The rain came down in heavy waves, drowning the world in noise. The cruiser crawled through flooded streets, engine sputtering, gas light blinking red.
"Almost out," Snow muttered, knuckles white on the wheel.
Inside, the tension was thick. Talia leaned back, hands resting on her belly, eyes shut tight. Beside her sat Grams, biting her lip, trying to mask the pain radiating from her swollen ankle. And in the third row, tucked up in a ball with her sketchpad against her chest, was Layla, silent as ever.
Snow's eyes scanned the road, and then he saw it.
An armored truck. Abandoned. Parked near a downed traffic light. Still intact.
He didn't hesitate.
The cruiser sputtered one last time and died as he rolled up behind the truck. Snow grabbed his shotgun and opened the door, letting the storm slam into him like a freight train. Cold. Relentless. Angry.
He moved fast. Checked the armored truck, locked.
Then spotted the security guard slumped under a broken sign, blood pooled around him. Keys still clipped to his belt.
Snow scanned the area. No movement. Just shadows.
He snatched the keys and unlocked the truck.
Then he rushed back to the cruiser.
"Let's move! Come on!"
Talia opened her door first, moving slow. "I got her," Snow said, cutting her off as he leaned into the backseat.
Grams winced. "I can manage, "
"You're not proving anything right now, ok," Snow said gently, already lifting her with care.
She sighed and grumbled but didn't fight him. "You're lucky I don't got my cane."
Layla slipped out behind them, water soaking her sketchpad, though she didn't even blink. Her eyes stayed locked on the armored truck.
Snow got them all inside, helped Grams settle in with her foot elevated, then climbed into the driver's seat.
Engine growled to life. Tank full. Steel walls all around.
He shut the door. Exhaled.
"We've got wheels now. But we need somewhere safe to crash to conserve gas. We cant keep moving like this."
The armored truck slid to a stop in front of the old courthouse, its stone walls towering like a fortress in the storm. Snow cut the engine.
Inside, Grams clutched her ankle, her face pale. Talia leaned her head back, exhausted, one hand on her stomach. Layla stared out the window, silent, fingers tracing the edge of her damp sketchpad.
Snow looked at the building. Windows boarded up. Lights off. Door closed, probably.
He opened the truck door. Rain hit like bullets.
"Let's move. Now."
He helped Grams down first, careful and quick. Talia followed with a grunt. Layla stuck close, her tiny shoes splashing through puddles.
They were halfway to the door when they heard it, a distorted screech. Not a human scream. Not even close. They rushed to the door as Snow and the others began to bang like their lives depended on it, because it did. Another screech, closer now.
Snow spun around.
A skinwalker.
Tall. Slender. Moving like it was glitching through space. Two glowing eyes. Jaws split open with jagged teeth, like it had too many.
It skittered toward them, fast, unnatural.
Snow raised the shotgun and fired.
Boom.
It staggered but didn't stop.
"Open the door!" Snow yelled, dragging Grams behind him.
For a moment, nothing. Just the storm and it, coming fast.
Then the courthouse door flew open.
A hoodie-wearing teen stood there. Crowbar in hand, eyes wide.
"GET IN!"
Snow shoved Layla inside, then Talia. Grams limped in with help. Snow turned and fired again, closer this time. The blast echoed.
Malik yanked him inside, and another man slammed the door shut.
The skinwalker hit the outside like a freight train, screeching, scratching.
Inside, everyone froze.
Panting. Soaked. Alive.
Snow looked up at Malik.
"Thanks."
Malik shrugged. "No prob."
A big dude stepped forward, Rico, nodded slowly. "You just brought hell to our doorstep… but you also brought a hell of a shotgun."
Malik raised an eyebrow. "Guess that means they can stay."
The storm raged on outside.
But for now, they had shelter.
Grams leaned heavy on Talia, who looked like she could use a hospital more than a hideout. Layla clung to her sketchpad, still not saying a word.
Snow scanned the wide-open lobby, pillars, cracked marble floors, shattered silence. And people. Survivors.
A tall dude in a dirty wife-beater stepped up first. Muscles, neck tattoos, twitchy as hell. Travis.
"Yo, what is this? A charity drive?" he barked, gesturing wildly. "You just lettin' people in now like it's Black Friday at Target?"
Rico stepped forward. "They were about to get mauled, man. You tryna watch that happen out the window with popcorn?"
Travis rolled his eyes. "Maybe. Depends who was gettin' mauled."
Then came the voice, sharp, nasal, and offended at the world.
"Excuse me?"
Everyone turned.
Karen Caldwell. Fifty-ish, blond bob, North Face jacket, clutching a knockoff designer bag like it was a life preserver. She looked like she got separated from a yoga retreat and hadn't adjusted well to the apocalypse.
She squinted at Snow like he'd tracked in dog poop.
"We don't know them. How do we know they're not criminals? Looters? Or worse, infected?"
Snow stared at her. Blinked once.
Karen stepped closer, lowering her voice like she was saying something really serious.
"He has a shotgun."
Rico blinked. "Lady, you saw what's out there. If you don't have a shotgun, you might be the problem."
Karen turned to the group, hands on hips. "I'm not trying to be rude, "
Grams muttered, "Yes you are."
Karen ignored her. ", but I didn't survive this long just to be murdered in my sleep by some... mysterious guy in a hoodie with... vibes."
Snow just raised an eyebrow. "Mysterious?"
Talia, out of patience, hissed, "Girl, we literally carried an old lady and a kid through acid rain and demons in mating season. Sit down."
Karen scoffed and mumbled something about calling the police, then seemed to remember the police were either dead, eaten, or in the room reloading a shotgun.
From the back, a voice rumbled out, Mr. Fletcher, an old ex-Marine.
He stepped forward slow, his cane tapping.
"Lady, if he wanted to kill you, he'd have done it before the door closed." Beat. "Now sit your gluteus maximus down before I throw it out the window."
The whole room froze.
Karen gasped. "You can't talk to me like that!"
Malik, leaning against a bench, smirked. "Pretty sure he just did."
Even Layla cracked the smallest smile.
Travis chuckled. "Well, hell. Pops still got hands."
Snow gave a nod of thanks to Mr. Fletcher. He looked around the group, tired, shaken, but still breathing.
"Let's find a spot, shall we, ladies?" Snow said, grabbing Layla's hand as he guided her and the others to a quieter corner. They all settled in, and for a brief moment, there was silence.
Soon, the rest of the group followed and gathered around.
Snow looked around at the group and took a deep breath. "Well, since we're all here, we might as well introduce ourselves," he said, glancing from face to face. "I'm Snow King. Police officer. I don't know what's going on out there, but I know how to protect people. That's my job. Keeping you all safe." He paused for a moment, making eye contact with each person in turn. "That's all I want, keeping us all alive."
The pregnant woman with her hand resting gently on her belly nodded before speaking up. "Alright, guess I should say something too. I'm Talia Rivera. I used to be a nurse before all this happened. Now... I'm just trying to keep myself and my baby safe. That's my priority now. Honestly, that's all any of us should care about, isn't it?"
The little girl next to her, sketching quietly on her pad, looked up with a quiet, almost nervous voice. "I'm Layla," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I like to draw."
The older man by the window cleared his throat, his voice gruff and steady despite his age. "I'm Mr. Fletcher," he said, rubbing his knee absently. "I was in the Marine Corps. Spent my life learning how to keep my squad alive. And I learned... it doesn't matter how many we are, it matters how well we work together. But these things outside... they aren't human. Not like anything I've fought before. We'll need to think differently if we want to survive."
A man near the corner, working on a broken radio, muttered under his breath as he fiddled with the wires. "I'm Rico Barnes," he said with a small shrug, looking up from the radio. "I ran a garage before all this happened. Fixed cars, engines, anything that needed fixing. Guess it's the same now. I fix what I can, keep things running. That's what I do." He paused, looking up briefly. "And if that means keeping your car running or keeping us safe... I'll do it. Just gotta know who you trust."
The boy, sitting cross-legged on the floor, finally spoke up, his voice soft but certain. "I'm Kenny Wells," he said, glancing around the room. "I remember where all the exits are. I remember faces. I can remember everything better than anyone." His eyes flitted around the room. "If you need something, I'll find it. I can remember."
The woman with sharp, intense eyes was the next to speak, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. "I'm Karen Caldwell," she said, her tone edged with frustration. "I believe in facts, not fairy tales. All of this? Doesn't make sense. But if we're going to survive, we need a plan. I'm here to make sure we're not just sitting around waiting to die."
The young man leaning against the wall flashed a cocky grin, his confidence unshaken by their circumstances. "I'm Malik," he said, his mischievous grin widening. " I'm a bit of a daredevil," they say but somebody's gotta take risks, right? If we're just sitting here, we're not gonna get anywhere. You want things done? You gotta move. No hesitation."
A soft chuckle came from the end of the group, followed by a light cough. "Well, I suppose y'all weren't gonna just skip over me, were you?" said the elderly woman with a crooked smile. Her voice was warm, seasoned with a Southern lilt. "Name's Etta May Lewis. But everyone just calls me Grams."
She shifted with a small wince, gently massaging her ankle. "This ol' leg's been yelling at me since the storm started, but I wasn't about to sit around waitin' to be eaten like a pot roast." A few of the others chuckled quietly.
"I was a librarian once upon a time, back when books still mattered more than bullets. So don't let the gray hair fool you, I know things." She glanced around with a sharp, grandmotherly look. "You treat each other right, you hear me? We're all we got now. And if anybody thinks they too good to help carry this crew, I'll remind you I still got a swing in this purse." She patted the heavy-looking leather bag beside her.
Snow tried to hold back a grin. "Got it, Grams."
She gave him a nod. "Good boy."
They decided it was best to rest. The storm hadn't let up. Rain drummed steadily against the boarded windows, a constant reminder of the chaos just outside. But inside the building, for the first time all day, there was a lull. A heavy, hushed peace. People had claimed their corners, some laying out makeshift beds from folded jackets, others huddled near the emergency light.
Snow sat close to the front, his shotgun resting against his knee. His eyes scanned the room like he was used to in the military, counting heads, mapping exits, listening for anything that didn't sound right. But something did pull his attention.
Talia.
She sat a few yards away, her back against a dusty vending machine, one hand resting protectively over the swell of her stomach. Her face was tilted down, but not in sleep. Her eyes were wide open, lost in thought. Haunted.
Snow rose quietly, stepping over a snoring Rico and the silent little girl curled up beside him. He crouched beside her slowly, so she wouldn't be startled.
"Are you ok?" he asked, voice low, calm.
She looked up, blinking like she hadn't realized he was there. "What does that even mean anymore?" she said with a dry chuckle. "Am I breathing? Yeah. Is my heart still pounding? Constantly. Does everything hurt? You bet."
Snow gave a half-smile. "So... surviving. That's what I meant."
She leaned her head back against the wall, closing her eyes for a second. "Barely."
"You need anything? Water? Blankets?"
"No. I'm okay. Just tired. Tired in ways sleep can't fix." Her hand moved over her stomach again. "This little one's been kicking like crazy. Probably reacting to all the stress."
"You sure it's not all my driving?" he joked lightly.
She smirked. "Could be. You did take a curb like you were in a Fast & Furious sequel."
They shared a quiet laugh, the moment softening.
Snow glanced at her. "You mentioned earlier... you were alone. What happened?"
Her smile faded.
She looked away, out toward the rain-streaked window, jaw tightening before she spoke.
"My husband," she said finally. "He ran."
Snow didn't say anything. He just waited.
"When the hospital started falling apart, alarms going off, people screaming, power cutting out... I called him. Told him where I was. Begged him to come get me." Her voice caught. "He said he was already on the road. Said he couldn't risk turning back."
Snow's brow furrowed. "He just left?"
She nodded, bitterly. "Didn't even say goodbye. Just told me to 'do what I had to.' Like surviving a monster apocalypse pregnant was something I could just figure out with a YouTube tutorial."
There was a long pause. The sound of thunder rolled overhead, low and distant.
"I thought he'd show up," she added softly. "Even after everything. I kept waiting. But… nothing."
Snow's voice was quiet but firm. "That man was a coward."
She looked at him, startled.
"Real men don't run from the people they're supposed to love," he said, eyes steady on hers. "Especially not now."
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard. "I'm trying to stay strong for my baby. That's all I can think about. But sometimes… I feel like I'm crumbling inside."
"You're stronger than you think," Snow said. "I've seen people break from a paper cut. You walked through hell carrying two lives, and you're still standing. That is not weakness. That's strength."
She held his gaze for a long moment, something softening in her expression.
"You always like this?" she asked. "All heroic and full of deep quotes?"
He smirked. "Nah. I'm usually quieter. Guess you bring out the extra words in me."
She laughed, then rested her head back again. "Well… thanks. For not leaving me behind. For talking to me like I'm not broken."
"Of course," he said simply. "Try and rest now?"
Another rumble of thunder passed, but this one didn't feel so loud anymore. They sat in silence for a while, not saying anything else.