Lisa edged towards the entrance of the bookstore, her grief a heavy cloak on her shoulders. Her hands, though shaky, gripped her M4 rifle tightly. The tears had dried on her cheeks, leaving a salty trail. She had to check if the coast was clear, to see if she was truly alone now. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she pushed against the door.
She peered outside cautiously, the rifle at the ready, her eyes scanning for the creature that had turned their mission into a nightmare.
The street was deserted, the quiet unsettling. Lisa stepped out, her boots crunching on shattered glass. The air was thick with dust and the acrid scent of smoke and something else—fear, perhaps, or the remnants of a battle recently fought.
