting the wound on her leg. "You're bleeding. Sit still."
"I'm fine," she insisted, though her lips quivered.
John helped Han to his feet while Marc coughed violently into his arm. "We're lucky," Marc said, barely audible. "That's the only word for it."
The group was ushered into a large military truck—armored, reinforced, humming with barely-contained power. Inside, a few more survivors sat in silence, their eyes hollow, their bodies wrapped in blankets or bandages.
Loid looked out the window, watching the burning city as they drove away.
Noah sat beside him, quiet for a long moment. "We would've died today."
"Yeah," Loid replied. "But we didn't."
She turned toward him. "I saw you out there. You weren't just fighting. You were... different. Like something inside you snapped."
Loid tensed. "You think?"
"Don't play dumb."
Before he could respond, the truck came to a stop. The back doors opened.
And then, they saw it.
The Shelter.
It wasn't what they expected.
As the adrenaline from the brutal battle began to wear off, the group was barely holding themselves together. Each breath felt heavier, their bodies aching with exhaustion. Loid staggered forward, clutching his side where a claw had nearly torn him open. The others weren't in better shape—Noah's lip was cut, Marc had a limp, and Han's arm was soaked in blood.
And then, finally… they arrived.
A massive metal gate stood tall, flanked by thick concrete walls and watchtowers. Armed soldiers in dark uniforms patrolled the area, guns ready. Floodlights blinded them for a second before a mechanical voice barked from speakers above:
"Hands in the air. Drop your weapons. No sudden movements."
Without hesitation, the group complied. Relief and fear crashed together in Loid's chest. Was this safety… or another prison?
The gates creaked open. Soldiers approached them cautiously, their faces hidden behind masks and visors. One of them, clearly in command, pointed toward a nearby scanning station.
"You're entering Shelter 17. Before you proceed, you must undergo full scanning and evaluation. Any signs of infection—extreme fatigue, hallucinations, coughing, trembling, memory loss—you'll be denied entry."
Loid's eyes widened slightly. Fatigue?Everyone in the group had reached the edge of collapse. He glanced at Noah, who looked just as worried.
They were led into a cold, clinical room where machines stood ready to scan every inch of their bodies. A soldier motioned toward Loid.
"You first."
He stepped forward. His heart was hammering again—not from the battle this time, but from something worse. What if they detected something inside him? Something even he didn't understand?
The scanner buzzed as it swept over his body, scanning for abnormalities. Loid kept his breathing steady, trying to ignore the bead of sweat trailing down his temple.
BEEP
"Clear," the soldier said flatly.
Loid exhaled, barely hiding his relief. One by one, the others followed. Han was cleared. Marc too. Then Noah stepped forward. Loid watched her closely. The seconds dragged. She looked pale, trembling slightly. His stomach twisted.
BEEP
"Clear."
Loid's chest unclenched.
Once all were confirmed symptom-free, they were each handed thin wristbands and directed to different dormitories. Loid tried to stay close to Noah, but a soldier stopped him.
"Everyone gets their own unit. Isolation reduces risk."
"But—" he started.
"It's protocol. You want to stay here, you follow the rules."
John gave him a knowing look as they were separated. "Rest for now. We'll regroup tomorrow."
That night, Loid lay on a creaky cot in his sterile dorm room, staring at the ceiling. For the first time in days, there were no howls in the distance. No blood. No monsters. But peace didn't come easily.
Because even in safety, he didn't feel safe at all.
"What happened to Joe… Belle… and that bastard—" Loid clenched his jaw, his fists tightening by his sides. "Tsk… I don't even want to say his name." His voice cracked under the weight of frustration. He stared at the ceiling, the sterile white lights above doing nothing to ease the chaos inside him.
His mind raced with questions he couldn't answer.
"Will I ever see them again? Are they even alive? And if they are... will I find them here, in this shelter?"
A hollow pit formed in his chest. The thought of reuniting with Joe and Belle gave him hope—but the idea of crossing paths with *him* again? The traitor who left him to die?
Loid let out a long, tired breath.
"If he's here… I swear to God, he'll regret ever breathing the same air as me, that mother fucker..."