The wind howled through the fractured remnants of the overpass, its cold fingers scraping against Yara's exposed skin as she crouched behind a collapsed support beam. The air smelled of soot and rotting asphalt—tinged with the distant metallic scent of blood. Clouds hung heavy and low, churning like a storm that never quite came. Since the Cataclysm, the sky had rarely revealed its true color.
Ronan knelt beside her, rifle cradled in his arms, eyes trained through a crack in the rubble. "Two sentries on the north perimeter," he whispered, voice barely audible beneath the wind. "Wearing scavenger colors. But they're too organized. This smells wrong."
Yara peered through the narrow slit. Just beyond the wreckage, across a field of broken concrete slabs, stood a group of armed survivors clustered around a makeshift checkpoint. Scavengers, yes—but their gear looked too clean, too precise. Not the usual mismatched armor and stolen military tech she expected from desperate thieves.
Her instincts itched.
"We can't fight them head-on," she said. "Not without drawing in every horror in a mile radius."
"No," Ronan agreed. "But we need that supply crate. The locator beacon puts it right inside their camp."
She rubbed a hand over her face, smearing ash onto already-filthy skin. "What if they're not scavengers? What if they're Dominion?"
Ronan's jaw tightened. "Then we're in deeper shit than we thought."
The Dominion—an emergent authoritarian faction rising from the ashes—had been annexing survivor outposts under the guise of "order and protection." What followed was usually silence. No messages. No survivors. Just emptiness.
"We need a plan," Yara muttered, heart racing.
Behind them, footsteps crunched against the debris. Lira approached, her cloak flapping like wings. "Problem?" she asked, glancing down at the camp below.
"Scavengers guarding our prize," Ronan replied. "Possibly Dominion."
Lira's eyes narrowed. "I can create a diversion. Smoke bombs. Noise charges. I've got three left."
Yara weighed the risks. A frontal distraction might draw out the guards—but it could also trigger reinforcements. She hated uncertainty. But hunger clawed at her insides, and their water filter had been damaged in the last quake. They needed this cache.
"Do it," she decided. "Ronan, find us a better position. We'll flank during the chaos. No gunfire unless absolutely necessary."
He nodded once and vanished into the rubble, silent as a shadow.
Lira handed Yara a small detonator. "Wait for the third boom. That'll be your window."
And with that, she disappeared into the dust.
The first explosion came minutes later—a thunderous crack of pressure and smoke rising in the western lot. Screams followed. The guards scrambled, weapons drawn, forming a loose perimeter.
The second detonation was louder—closer. Debris rained down as a flare ignited the edge of a derelict car, lighting the wreckage in ghostly flame.
Yara moved.
Dashing across broken slabs, she slid behind a concrete divider, keeping low. Ronan emerged from the shadows across the lot, signaling her forward. Together, they darted toward the supply crate—a thick, titanium box embedded in a cracked foundation near a ruined bus.
The third explosion went off.
Yara rushed to the crate, heart slamming in her chest. Her fingers flew over the lock—standard military issue, but nothing she hadn't broken before. Seconds ticked by.
Behind her, Ronan covered the entrance, rifle steady.
Click.
The lid hissed open.
Inside—compressed rations, solar filters, medical kits. Enough to keep them alive for another month.
"Got it," she breathed. "Help me load—"
A bullet ricocheted off the crate edge. Yara ducked, instinctively grabbing her sidearm.
"They're coming back!" Ronan shouted.
Too soon. The third blast hadn't drawn them long enough.
Yara shoved a satchel full of supplies at him. "Go! I'll cover you."
"I'm not leaving you—"
"GO!"
Another shot. This one clipped her shoulder, burning hot and sharp. She bit back a scream.
Ronan hesitated—then turned, vanishing back into the rubble with the pack. She fired two quick shots toward the approaching guards, forcing them to duck.
Yara crouched low, blood trickling down her arm, and bolted in the opposite direction—luring them away from Ronan's escape route.
She ran until her lungs burned, until her legs screamed, until the shouts behind her faded. Only then did she collapse in a ditch behind a collapsed billboard, gasping for air.
Blood soaked her sleeve. The bullet had grazed her, but it hurt like hell.
"Yara," Lira's voice came from above, soft but urgent. "You're hit."
She looked up into Lira's dirt-smeared face. Relief nearly overwhelmed her.
"They're Dominion," Yara said hoarsely. "Or damn close. Too coordinated. Too... efficient."
"Then we're out of time," Lira whispered. "We need to leave this region. Head east, toward the old mountain tunnels. Ronan already started packing."
Yara nodded, vision blurring. The pain was catching up.
As Lira bandaged her arm with swift, practiced hands, Yara watched the ash swirl in the sky above. The world was changing—again.
But she was still alive.
And for now, that would have to be enough.
Later That Night
The group huddled around a tiny fire deep in a collapsed parking garage. The walls groaned overhead, but it was one of the few places that still provided shelter from both monsters and men.
Ronan stirred a pot of boiled water. "We can't keep skirting the edges. The Dominion's expanding fast. That camp was just a forward scout."
"East," Yara said. "Through the tunnels. We go dark for a while. Regroup. Restock. Maybe find more survivors."
"You think the old research facility's still intact?" Lira asked. "The one buried near the tunnels?"
Yara shrugged. "If it is, it's our best shot."
Silence fell between them. The fire crackled. Somewhere in the distance, a mutated shriek echoed through the ruins—reminding them that the world remained a brutal, merciless place.
But tonight, they had food. Water. Each other.
And a plan.
Yara leaned back, clutching her wounded arm, eyes fixed on the fire. The flames danced like spirits, casting flickering shadows on the walls. They had survived another day.
But survival wasn't enough anymore.
She was going to fight back.