The truck's engine purred quietly as Eric killed the headlights, their faint glow vanishing into the creeping twilight. He parked a block away from the grocery store, where silence reigned except for the distant moans of the infected. The fading sun bathed the street in a golden haze, its light fractured by the shattered glass of the abandoned storefronts. A sense of unease settled over them, the calm before the storm.
Kate sat rigid in the passenger seat, her fingers tracing the grooves of her crowbar. Every muscle in her body was taut, her senses alive with the weight of the mission. She could feel Eric's gaze flick to her as he gripped his spear, waiting for her word.
"We move fast. In and out," she murmured, her voice low but firm. She pulled the bandana tied around her neck up over her nose, steeling herself against the stench she knew awaited them. "You ready?"
Eric nodded, his eyes sharp and focused. "Always."
They stepped out of the truck, their boots crunching on loose gravel as they advanced toward the store. The air was heavy, thick with the smell of decay and rusted metal. A barricade of shelves and shopping carts blocked the store's entrance, cobbled together in a rush to keep something—or someone—out.
Kate scanned the area, her sharp eyes catching the telltale streaks of blood leading from the street to the door. Drag marks painted a grim story of someone who hadn't escaped the attack. She exhaled slowly, steadying her nerves.
"This isn't good," Eric whispered, his voice barely audible over the faint whistling of the wind. His grip tightened on his spear, his knuckles whitening.
"No, it's not," Kate agreed grimly. "Stay sharp."
As they approached the barricade, she motioned for him to stay back while she peered through a narrow gap. The inside was dark, the dim light of the setting sun barely filtering through the dusty windows. Kate's heart quickened as she squinted, her ears straining for any sound.
"Emma?" she called softly, her voice carrying just enough to pierce the oppressive quiet.
For a moment, there was nothing. Then, faintly, came the sound of movement. A shuffle, followed by the muffled murmur of voices. Relief flickered in Kate's chest, though she kept her grip firm on the crowbar. Motioning for Eric to follow, she slipped through the gap in the barricade, the metal frame scraping against her jacket.
The interior was worse than Kate had imagined. Blood splattered the floor in wide arcs, and overturned shelves blocked several of the aisles. The stench of rot was suffocating, mingling with the metallic tang of dried blood. At the far end of the store, behind a makeshift barricade of crates and shopping carts, was Emma and her group.
Emma's head shot up as Kate approached, her wide eyes locking onto her. The metal pipe she held trembled slightly in her grip before she let out a shaky breath. "Kate?" Her voice cracked, the relief evident.
"It's us," Kate confirmed, her gaze sweeping over the group. "You're okay?"
Emma nodded weakly. "We're... we're alive. Barely."
Kate quickly assessed the others. Harper crouched low, her hands gripping her bat tightly, her face pale but set with determination. Grace was at Ben's side, wrapping his arm with a torn strip of cloth, though the blood still seeped through. Sophia and Izzy were huddled together, their faces streaked with grime and fear.
"What the hell happened?" Kate demanded, crouching beside Emma. Her tone was calm, but there was an edge to it.
Emma wiped at her forehead, smearing dirt across her skin. "We were scavenging," she began, her voice trembling. "It was quiet at first, but then they came—dozens of them. We barely made it back in here and managed to block the door. But every time we moved, it seemed like more of them showed up."
Kate's gaze shifted to Ben. His face was pale, beads of sweat dotting his forehead as Grace tightened the bandage on his arm. "How bad is he?" she asked.
Grace glanced up, her hands steady despite the tension in her voice. "Deep, but clean. If we get him out of here and treat it, he'll be fine."
Kate nodded, her mind already racing. "We have a truck," she said, her voice cutting through the group's murmurs. "But the entrance is still swarming. We're going to have to get creative."