Chapter 23 - [23] Help?

Just as the group struggled to steady themselves after the chaos, the distant sound of a motorcycle engine cut through the silence, a low, steady growl growing louder as it approached. They all turned, eyes wide, watching as a sleek black motorcycle roared down the road toward them. The rider slowed, coming to a stop a few yards away. She sat astride the bike, the sun catching on her long auburn hair that peeked out from under her helmet.The woman was imposing, her figure athletic and commanding. She wore a fitted tactical jacket over a tank top that outlined her D-cup chest, the kind of attire that made it clear she valued practicality over anything else. A sniper rifle was strapped across her back, the barrel poking over her shoulder as she stared at them through her helmet's tinted visor. Her gloved hands were steady on the handlebars, and everything about her radiated calm confidence and control.For a long, tense moment, she just sat there, looking over each of them. Then, with a practiced motion, she reached up and pulled off her helmet, revealing sharp, piercing blue eyes set in a face that had seen its fair share of hard days. She looked to be in her 30s, her expression steady and unreadable."You wanna live?" she asked, her voice low and gravelly, carrying the weight of someone used to being in charge. She glanced over the ragtag group standing by the bus, her gaze sharp and assessing. "Follow me. Now."Without waiting for a response, she pulled her helmet back on, the tinted visor snapping shut as she revved the engine and spun the bike around, heading back in the direction she'd come.The group stared after her, stunned and still processing what had just happened. Jean was the first to snap out of it, his eyes wide as he looked at Ms. Heather. "Get in the bus. We can't stay here."Ms. Heather nodded, her face still pale from the encounter, and scrambled up to the driver's seat. "Everyone, get on! We're going after her!"They piled into the bus, the adrenaline kicking in as Ms. Heather turned the key and fired up the engine. The bus roared to life, and she shifted into gear, her hands gripping the wheel tightly as she followed the motorcycle's trail down the road.Chloe, sitting near the front, cast a wary glance out the window, watching the woman's figure speeding ahead. "Does anyone else think it's a little sketchy to be following some random chick with a sniper?"Lucas let out a shaky laugh, still catching his breath. "Sketchy or not, she just saved our asses back there. I'm not asking questions."Blake, pressing a cloth to his still-bleeding forehead, muttered, "At this point, I'll take sketchy over dead."Tyler scoffed, crossing his arms. "She's got balls, I'll give her that. But let's see where this goes. Could be a trap for all we know.""Then stay alert," Jean replied, glancing around at everyone. "We don't have a choice. She saved us back there, and right now, that's good enough for me."As the bus rumbled down the road, following the woman's trail, the forest began to close in around them, thick trees lining the road like silent sentries. The sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting flickering shadows across the bus interior as they sped after their mysterious rescuer.***The bus rolled to a stop in front of a quiet, sprawling farm. A single-story house stood at the center of the land, looking worn but sturdy, surrounded by fields and lined with a tall, weathered wooden fence. The woman on the motorcycle dismounted, took off her helmet, and walked toward the house, barely looking back to check if the group was following. She moved with the confident, unhurried pace of someone who had nothing to prove, her sniper rifle still strapped across her back.Jean and the others climbed off the bus, exchanging wary glances before trailing behind her. As they stepped up to the house's porch, she opened the door and gestured for them to enter, not saying a word.Inside, the living room was scattered with the remnants of survival—empty water bottles, boxes of canned goods, a pile of dirty clothes in the corner, and a half-finished bottle of whiskey sitting on a side table next to an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. The room smelled faintly of smoke and whiskey, and the faint hum of a generator from somewhere in the house suggested she was running on limited power.The woman finally turned to face them, her sharp blue eyes scanning each of them before she spoke. "Morgan," she said simply, by way of introduction. She pulled a pack of cigarettes from her jacket, lighting one and taking a deep drag before nodding toward the living room. "Make yourselves useful and clean this place up if you want lunch."Jean blinked, caught off guard by her bluntness. "Uh, right. And thanks, by the way, for... you know, saving our lives back there."Morgan shrugged, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "No need for thanks. Just don't make a mess of my house, or I'll throw you all out faster than you can blink." She turned and headed to the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it halfway with whiskey before taking a swig.Chloe, who was eyeing the cluttered room with disdain, whispered to Brittney, "Doesn't look like she's exactly the 'hostess' type, huh?"Brittney rolled her eyes. "Well, at least she's direct. Not like we're swimming in options here."Ms. Heather cleared her throat, smiling politely at Morgan. "Thanks again for letting us stay here, Morgan. We're happy to help out."Morgan just grunted, taking another drag on her cigarette as she looked them over. "Good. I don't do charity, so if you want to stick around, you pull your weight. Start with the living room—junk everywhere. And if you see anything broken, just toss it." Her tone left no room for argument.Lucas laughed nervously, nudging Jean. "Guess we're the cleanup crew now, huh?"Jean shrugged, trying to keep the mood light. "Better than the alternative, right?"Blake, still dabbing at the cut on his forehead, gave Morgan a small nod. "It's the least we can do. You've... given us a safe place, and for that, we're grateful."Morgan took another swig of her whiskey, her gaze narrowing slightly as she looked at him. "Yeah, well, keep the gratitude and just get to work." She nodded toward the kitchen, her expression hard. "Once this place is decent, maybe I'll think about feeding you lot. No promises."The group exchanged glances, a mixture of relief and wariness. It was clear that Morgan wasn't the kind of person to tolerate anything she didn't see as useful, and her blunt demeanor made it clear that she wasn't here to babysit or coddle anyone. But in a world where safety was a rare commodity, they weren't about to argue.Jordan chuckled, picking up a dusty, empty can from the floor and tossing it into a bag. "Guess we've got a chore list now. But hey, beats getting shot at."Ethan nodded, rolling up his sleeves. "Let's just get it done. I don't think we want to test her patience."Q: Are you good at doing chores?