"Rain's gettin' heavy. Team, you still with me? Over," Dylan said into his radio, his eyes fixed on the road ahead as he checked on the other vehicles following behind him. The rain had begun coming down harder, hammering against the windshield as the sky darkened overhead.
Ethan, who had been sitting quietly in the passenger seat, glanced toward him. "Hey, man... think we should head back? We haven't found much anyway."
Before Dylan could respond, Victor's voice crackled through the radio. "Hey, Dyl... we should set up camp somewhere around here. Can't go back. There's a storm coming, and it'll be dangerous if we try to make it all the way back. Over."
Dylan glanced at the road ahead before he looked toward Ethan. "Check the map. Where are we?"
Ethan pulled the map closer and switched on his flashlight, using the beam to illuminate the markings as he tried to match their route with the surrounding landscape. He occasionally looked through the windshield, searching for familiar landmarks, road signs, or anything that could help confirm their location.
After a moment, he traced his finger along the map. "I'd say we're pretty far from Havenwall now. If we continue along this road, there should be a town about forty minutes from here."
Dylan looked at Ethan, then down at the map before glancing toward the darkening sky. "You sure?" he asked. "We're gonna need shelter soon."
Ethan paused and double-checked the route, comparing it with the roads they had already traveled. After a few seconds, he nodded. "Yep. I'm sure. It's pretty dangerous, though, if we go in."
Dylan remained quiet for a moment. "Better to have four walls than sit out here in the open," he finally said.
Ethan looked toward the road ahead. "Assuming those four walls don't collapse on us."
Dylan gave him a brief glance.
Then he picked up the radio again and spoke into it. "Heads up. Forty more minutes, we headin' to a nearby town. Continue along this road. We'll find somewhere secure and rest there for the night. Over."
A few seconds passed before Victor's voice came through the static. "Roger that. Over."
Another voice followed.
"Derek here. Roger. Over."
Dylan released the radio and returned his attention to the road.
The road was becoming increasingly slippery beneath the tires, forcing Dylan to slow down as the rain continued pounding against the windshield. Water streamed across the asphalt, pooling in the deeper cracks and making the road increasingly difficult to navigate. Forty more minutes.
Ethan shifted in his seat, rubbing his hands together as a chill settled into the vehicle. "Damn... haven't had a storm like this in quite a while. It's getting cold."
Dylan glanced toward him. "I ain't cold. You cold?"
Ethan tucked his fingers beneath his armpits, hugging himself as he tried to preserve what little warmth he had. "Yeah, man. We need thicker clothes. Better find a department store or something."
Dylan gave a small nod, keeping his attention on the road. "Yeah. We'll look for one."
Fortunately, there wasn't much trouble along the way besides the fogging windshield, slippery roads, pounding rain, and the occasional crack of thunder. Other than that, the ride remained fairly smooth, though the slick asphalt forced Dylan to keep his speed down.
Eventually, they reached the small town. Houses began appearing one after another as the road led them deeper toward a cluster of buildings. Dylan, driving the lead vehicle, slowed down and pulled over just before they fully entered the more densely built-up part of town.
Better be safe than sorry.
He stepped out of the vehicle and immediately reached for his radio. "Stay put. I'm gonna scout for a minute and check for a sturdy building we can camp in. Do not get out of the vehicles. Over."
Dylan was about to close the door when Ethan spoke. "I should go with you."
Dylan shook his head. "Stay here. I'm faster alone." He adjusted his rifle and glanced back toward the convoy. "I'll be back. Stay on the radio."
Ethan hesitated for a moment, then sighed. "Fine. Keep your head up."
Dylan gave him a short nod before closing the door completely. He then started to move cautiously along the road with his rifle up, his posture tightening into the familiar stance of someone trained to clear unfamiliar territory. Water dripped from his hair and clothing as he scanned the surrounding buildings, checking windows, doorways, and rooftops for any sign of movement.
Eventually, he approached one of the nearby houses.
Dylan pushed the door open and immediately paused at the doorway, checking the corners and listening for movement before stepping inside.
The interior was dark and quiet, with rainwater leaking through parts of the damaged ceiling.
He took only a few steps before something suddenly lunged at him from the darkness.
A Shrieker.
Dylan reacted immediately, driving his boot into its chest and sending it crashing backward. The creature hit the floor with a muffled thud and struggled to regain its footing.
Dylan knew better than to fire.
Instead, he reached behind himself and unbuckled the tomahawk strapped to his back. With a quick motion, he threw it.
The blade struck the Shrieker in the chest before it could rise.
The creature went still.
Dylan stared at it for a moment before retrieving his weapon. He didn't bother exploring the rest of the house. Whatever else might have been hiding inside wasn't worth the risk.
He stepped back outside and pulled the door shut behind him. After a moment, he locked it.
It wouldn't stop anything determined to get out, but at least any other Shriekers inside wouldn't immediately wander into the street.
Dylan continued down the road, scanning the surrounding buildings as he searched for somewhere suitable for the convoy to spend the night. Some structures had partially collapsed ceilings, while others were flooded with muddy water. Several buildings were filled with overturned furniture, broken glass, and debris, making them poor choices for shelter.
Every now and then, another Shrieker emerged from one of the buildings.
Dylan dealt with them quickly and quietly, using his rifle only when necessary and relying on his tomahawk whenever he could. He didn't waste time searching the buildings after clearing them. His objective was simple: find somewhere large enough, structurally sound enough, and defensible enough to shelter the group.
Eventually, he reached a bank.
Dylan stopped outside and looked up at the building, studying the roof and surrounding structure before cautiously stepping inside.
The interior was spacious. More importantly, the ceiling appeared intact.
He looked around for another moment, checking the walls and corners before finally nodding to himself. "This'll do."
Satisfied, he reached for his radio. "All clear. I'm in the bank. Head in. Stay as quiet as possible. Use the vehicles to barricade the entrance. Over."
He stepped back outside and waited for the convoy.
The lead car arrived first, followed by the military truck and the pickup. One after another, they pulled into position along the entrance, forming a makeshift barricade while keeping the vehicles angled toward the road. If they needed to leave in a hurry, they wouldn't have to waste time maneuvering them around.
Dylan held the bank's door open as the others quickly filed inside.
Then they removed their soaked jackets and hung them over the counter, letting the water drip onto the floor. Once they had settled inside, they began checking the rest of the building.
Dylan headed upstairs to make sure the upper floors were clear while the others spread out, checking offices, rooms, and corners throughout the bank.
Thankfully, they didn't find much.
Only a few corpses remained scattered throughout the building.
After clearing the bank, they regrouped in the lobby and started a small fire. With little else available, they fed it whatever would burn—old paperwork, discarded documents, and eventually stacks of banknotes.
Ethan held a stack of hundred dollars between his fingers, staring at it for a moment.
A faint smirk crossed his face before he tossed it into the flames.
Joan noticed. "What?"
"What what?"
Joan glanced at him. "What's with the smirk?"
Ethan shook his head, resting his arms against his knees. "Just thinking..."
"About what? A woman?"
Ethan scoffed. "What? No." He stared into the fire. "Just... thinking."
Joan raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
The rain continued pounding against the windows, drowning out most of the sounds outside.
"Might as well start talking," Joan said after a moment. "We're gonna be here all night."
Ethan was quiet for several seconds. "Just... used to be a pain in the ass to earn a thousand bucks." He looked down at the bills burning in the flames. "And now..." He shook his head with another quiet scoff. "We're using it for fire."
A short laugh escaped him before he sighed.
Joan reached toward the fire and nudged a half-burned banknote deeper into the flames with a piece of wood. "Yeah," she said. "I get that." She leaned back slightly, watching the flames. "Still remember how people used to launder their money back then."
Victor chuckled. "What are you, some politician's accountant?"
Joan laughed. "No. I worked at the bank. You'd be surprised how obvious some of that shit was."
Dylan remained near the entrance, standing guard while keeping an eye on the street outside. "Once took down a terrorist in Syria," he said casually.
Ethan looked up. "Really? Who was it?"
Dylan glanced over his shoulder.
A faint smirk appeared on his face.
Ethan immediately caught it. "Oh, come on. Tell us." He leaned forward slightly. "It's not like anyone's gonna reprimand you for spilling some beans."
Derek looked toward Dylan. "Kid's right, soldier. Sit down and warm up. I'll stand guard."
Dylan looked at him for a moment, seemingly reluctant to leave his post.
Eventually, he gave in.
"Fine."
He stepped away from the entrance and joined the others around the fire. He set his rifle beside him, keeping one hand near the pocket knife at his waist.
Ethan leaned forward slightly, apparently intrigued by the story. "Let's play a guessing game. I kinda wanna guess who this terrorist is. Give us some clues first."
Dylan thought for a moment, staring into the fire. "Dude died in Syria..."
Ethan frowned thoughtfully. "Not that long ago?"
"Not that long ago."
"Hmmm..." Ethan scratched his chin. "More than ten years ago or less?"
"Less."
Ethan immediately began doing the math in his head. "If it's less than ten years ago... minus two years for the apocalypse..." He counted on his fingers. "That gives us eight years."
He looked up.
"So... later than 2020?"
Dylan shook his head. "No."
"Then somewhere between 2021 and early 2024?"
Dylan nodded. "Aha."
Ethan leaned back, thinking. "Hmmm..."
Across the room, Derek grinned.
Ethan noticed. "You already guessed it?"
"Yep."
"Oh, come on. That's not fair."
Dylan shook his head, a faint smile forming at the corner of his mouth.
Joan looked toward him. "Did this fella make the international news?"
"Yeah."
Victor, still watching the fire, spoke up. "Somewhere around 2022?"
Dylan raised an eyebrow.
Victor's expression changed. "Is it perhaps—"
"Wait!" Ethan suddenly interrupted.
Everyone looked at him.
"Is this the ISIS guy with the really long name?"
Dylan frowned. "What long name?"
Ethan snapped his fingers, trying to remember. "Before I moved out of Korea, my mother was so worried about me being alone because of all that ISIS shit. She kept talking about that guy."
He snapped his fingers again, shaking his head.
"Wait... I really know his name." He squinted as he searched his memory. "Is it that Ibrahim al-Quray—thingy?" He groaned. "Argh. Is it him?"
Dylan tapped the tip of his nose twice with his finger.
Ethan's face immediately lit up. "Yes!"
Victor pointed at him. "Hey, I was gonna answer!"
Ethan barely paid attention. "Dude! You were in that raid?"
Dylan nodded.
Ethan stared at him in disbelief. "Was it really as much of a bloodbath as they said?"
Dylan simply nodded again. "Dude blew up himself and his family."
Ethan grinned. "That is so cool."
Dylan gave him a flat look. "...You got a weird definition of cool."
The rain hammered against the bank windows, filling the pauses between them with a steady roar.
Ethan glanced toward Dylan. "Is he, like, the most dangerous guy you ever encountered?"
Dylan chuckled and shook his head. "No." His smile faded as he pushed another pile of papers in the fire with the end of his boot.
Joan was quiet for a moment, watching Dylan across the fire.
"How'd it feel, though?" Joan asked. "Killing someone. I mean... now, I get it. World's already gone to hell. But back then... what did it feel like?"
Dylan looked toward her.
He clasped his hands together, his elbows resting against his knees. His gaze drifted toward the fire, though he didn't seem to be looking at it.
"It... it eats away at ya."
His voice was quieter now.
"At first, you feel immense guilt. Every life I took... felt like it killed somethin' in me, too." He swallowed. "You lose sleep. Appetite. Will."
For a moment, only the crackling fire and pounding rain filled the room.
"Dad taught me how to carry the weight." Dylan stared into the flames. "He always told me that every life in my hands could save ten more. Every person I kill might mean ten others get to live."
His fingers tightened together.
"He said if I let it get to me every time, I'd die." Dylan finally looked up. "And if I die, I can't save anyone."
Joan remained silent.
"He told me that if I don't do it, the innocents pay the price instead." Dylan's voice grew quieter. "And that's somethin' that'll weigh heavier on ya than killin' ever will."
Joan's eyes dropped to the fire. For a few seconds, she seemed like she wanted to say something, but thought better of it. She picked up a charred piece of paper and dropped it back into the flames. "Yeah..." she murmured. "I guess there isn't really a clean way to live anymore."
Victor shifted where he sat, staring into the fire for a moment. He scratched at a loose thread on his sleeve. "You know, I tried to enlist in the military once."
He shook his head with a quiet laugh.
"Didn't really have the guts for it." He looked toward Dylan. "You're a tough one, Dyl. Especially for someone so young."
Dylan shrugged. "Grew up with a big-brained mother and brother, and a hell of a tank for a father." A faint smirk crossed his face. "Wouldn't wanna be the odd one out."
The others chuckled.
Derek, still standing near the entrance, glanced over his shoulder. "Never personally knew your father, but I heard some rumors back in my day."
Joan raised an eyebrow. "Really? What was he like?"
Derek gave a low chuckle. "Calling him a tank might actually be underselling the man." He shook his head. "There ain't words that could properly define him."
Joan and Ethan exchanged a look before turning toward Dylan, both wearing amused grins.
"Woah," Ethan said. "Didn't know your father was that cool." He pointed at Dylan. "Like John Wick or something."
Derek scoffed. "John Wick wishes."
Joan laughed and lightly slapped Victor on the back. "You hear that? Apparently, this guy was better than John Wick."
Ethan grinned. "That is so awesome."
Joan then turned toward him. "What about you, Ethan? What were your parents like?"
Ethan's smile faded.
He took a moment before answering.
"Uri appa and eomma?" His eyes drifted toward the ceiling as he bit his lower lip, thinking. "Uri eomma..." he began quietly. "My mom was like a rose. Beautiful and deadly." A faint smile touched his lips. "Like your typical Korean mom."
The others chuckled softly.
"She was caring. Sweet. But she could make any grown man cry with just her words." Ethan shook his head with a small laugh. "Seriously. She had that power."
Victor gave a faint chuckle, so did Joan while Dylan managed a faint smile.
Ethan frowned. "Don't laugh. I'm serious."
Victor raised both hands slightly. "Hey, I'm not judging."
Then Ethan continued, his voice low. "But when it came to my father..."
He paused.
"I've honestly never seen her speak to him that way. With Dad, she was always sweet." He chuckled under his breath and wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. "My sister and I were honestly jealous of him. Mom never scolded Dad, but when it came to us? Every damn time."
The smile faded again.
"I had a fight with her about a month before I moved out here." He looked down at his hands. "That's... something I've always regretted."
Nobody joked this time. Even Victor kept his eyes on the fire.
Ethan rubbed his palms against his knees. "Anyway..."
He took a slow breath.
"As for my dad... well, he's not as cool as Dylan's dad." A small smile returned. "But he worked hard. Always did his best to provide for us. I'll tell you that." He leaned forward, resting his elbows against his knees. "I transferred here to finish my studies at a good university. I wanted to build a better future for my family."
His voice grew quieter.
"But..." He stared into the flames. "Seems like the universe had other plans."
No one immediately answered.
Outside, thunder rolled across the town, and the rain continued pounding against the windows. For a moment, no one spoke.
Until finally, Victor broke the silence. "You must've been scared when shit got messy. You're still a kid, after all."
Ethan managed a faint smile. "Scared would be underselling it. More like terrified." He stared into the fire, watching the flames consume another strip of paper. "I didn't really have many friends. I was an outcast in my class, and I was always doing part-time jobs whenever I had free time."
Victor gave a small nod. "Seems like everyone's a brave one here, huh?" He leaned forward slightly. "How'd you manage to survive this long, though?"
Ethan's expression softened. "Actually, if it weren't for David taking me in, I'd be long dead by now."
Victor frowned. "David?"
Ethan nodded. "He frequented the bar where I worked as a bartender. He was there every three nights. After months of talking to him and making his drinks, he and I became close."
Victor raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess... girl problems?"
Ethan chuckled and nodded. "Yeah. His fiancée cheated on him, and the bar was where he drowned his sorrows."
His smile faded slightly.
"When the news hit and everyone started biting everyone, we managed to get out. He took me to VIRA Complex. That's where I met the rest of the group."
Victor nodded slowly. "You guys have been together since the start."
Joan shifted slightly beside the fire. "Not exactly," Joan said. "I didn't trust them at first. I joined them about three months after the phones stopped working." She pointed toward Dylan and Derek. "These guys rescued me. Brought me in with them."
Victor nodded. "As for me…I was jumping from one group to another for a few months after the outbreak. Never really stuck with a group."
Joan looked at him. "Really? Why?"
Victor sighed heavily. "They kept killing each other over a can of beans."
The fire crackled between them.
"Seems like hunger can turn anyone into a monster."
Ethan stared at him. "You guys really went through some fucked-up shit."
Victor gave a humorless chuckle. "You have no idea."
Dylan tossed another banknote into the flames.
The paper curled almost instantly, its edges blackening before the fire consumed it.
"Hunger does that," he said quietly. He watched the flames for another moment. "Hunger... and greed."
Nobody immediately answered.
Victor stared into the fire, his expression distant. "Then I found my wife." A small smile appeared on his face. "Sheila is a blessing." His voice softened. "She kept me from losing my mind..."
Victor chuckled faintly at the memory, then fell quiet.
Nobody asked another question.
The conversation gradually died down as the warmth of the fire and the exhaustion of the day began to take their toll. Dylan glanced around the lobby.
Three of the other men were already asleep.
Dylan frowned slightly and looked toward the entrance.
Outside, the rain still continued to pound against the streets, turning the town into a blur of water and gray shadows.
"You guys get some rest," Dylan said. "I'm gonna guard for the night." He pushed himself to his feet and looked toward Derek. "Derek... you get some rest."
Derek raised an eyebrow. "You sure?"
"Yeah."
Victor shifted against the wall, rubbing his eyes. "Let's switch off. Wake me in four hours."
Dylan nodded. "Sure."
Derek stood and walked over to him. Before heading off, he placed a hand on Dylan's shoulder and gave it a gentle but firm squeeze. "Good night, son."
Dylan gave him a small nod. "Night."
He returned to the entrance, rifle in hand, and settled into position where he could keep an eye on the street.
Behind him, the others began setting up their sleeping spots around the lobby, positioning themselves close to the fire where they could stay warm through the night.
Dylan remained by the entrance, watching the rain pour down outside.