Night covered the shelter with a thick blanket of silence. In the basement where the heroes were hiding, the soundproofing was so dense that not a single sound from outside could reach them. This place offered temporary refuge, but not peace.
James, the wounded soldier, tossed and turned on his cot. Nightmares of his comrades who had perished in the bloody massacre tormented him. He saw their faces, heard their screams. And every time he closed his eyes, they returned. Finally, he gave in and sat up, clutching his head as if trying to squeeze the memories out of his mind.
But his thoughts were interrupted when he noticed movement in the darkness. Against the wall, Endel was quietly getting ready. The teenager slung his gear over his shoulders, carefully fastened the straps, and checked his laser rifle. James tensed instinctively, but when Endel noticed his gaze, he froze and pressed a finger to his lips, signaling for silence.
James nodded, though unease churned inside him. Endel continued his preparations, securing two grenades to his belt and donning the soldier's iron mask. Then he stood and approached James. The soldier stiffened instinctively, but the boy quietly leaned toward him and whispered through the mask:
— I don't want to take them with me. It's safe here… at least for now. But out there… I don't know what to expect. Can you close the door behind me?
His words were firm, yet there was a trace of hidden pain. James wanted to say something, but at the last moment restrained himself. He simply nodded and rose from the cot, leaning on Endel's shoulder.
When they reached the exit, James stopped, watching the boy prepare to step outside. Endel appeared focused, almost indifferent, yet determination shone in his eyes—impossible to miss.
The heavy door closed behind him.
James lingered in the darkness by the entrance, watching the disappearing silhouette. His thoughts were a jumble. He knew Endel was too young to bear such a burden on his shoulders.
— Mr. Kael… — he suddenly broke the silence, turning toward the man lying on the other side of the room.
Kael didn't move, seemingly asleep. But James continued:
— Are you just going to let him do this? — his voice was soft, almost a whisper, but it carried pain. — I'm asking not as a soldier to a soldier… but as a father to a father.
At these words, Kael suddenly opened his eyes. His gaze was heavy, full of guilt, though he lay with his back to James. He remained silent for a moment, as if choosing his words.
— It's his choice… — he finally answered, his voice low. — I cannot interfere.
Every word sounded as if it caused him pain.
James just looked at him. He wanted to respond but felt it was neither the time nor the place. Instead, he lowered his head, leaning back against the wall.
"Why this boy?" — flashed through his mind.
The basement fell silent again. But this silence was different now—oppressive, filled with unspoken words and suppressed despair.
Meanwhile, Endel moved quietly through the still night, cloaked in a thick layer of darkness. The silence here was different from the basement. It was alive, full of rustling, unknown sounds, and hidden eyes watching every movement. In the distance, gunfire and explosions could be heard—likely a battle against monsters.
He stepped over a fallen tree, feeling something crunch under his boot. Fragments of thoughts flashed through his mind, interspersed with images from the past.
"This is the kind of basement my family has…" — ran through his mind, a phrase he had once said to his friends.
Once, his father had insisted on building this basement when they bought the house. He and his mother had exchanged glances, thinking it unnecessary. "Why?" — Endel had often wondered. "Just in case," — his father had replied dryly.
Now Endel understood. His father had anticipated something like this, though even he probably could not have imagined what had happened in the past few days.
The boy's legs carried him forward with confident, almost automatic precision. An hour and a half passed, and after about four hundred meters, he raised his head and stopped. Before him loomed the first armored vehicle.
Its hull was covered with deep scratches, one side seemingly melted by some incredibly high heat. Endel approached slowly, laser rifle ready.
— Empty, — he muttered, inspecting the cabin through the shattered glass.
He scanned the surroundings, ensuring no one was nearby. Then he leaned over the vehicle, examining its condition. The engine appeared intact, but the fuel tank was pierced, and inside, bloodstains were visible.
Endel paused, staring at the stains. Something about the scene brought him a strange sense of calm. Perhaps it was because he knew those inside were likely no longer suffering.
He let out a heavy sigh at the sight, a scene that would likely repeat itself many times.
His thoughts were interrupted by a rustle to his left. The boy spun sharply, rifle at the ready. His eyes swept the bushes, his face tense beneath the mask, but he saw nothing suspicious.
He exhaled, yet unease lingered.
— Must move on, — he whispered to himself, trying to suppress the tremor.
Endel glanced east, where the ruined outlines of the city appeared on the horizon. A few more kilometers remained to reach the disabled tank. James had mentioned that regenerative syringes were likely inside.
Footsteps echoed again in the night.
"My mother would never have let me go alone if she knew I was coming here by myself…" — he thought, smirking slightly, though the smile was strained.
For a moment, he imagined her discovering his plans and arguing with him to stay. But it was only an illusion. Now he was alone, and his footsteps were the only thing connecting him to this world.
Several more minutes passed before he spotted the second armored vehicle. It lay on its side, its hull twisted as if thrown by immense force. Empty energy cartridges from rifles were scattered on the ground, remnants of an uneven battle.
Endel stopped, surveying the area. Something felt off. The air was unnaturally still, and again he sensed he was being watched.
— Who's there? — he asked quietly, breaking the silence.
No answer came.
He slowly moved forward, gripping his rifle so tightly his fingers turned white. Tension grew into focused anticipation.
Endel stopped beside the vehicle and leaned to look inside. At that moment, the rustle repeated, this time closer.
"Just try to come near," — he thought, aiming his rifle at the sound.
A figure emerged slowly from the shadows of the bushes. At first, Endel thought it was some mutant or predator, but what he saw made him freeze.
Before him stood a girl of ten or eleven. Her clothes were torn, dirt and dried blood covering not only the fabric but also her face and hands. Her eyes, empty like soulless mirrors, stared directly at him. She was too silent for a child, seemingly unafraid of what was happening. Too calm.
Endel could not move. His mind refused to accept what he saw. A child here, in a zone where not even trained soldiers survived.
He slowly placed his finger on the trigger, aiming straight at her heart. Alarm bells rang in his mind.
"This is a trap. Perhaps she is not what she seems. Maybe something… inhuman hides inside her. But what if I'm wrong, and she's just a victim?"
His finger trembled slightly on the trigger as he finally spoke, forcing firmness into his voice:
— Who are you? Where are your parents?
The girl did not answer. Instead, she silently studied him, as if contemplating something, then slowly raised a hand. She traced her finger along her neck, mimicking a cut, and suddenly smiled widely.
— A nice policeman uncle killed them, — she said softly, almost tenderly, her voice like a whisper in the night.
Endel felt the chill run through his hands. The words, spoken with a smile, hit like a hammer.
— What… — he didn't finish.
Questions exploded in his mind: "How? Why? What happened here in these few days? How could an ordinary person do something like this?"
The girl stared at him with the same emptiness in her eyes—no fear, no embarrassment, no trace of humanity. Endel felt a strange mixture of terror and rage boil within him.
"What is happening here?!" — he shouted inside, though he said nothing aloud.
— Why did he do it? — he finally asked, not lowering his weapon.
The girl tilted her head slowly, as if pondering how to answer.
— Because he said we were weak… And the weak don't survive here, — she said again, smiling.