The first light of dawn pierces through the sparse canopy of our hideout, signalling the start of a new day—a day marked by our planned expedition to the nuclear site. With minimal words exchanged, Joon-ho and I begin our meticulous preparation, ensuring that every piece of equipment is functional and every potential necessity is packed.
Among our gear are two electronic bikes, their batteries fully charged. These bikes are our best bet for a swift approach and, if needed, a hasty retreat. We perform a final check, confirming the integrity of the tyres, the responsiveness of the brakes, and the reliability of the motors.
As we mount our bikes, the cool morning air bites at our skin, a stark contrast to the adrenaline that begins to course through our veins. With a nod to each other, we set off, the electric hum of our bikes a subtle intrusion into the quiet of the awakening world.
The journey is tense, our senses heightened to every sound, every movement around us. As we traverse the rugged terrain, the desolation of the post-apocalyptic landscape unfolds before us—a world reclaiming itself from the clutches of humanity, indifferent to the struggles of the few who remain.
As we near the perimeter of the nuclear site, an unexpected challenge emerges. Stirred by the warmth of the advancing spring, a group of infected shambles into our path, their grotesque forms a harrowing reminder of the virus's toll.
Joon-ho, spotting the threat, signals to stop. We dismount quietly, drawing the weapons we had hoped not to use. Despite his previous encounters with the infected, I can see the hesitation in Joon-ho's eyes, the inner turmoil at the prospect of taking another life, even one as twisted and lost as these.
"We have to get through," I whisper, my gaze meeting his, offering a silent reassurance. "Quickly and quietly."
With grim determination, we advance, dispatching the infected with efficient, practised movements. Joon-ho's actions are precise, his resolve clear, but the shadow that crosses his face with each fallen infected speaks of the internal battle he wages—a battle between survival and the remnants of his humanity.
Once the threat is neutralised, we return to our bikes, the silence between us now laden with the unspoken realities of our existence.
We park our bikes on the crest of a hill that offers a commanding view of the nuclear site below, its imposing structures standing stark against the landscape. Unfolding the binoculars, I scan the area, seeking any sign of life or movement within the desolate compound. Beside me, Joon-ho does the same, his brow furrowed in concentration.
Despite our thorough examination, there is no evidence of human activity—no guards patrolling the perimeter, no workers moving amidst the buildings. The site lies as still and silent as a grave, raising more questions than it answers.
Breaking the silence, Joon-ho turns to me, a small, compact drone in his hands. "We should send this in for a closer look," he suggests, his voice low but determined.
I hesitate, memories of our previous encounter flashing vividly in my mind. "Remember what happened last time," I caution, the image of our drone being shot down still fresh. "They were on high alert then. If there's anyone in there now, even if we can't see them, they'll be watching for drones."
Joon-ho's expression darkens with frustration, the reality of our limitations settling in. He knows as well as I do that the risk of detection is high, and the consequences could be dire. After a moment's contemplation, he nods, setting the drone back into his pack.
"We'll need to find another way," he acknowledges, his gaze returning to the site below. "There's too much at stake to risk exposing ourselves now."
Settling back into our vantage point, Joon-ho and I take turns peering through the binoculars, each sweep of the site meticulous and unhurried. The abandoned look of the nuclear facility matches my expectations—a desolate husk, seemingly untouched since the catastrophe. Yet, the incongruence gnaws at me. The group we are tracking has moved in this direction; their purpose remains obscured, shrouded in the unknown.
"If they didn't come here, where could they have gone?" Joon-ho murmurs, echoing my thoughts. The landscape offers few clues, the horizon a jagged line of ruins and wilderness.
I ponder the possibilities, considering the strategic value of the areas surrounding the site. "There could be resources or assets nearby that we're unaware of," I suggest. "Maybe something hidden or underground, not immediately visible."
Joon-ho nods, his eyes scanning the binoculars' field of view once more. "Or they could be avoiding the site deliberately, aware that others might investigate it just like we are," he adds, the tactical consideration clear in his tone.
We spend hours in our vigil, the slow crawl of time marked only by the shifting sun and the occasional rustle of wildlife in the underbrush. But no matter how intently we watch, the nuclear site remains lifeless, a silent sentinel amidst the recovering wilds.
"What if we get closer and look for trails of trucks?" he proposes, his voice tinged with a mix of caution and curiosity. "It could give us some clues about the whereabouts of the group."
The idea resonates with me, logical yet fraught with risk. The proximity to the nuclear site amplifies the danger, not to mention the possibility of encountering the group we are so keenly observing. As I weigh the risks against our thirst for information, the static crackle of the walkie-talkie clips the heavy silence, pulling our attention sharply away.
I grab the device hastily, pressing it to my ear. "This is us, go ahead," I respond, trying to mask the urgency in my voice.
"Sue here," comes the reply, her voice laced with tension. "We've got a situation. We could use your eyes on this. Can you return?"
Holding the walkie-talkie closer, I press for details, the urgency evident in my voice. "Sue, tell me what's happening. What did you see?"
There is a brief pause before she responds, her voice tense yet controlled. "I spotted another battle between survivor groups," she explains. "It's not too far from our shelter, closer than I'd like. Looks like they're fighting over resources or territory—hard to tell from this distance."