The following morning, George stood on the porch of the mansion, staring out over the valley below. The sun had just risen, casting a golden light over the growing community of New Haven. It was quiet, peaceful, something that had become a rarity in this new world.
As he watched, he could see the hustle and bustle of life below. Several new houses had been built, their roofs peeking out from behind the trees. The valley was slowly transforming into a thriving farming community. Families worked together to plant crops, tend to livestock, and repair the damage from the last few mutant attacks. Children played in the open fields, running between the rows of crops and chasing each other with carefree abandon.
For the first time in a long while, New Haven felt like a real town. It wasn't just a base of operations anymore; it was a home.
