The rusted hinges of the door moaned like a wounded animal as Elara pushed it open, shotgun raised, boots crunching over shattered glass and grit. Beyond the threshold stretched the remains of what used to be a community center—now nothing more than a carcass of memories gutted by time, fire, and the screams of the infected.
Kai followed closely, sweeping the corners with his modified pistol, the flashlight duct-taped beneath the barrel casting sharp shadows across broken chairs and bloodstained posters. The air was thick with mildew and a silence that didn't sit right.
"Clear left," Elara whispered.
"Right's good," Kai replied. But his voice trembled, just slightly.
It had been four days since they'd left Haven's Rest behind. Four days since they buried Jules.
No one talked about it. No one wanted to.
But the silence was eating them.
They were scavenging for medicine. Lira had come down with something—maybe an infection from a rat bite, maybe worse—and the little girl was burning up. Their only hope lay in forgotten buildings like this one, where old world supplies might have been overlooked.
Elara stepped around an overturned table, eyes catching on a broken cabinet. She crouched low, pried it open—
Empty.
Except... a photograph.
She blinked.
A little boy and a woman. Smiling. The edges were curled and blackened, but the joy in their eyes remained. Elara tucked it into her coat pocket before Kai could see.
He didn't need another reason to break.
"Found something," he called.
Elara hurried over. Kai had pushed aside a shelf, revealing a metal first aid box wedged behind it. Locked.
She frowned. "You sure?"
"Been here a long time. Probably hasn't been touched."
She tapped it, listening to the hollow sound. "We'll need to pry it open."
He drew his combat knife and wedged it into the side, straining. "Almost…"
Snap.
The lock gave way. Inside were a few gauze rolls, two blister packs of antibiotics—intact—and a vial of morphine.
Jackpot.
They exchanged a look—half disbelief, half fear.
Because in this world, good fortune always came with a price.
Suddenly, a noise.
A creak upstairs.
They both froze.
Elara raised her hand, motioning for silence. Another step. Slow. Deliberate. Not the erratic shuffle of the infected.
Someone was up there.
Kai mouthed: "Bandits?"
She didn't answer. Just pointed to the staircase.
They moved like ghosts, quiet and swift, every board beneath their feet threatening to betray them. As they reached the landing, they heard muffled voices—two, maybe three.
Male.
One was laughing. Low and cruel.
Elara edged toward the doorway where the sound leaked out. Through a cracked panel, she saw them: three men around a lantern. One of them held a rifle.
And between them—
A girl.
Tied up. Gagged. Barely conscious.
Kai's hand shot to her shoulder. "No," he whispered. "We can't."
"She's alive," Elara hissed. "We can't leave her."
"We save her, and Lira dies if we get killed."
The words hit like a slap.
But Elara didn't hesitate.
She turned and started creeping toward the hallway.
Kai cursed under his breath, then followed.
They didn't have a plan—just adrenaline and desperation. The hallway split off into a storage closet. Elara ducked inside and motioned for Kai to wait.
Five seconds. Ten.
Then she threw a brick down the opposite hall.
CRASH.
The noise echoed like a gunshot.
"Shit! What was that?" one of the men shouted.
Two of them grabbed their weapons and ran toward the noise, boots thudding against the wooden floor.
Elara burst out of the storage room and sprinted for the third man—still seated by the lantern, startled. Before he could react, she tackled him to the floor.
He grunted, knife already drawn, swinging wildly.
Elara rolled, elbowed him in the throat, and grabbed his rifle.
"Drop it!" Kai was yelling. He'd appeared behind the returning two men, gun raised.
The men froze—then the first raised his weapon.
Bang.
Kai fired.
One down.
The second bolted, disappearing down the stairs. Elara didn't chase.
She turned to the girl—cut her loose. "It's okay. We've got you."
The girl coughed, tried to speak, but only a dry wheeze came out.
"She's dehydrated," Elara muttered. "We need to get her back."
Kai was staring at the dead man. Not moving.
"Kai," Elara said, gently. "You did what you had to."
He didn't answer.
But he followed her down the stairs.
They returned to camp as the sky turned blood-red with dusk. Lira was still feverish, her mother dabbing her with rags soaked in stream water. When Elara handed over the antibiotics, the woman cried.
The rescued girl—her name was Sia—slept fitfully beside the fire, wrapped in a patched blanket. She'd whispered two words before passing out:
"Thank you."
Elara sat by the fire long after everyone else had gone to sleep, staring at the vial of morphine still in her pocket. A luxury they couldn't afford to waste. But somehow, knowing it was there—knowing they'd fought and survived again—it steadied her.
Kai sat down beside her, silent for a long time.
Then he said, quietly, "Do you ever wonder if we're the good guys?"
She looked at him.
"We saved someone today."
"We also killed someone."
"He would've killed us."
Kai nodded. "I know."
The fire crackled.
Elara pulled out the photograph she'd found and handed it to him.
He looked at it for a long time.
"Guess we all lost something," he said.
"No," Elara replied. "We're still here. That means we haven't lost everything."
He didn't smile. But he didn't walk away either.
They sat in the silence together.
And that, for now, was enough.