Day 62: The Black Fangs' Hunt
The museum was quiet, its once-grand halls now filled only with echoes of the past. Vince, leader of the Black Fangs' scouting party, strode through the dilapidated entrance with his usual confidence, his boots crunching on shattered glass and debris. The setting sun cast an eerie orange glow through the broken windows, giving the place a haunted, desolate look. The group they had been tracking had moved on, but Vince knew there had to be something left behind.
"They left fast," Logan muttered, crouching to inspect some overturned furniture. "Tracks are fresh, but they're gone now. Been a couple of hours, maybe."
Tyler, the heavyset enforcer at Vince's side, scoffed. "If they were here, they didn't plan to stick around long."
Vince didn't respond immediately, his sharp eyes scanning the room. He was looking for something—anything—that could tell them where this group had gone. His mind was still focused on the missing scout they'd sent to trail the group earlier. The scout hadn't come back, and that didn't sit well with Vince. He was still piecing it all together. Something had gone wrong.
As he moved deeper into the museum, something caught his eye—a note, hastily pinned to the wall near the entrance. He walked over, yanking it off the cracked plaster and holding it up to read aloud:
**"Eli,
We've moved to a warehouse we scouted to the north, beyond the industrial district. It's safer and has supplies we desperately need. If you're still out there, find us. Stay safe.
Cass, Luke, and the others."**
Vince's eyes narrowed, a slow grin spreading across his face. "They left a trail."
Tyler peered over Vince's shoulder, his large frame looming. "They didn't even bother hiding it. Warehouse, north of here."
Logan, always the sharpest tracker in the group, tilted his head as he studied the note. "They think whoever this 'Eli' is, he's gonna find them. They're moving fast, but they aren't expecting us to be this close."
Vince folded the note and slipped it into his jacket. "We've got a lead. They're heading north, trying to set up a base in the industrial district. If they've moved into a warehouse, they're planning to settle in. That means supplies, maybe weapons."
Tyler grinned. "Could be easy pickings."
Vince didn't smile, his mind working quickly. "Could be, but we don't go in blind. That scout didn't come back for a reason. Something happened."
Logan, his wiry form always full of nervous energy, looked uneasy. "You think they're armed?"
"Maybe," Vince said, glancing toward the door. "But if they're setting up a warehouse, they're not ready for a fight yet. They're probably still organizing."
Tyler cracked his knuckles, eager for the action. "You want us to scout it out?"
Vince nodded. "Yeah. You and Logan head out now. Find that warehouse, see what they've got, but don't engage. We need to know their numbers first. If we hit them before they're fortified, they won't stand a chance."
Logan shot a look at Tyler, and they both nodded in agreement. "On it," Logan said. "We'll track them down and get back before they even know we were there."
Tyler, always ready for a fight, was grinning as they made their way out of the museum. As the two disappeared into the fading light, Vince stayed behind for a moment longer. He lit a cigarette and took a long drag, the tension easing slightly as the smoke filled his lungs. But something still nagged at him.
The scout hadn't come back. Vince had no confirmation of what had happened, but he knew the group they were tracking had dealt with him somehow. This "Cass" and "Luke" weren't amateurs—they knew what they were doing. They might have taken the scout down, but they'd left a clue that gave them away. He wasn't going to make the same mistake.
"They think they're safe," Vince muttered to himself, flicking the cigarette onto the floor. "They're wrong."
Logan and Tyler moved quickly through the desolate streets, keeping low as the sun dipped further behind the horizon. The industrial district wasn't far—maybe an hour away at most—but the streets grew more desolate the farther north they went. The heavy silence that hung over the city made every footstep seem louder than it should have been.
"Think we'll find them before it gets too dark?" Tyler asked, his large boots crunching over rubble. His hulking frame didn't exactly lend itself to stealth, but Logan's quick movements made up for it.
"If they've moved into the warehouse like the note says, they'll be settling in now," Logan replied, glancing around cautiously. "If we're lucky, they'll still be figuring things out. Maybe they'll let their guard down."
They walked for a while in silence, the crumbling remains of the city stretching out around them. The industrial district loomed ahead—warehouses and factories long abandoned, their rusting shells darkening in the evening light. It was a good place to set up a base—fortifiable, large, and easy to defend once organized.
"There," Logan whispered, nudging Tyler as they neared a large warehouse at the edge of the district. Figures moved in and out, carrying supplies and securing doors. "That's gotta be them."
Tyler's grin widened as he watched the activity. "Looks like they're just settling in."
"We should wait and see how many show up," Logan said, crouching behind an overturned truck. "We don't want to rush in."
They stayed hidden, observing from a safe distance as more people moved inside. The faint sounds of voices and the clatter of supplies being stacked echoed through the empty streets. It was clear the group was trying to make the warehouse their base, and it wouldn't take long for them to get fortified.
Tyler shifted his weight, eager to act. "We've seen enough. Let's get back to Vince."
Logan nodded, pulling back. They slipped away from their vantage point, moving quickly through the darkening streets. The warehouse was marked, the group's location confirmed. When the Black Fangs returned, it would be with full force. This Cass, Luke, and their crew wouldn't know what hit them.
Back at the museum, Vince stood at the entrance, watching the last rays of sunlight disappear behind the horizon. He flicked the butt of his cigarette away, grinding it into the dirt with his boot. He trusted Tyler and Logan to do their job, but the nagging feeling that something wasn't right wouldn't leave him.
The group had been smart enough to take out the scout—Vince didn't doubt that—but they had been careless leaving a note behind. That meant they felt rushed. And people who rushed made mistakes.
Vince turned and walked back into the museum, his mind already working through the possibilities. The Black Fangs had ruled this territory for months, and no one—especially not a group of survivors trying to set up a base—was going to challenge that.
"When we find them," he muttered, "they'll wish they never left that note."