"What's happening..." Samantha muttered again, her voice quivering with fear.
Her father pressed is lips in concern, before explaining calmly,
"Looks like what we chose came to life. Remember the 'Would You Rather' game? Shopping mall with rabid hounds... this is exactly it." He said scanning the dark store they were now in.
"But... how?" Samantha's palms were sweaty, fingers were trembling, tension all around her body.
"I don't know. But we'll figure something out, okay?" Her father caressed her hair with a reassuring gaze, his voice soft and gentle.
Samantha reached out, her fingers brushing over the wound on her father's cheek. "... You almost died..." She muttered.
"I didn't wake up in the best of places, but I'm fine." He clasped her extended hand gently.
"I... I'm scared…" she whispered, her voice weak and wavering. Tears welled up in her eyes.
"Oh, Sam…" He pulled her into a tight embrace. Her tears soaked into his shoulder. "We've come so far. We'll make it all the way... The game said just one night, right? We can do that."
She allowed only two drops of tears fall. She wanted to cry more, she needed to, but the fear was paralyzing. The gruesome scene of a massacre, the wet noises of bones cracking, the sticky and disgusting feeling of blood, the metallic smell that doesn't dissipate. It was something no one ever forgets. It etched itself into memory as trauma.
Nick slowly released the hug and turned toward the rest of the survivors in the store. He kept his voice low and leaned toward the nearest person.
"Help me spread this message: tell everyone to gather close. We need to talk about our situation. If we don't, we're just sitting ducks." He gestured around himself.
The man nodded, eager to obey the one who had saved his life.
Before long, the thirty-something survivors had formed a loose circle around Nick, with Samantha standing close beside him.
"Thank you…" a man whispered shakily as he dropped to his knees with a thump before Nick. "Thank you so much..."
"There's no need. It's what anyone should do." Nick helped him back up. But the man's head remained bowed, tears tracing down his cheeks.
"I owe you my life..."
"You don't owe me anything," Nick replied, his expression still composed. "I don't know where you're all from, but I live nearby. I know this mall. This store we're in... if I remember right... should be Gourmet, the kitchenware place. Anyone find the light switch? I can't see a thing in this red glow."
Someone flicked a switch. White light flooded the store, confirming Nick's guess.
"Thank you," Nick said, breathing heavily but relieved that his memory had served him right.
"Um, excuse me... what's your name?" someone asked.
"Nick. Nick Jones."
"Thank you, Mr. Jones."
"No, no. Like I said, no need." Nick waved his hands to stop a few people who had begun bowing again.
"Is she your daughter?" the man who knelt earlier asked, glancing at Samantha, who clung quietly to the hem of Nick's shirt.
"Yes." Nick patted Samantha's head, "This is Samantha."
"...It's because of you that I might see my daughter again..." A faint smile curled the man's lips, but it's one mixed with tears.
Seeing the incoming bow, Nick raised a bloodied hand to stop him again.
"Seriously. No need."
His hands were smeared in dried blood. A deep cut ran across his cheek, blood still trickling from it. Every mark on his body was proof that he'd risked his life for these people. And that only earned him more respect.
"Okay," Nick continued. "I asked everyone to gather because I was sure this was the kitchenware store, and it is. That means we can arm ourselves. Knives, cleavers, anything sharp. We can use these to venture back out, and save more—"
He was interrupted by the same man who had knelt and asked about his daughter earlier, whose eyes widened in shock, "Wait, sir… are you asking us to go back out there?"
"There are about thirty of us here. When we first woke up, there were more than a hundred. I believe there are still survivors out there, waiting and begging for help." He pointed outside the rolling steel gate, "A group of thirty in a situation like this? That's a miracle. We're the strongest group right now. We need to help the others."
"It's not a miracle. You saved us, Mr. Jones!" The man retorted.
"Yes, exactly! You saved us!" A woman agreed, "... please… I don't want to die."
"I ain't going back out there, man. Knives or no knives." A man's arms flailed panickingly as he spoke.
Predictably, the crowd was divided.
"My boyfriend's still out there," a teenage girl said, eyes pleading. "I saw him. We got separated when the crowd scattered. He's still alive, I know he is. Please, we have to go."
"Are you crazy?" someone snapped. "Are you out of your mind?"
"We don't stand a chance against those dogs. They crush skulls like it's nothing." Another backed him up.
"Mr. Jones risked his life to save us. Why can't you do the same?" a teenage boy in the crowd countered, siding with the girl.
Nick stepped in again, trying to calm the tension with two open palms raised.
"Guys. Look, no matter how enhanced they are, they're still dogs. One good stab is all it takes. We have numbers, we have tools, and we have a better chance than anyone else. We won't die out there. I guarantee it."
Nick scanned the room, but almost all gazes were wavering and uncertain.
"Mr. Jones, with all due respect… this is suicide."
"Everyone else is probably dead already. Why should we bother?"
"He's not dead! He can't be!" the teenage girl shouted.
"Alright, settle down!" Nick raised his voice slightly. "We won't get anywhere by arguing. And if we're too loud, those dogs might hear us. How about this, whoever wants to follow me, follow me. Whoever doesn't, stay here. Simple."
No one objected. It was fair.
"Alright… who's coming with me?"
Out of thirty people, only five hands were raised.
The teenage girl. The teenage boy who supported her. A middle-aged woman. Her husband. And then,
Nick turned to see the fifth hand,
It was Samantha's.