The pale light of dawn crept over the shattered skyline as Grewishka led his group through the desolate streets.
The air was heavy with tension, every sound amplified in the oppressive silence. Ves had granted Grewishka permission to join their base, but the journey to safety was far from easy.
Grewishka led his group through the crumbling streets, eyes darting to every shadow.
The ruined town they passed through was a graveyard of the old world, filled with rusting cars and collapsed buildings.
In this new world, danger lurked behind every corner. His grip on his machete tightened, the leather of his glove worn smooth from constant use.
"Eyes sharp," he muttered with a low voice. "We move quietly. No mistakes."
The group of twenty-eight survivors followed closely, their footsteps light and careful. Even the children, though tired and hungry, understood the importance of silence. Grewishka had drilled it into them.
