The morning after Halloween was quiet, the faint chill of late autumn seeping through the cracks in the mansion's walls. The festive decorations from the previous night still hung in place, jack-o'-lanterns on the porch, bits of cloth draped over furniture in an attempt to bring some light-heartedness to their otherwise dreary existence. George stood by one of the windows, sipping from a tin cup of lukewarm coffee as the sun began to rise over the horizon.
He sighed, feeling the weight of the last few weeks pressing down on him. There was a sense of calm now, but he knew it wouldn't last. It never did. He had learned to savor these moments, the rare lulls in the storm, but the constant edge of paranoia never left him. They had survived so much, first the refugees, and then Amos's mutated creatures, but he knew something worse was coming. It always did.
Behind him, the others were waking up. Raven stretched, pulling on her jacket as she prepared for another day of chores around the mansion. Marcy was already up, tending to the chickens they had managed to corral into a makeshift coop out back. Heather and Madison, still rubbing the sleep from their eyes, sat at the dining table, sharing the leftover candy from Halloween. The mood was light, almost peaceful, but George couldn't shake the gnawing feeling that something wasn't right.
And then there was Grace.
George glanced over at the small, quiet girl sitting in the corner of the room. She had been with them for a few weeks now, ever since the refugee group had shown up. Grace was always distant, watching the group with those unsettlingly calm eyes. She never caused trouble, never raised her voice, and yet George couldn't help but feel uneasy around her.
It wasn't just her silence. It was the way she moved, the way she slipped in and out of conversations without anyone really noticing. The way her eyes would linger on things longer than they should, like the radio equipment, or the weapons they had stored in the back room.
Raven walked over, leaning against the window next to him. "You're thinking about Grace again, aren't you?"
George nodded, still watching the girl. "Something's off with her. I just don't know what."
Raven followed his gaze, her eyes narrowing as she studied Grace. "I've noticed it too. She's always watching, always keeping her distance. But… she's just a kid, George."
"Maybe," George said. "But I can't shake the feeling that there's more to her than what we're seeing. I mean, think about it, she showed up with that group of refugees, and then… nothing. She doesn't talk much, doesn't offer to help unless someone tells her to. And that radio..."
"You think she's been listening in?" Raven asked, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"I don't know," George admitted. "But I don't like it. We need to keep an eye on her."
Raven nodded, crossing her arms. "I'll watch her. But we can't just accuse her without proof. She might just be traumatized, George. We've all been through hell."
"I know," George said softly. "But something about her feels wrong."
They fell into an uneasy silence, watching as Grace quietly stood up and slipped out the back door, her movements silent and calculated. She was too quiet, too detached for someone who had supposedly survived the horrors of the apocalypse. George didn't trust her, not yet. Maybe he never would.
The morning was spent in relative peace. The group split off to complete their tasks, Raven and Elijah worked on fortifying the mansion's defenses while George and Marcy discussed their dwindling food supplies. The others busied themselves with small tasks, clearing debris from the yard, collecting firewood, and checking the perimeter for signs of danger.
But something felt off.
It was nearing noon when George noticed Grace slipping out the back again, her movements furtive. He narrowed his eyes, following her silently as she disappeared behind the mansion. His gut told him something was wrong, and he couldn't ignore it any longer.
He moved quickly but quietly, trailing her footsteps through the thick underbrush. She was heading toward the back fence, near the treeline where the thick forest began. George crouched behind an old shed, watching as Grace pulled something from her pocket, a small handheld radio.
His heart sank. He had been right.
Grace lifted the radio to her mouth, speaking into it in a low voice. George couldn't make out the words, but the tone was clear. She was talking to someone, giving them information. He felt a cold knot form in his stomach as he pieced it together. Grace had been sent to spy on them.
Before he could move, a sound ripped through the air, a loud crash followed by the unmistakable roar of gunfire. George whipped around, his eyes wide. The mercenaries had arrived.
He sprinted back toward the mansion, his heart hammering in his chest. The scene that greeted him was chaos, armed men were breaking through the outer iron fence, their rifles blazing as they made their way toward the mansion. The outer defenses were holding for now, but George knew they wouldn't last long.
As he reached the front of the mansion, Raven and Elijah were already in position, rifles in hand, firing at the approaching mercenaries. Marcy, from her vantage point upstairs, was taking careful aim through one of the upper windows, picking off the attackers one by one.
But then he saw her, Grace, standing with her father, Amos.
Amos was leading the charge, his face twisted into a cruel smile as his men advanced. Grace stood beside him, her expression cold and detached. George's stomach churned. She had betrayed them. After everything, she had led Amos straight to them.
Amos's voice echoed over the roar of gunfire as he shouted orders to his men. "Burn it down! Kill them all! Leave nothing behind!"
George grabbed Raven by the arm, pulling her down behind cover as bullets ricocheted off the stone wall beside them. "Grace is with them. She led them here," he said, his voice strained.
Raven's eyes widened. "What? How, "
"I saw her talking to them. She's been working with Amos this whole time," George said, his voice tight with anger.
Raven's expression darkened, but there was no time to process it. The mercenaries were getting closer, and the sound of gunfire grew louder as they began breaching the outer defenses. George's mind raced as he tried to formulate a plan.
"Take positions!" George shouted to the others. "We're not letting them get inside."
The mercenaries closed in, their footsteps pounding the earth as they advanced on the mansion. George, Raven, and the others held their positions, each of them gripping their weapons tightly as they prepared for what felt like the fight of their lives.
From behind the wooden wall, George and Raven exchanged a look. There was no time for words, but the tension between them spoke volumes. They had fought so hard for this place, for this group, and now they had to defend it again, against Grace's own father, no less. The bitter truth of Grace's betrayal stung like a fresh wound, but they couldn't let it distract them. Not now.
The first shots rang out as the mercenaries began to breach the outer defenses. George aimed his rifle, a well-worn Remington 700, and fired, picking off one of the attackers who had managed to push past the iron fence. Raven was right beside him, her own rifle, a sleek black Winchester Model 70, firing in quick, controlled bursts. Lucy crouched beside them, her eyes narrowing as she pulled the trigger of her M1 Carbine, taking down two mercenaries in rapid succession.
"We need to fall back to the house!" George shouted over the din of gunfire. The wooden wall wasn't going to hold for much longer.
Just then, a loud *crack* sounded from the backyard, followed by a sudden flash of light. George turned in time to see a group of mercenaries blown sky-high as they triggered the makeshift firework mine that Heather and Madison had set. The explosion sent debris flying into the air, and the shockwave knocked several of the attackers to the ground.
"That was Heather and Madison's plan," Raven muttered, impressed. "It worked."
But there was no time to celebrate the small victory. The mercenaries were relentless, and the wooden wall finally gave way as a group of attackers broke through.
"Fall back!" George shouted, his voice hoarse. He grabbed Raven's arm, pulling her away from the collapsing wall as they retreated toward the mansion. Lucy covered their retreat, firing off shots to slow the mercenaries' advance.
As they reached the front steps of the mansion, Thomas and Tobias were already in position, using the iron fence as cover. The mercenaries were closing in, but the group held their ground, fighting with everything they had. Bullets flew, and the air was thick with the acrid scent of gunpowder.
"Thomas, are you good?" George shouted, ducking behind cover to reload.
"I'll be fine," Thomas called back, though the strain in his voice was evident. His injury from the second wave was slowing him down, but he refused to give in.
The fighting raged on for what felt like hours, though it was likely only minutes. The mercenaries continued to press forward, their numbers seemingly endless. George's muscles ached, and his ears rang from the constant barrage of gunfire, but he refused to let up.
And then, in the chaos, George saw him, Amos.
The ruthless leader of the mercenaries strode through the carnage like a man possessed, his eyes cold and calculating. And beside him, Grace.
But something was different.
As Amos reached the front of the mansion, his eyes locked onto George. With a cruel smile, he grabbed Grace by the arm and pulled her in front of him, pressing a knife to her throat.
"Surrender," Amos demanded, his voice low and dangerous. "Or I slit her throat right here."
George's blood ran cold. He could see the terror in Grace's eyes, the way her body trembled as Amos held her hostage. But there was something else, a flicker of doubt, of regret. Grace had made her choice when she betrayed them, but now, faced with her father's cruelty, she was beginning to question everything.
Raven, standing beside George, leveled her rifle at Amos. "Let her go."
Amos pressed the blade harder against Grace's throat, drawing a thin line of blood. Grace gasped, her eyes widening in fear. "I don't think you're in any position to make demands," Amos sneered.
For a tense moment, no one moved. The world seemed to hold its breath as George weighed his options. He couldn't let Grace die, not like this. As much as her betrayal hurt, she was still a kid, and Amos was the real monster.
Then, in a shaky voice, Grace spoke. "Help me… please."
The words were barely more than a whisper, but they hit George like a freight train. Grace was begging for help, terrified of the man who had raised her. In that moment, George knew what he had to do.
"Cover me," he whispered to Raven.
Before she could argue, George moved.
He darted forward, his body moving on pure instinct as he charged Amos. The mercenary leader's eyes widened in surprise, but he was quick to react, swinging the knife toward George. At the last second, George grabbed Amos's wrist, twisting it with all his strength until the knife clattered to the ground. Grace stumbled backward, freed from her father's grip, as George and Amos collided in a brutal, hand-to-hand struggle.
Amos was strong, but George fought with a fury born from desperation. They grappled, crashing into furniture and walls as they struggled for dominance. Amos landed a hard punch to George's ribs, knocking the wind out of him, but George didn't back down. He fought with everything he had, every muscle burning as he wrestled the older man to the ground.
Finally, with a sharp twist, George grabbed Amos's own knife and plunged it into his chest.
Amos's eyes widened in shock, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still. Blood spilled from the wound, pooling around the blade as Amos's body went limp beneath George's weight.
It was over.
George stood, breathing heavily, as he watched Amos's life drain away. The mercenary leader, the man who had caused so much pain and suffering, was dead.
The rest of the mercenaries, seeing their leader fall, began to retreat. The battle was over.
The mansion was eerily quiet in the wake of the battle. The floor was littered with bodies, and the stench of blood and gunpowder hung heavy in the air. George stood in the middle of it all, his chest heaving as he tried to process everything that had just happened.
Grace, shaken and pale, sat on the ground, staring at the lifeless body of her father. She had called for help, and George had saved her, but the betrayal still lingered between them. She glanced up at George, her eyes filled with guilt and sorrow, but she said nothing.
Raven and the others began tending to the wounded and checking the perimeter for any remaining threats. The group was battered and bruised, but they had survived.
As George stood over Amos's body, he couldn't help but reflect on how insane the last few weeks had been. First, the attack by the refugees and their crazed leader, and now this, a brutal assault by Amos and his mercenaries. It felt like they were constantly being hunted, constantly fighting for their lives.
But somehow, they kept surviving.
And yet, in the back of his mind, George knew this wasn't the end. The world outside the mansion's walls was still dangerous, and there were other threats lurking in the shadows. Threats they hadn't even begun to face.
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows over the blood-stained mansion, George took a deep breath. Now they pick up the pieces and begin to build again.