"William," he called out, "have everyone start loading the essentials—dry food, fuel, spare clothes, medicine. We're leaving the city soon."
The team moved quickly. Julia and Grace began gathering bottled water and canned supplies. Luna, still pouting from earlier, threw herself into the task, grabbing every medical kit she could find. Even in her frustration, her soft golden hair and flushed cheeks made her beauty stand out amidst the ruin.
Ethan took a brief moment to observe them all. These people—his team—were the last flicker of human warmth in a dying age. Around them stretched the ghost of a civilization that had collapsed under its own hubris. Billboards once showing smiles and luxury now stood over corpses and rust. Humanity's pride had turned to ash.
And yet, amidst the despair, Ethan's mind remained sharp, alive. Every decision, every calculation, was made with purpose. There was no room for hesitation—only survival.
"Load everything we can carry," he said, eyes fixed toward the horizon. "Once night falls, Havenstead will no longer be a city—it'll be a feeding ground."
The group exchanged uneasy glances but obeyed. The sound of boxes clattering, the hum of the truck's engine, and the hollow wind through the empty streets created a haunting symphony of survival.
They gathered clothes, shoes, shampoo, toothpaste, toothbrushes, socks, underwear, and soap. Personal hygiene essentials like deodorant, towels, wet wipes, Sanitary pads, tampons, menstrual cups, period underwear,
hand sanitizer, razors, shaving cream, sanitary products, nail clippers, hairbrushes, hair ties, and toilet paper were meticulously packed. Laundry detergent, insect repellent, lip balm, first aid kits, pain relievers, Latex gloves, masks, alcohol pads, Emergency blankets, CPR masks, tourniquets, Prescription meds, antibiotics, contraceptives, Pregnancy tests, prenatal vitamins, antiseptic creams, ointments, bandages, gauze, adhesive bandages, tweezers, scissors, medical tape, antihistamines, prescription medications, thermometers, burn creams, cold packs, heat packs, eye drops, gloves, emergency blankets, and splints were also collected, ensuring they had the medical supplies to handle any situation.
They stocked up on non-perishable food, canned goods, portable stoves, cooking gear, water purification tablets, filters, water bottles, containers, cooking utensils, mess kits, and manual can openers. Supplements, reusable water bladders, tents, sleeping bags, tarps, ground covers, blankets, and pillows were packed for their stay in the wild. They included flashlights, batteries, solar-powered chargers, multi-tools, Swiss Army knives, ropes, paracord, duct tape, compasses, maps, fire starters, signal mirrors, portable radios, protective gear, pepper spray, backpacks, binoculars, walkie-talkies, tool kits, notebooks, pens, pencils, plastic bags, Ziplock bags, super glue, survival books, medical books, board games, cards, fishing gear, seed packets, hunting gear, portable generators, portable water heaters, pots, pans and everything in between neatly tagged and stored away.
Once the team finished gathering the crucial supplies, they turned their attention to long-lasting food items—dried grains, canned goods, vacuum-sealed meat, and bottled water that could sustain them for months if rationed properly. Within two hours, their mission was complete. Their movements were fluid and precise, every member working with a focused urgency that only the apocalypse could forge.
Ethan's summon, the relentless skeleton, worked like an unfeeling machine. The creature didn't rest, didn't breathe, didn't complain. In sheer efficiency, it moved nearly a third of the total supplies by itself, its bones clattering rhythmically as it lifted crate after crate like a tireless laborer from hell. That eerie sight—a skeletal servant working side by side with humans—would have terrified anyone before the world fell. But now, it was a symbol of survival.
"Let's go home!" Ethan finally said, breaking the silence. His voice carried both satisfaction and exhaustion.
After filling the storage ring to its very limits, they still managed to load nearly a fifth of the truck's cargo space. Ethan's quick eyes scanned their collection once more. Ammunition crates were stacked neatly beside fuel cans. Bags of rice were balanced carefully with boxes of medical supplies. Everything was where it needed to be—no waste, no error.
Once certain everything was secure, he climbed into the truck beside William. The engine roared to life, its deep rumble echoing through the hollow city streets. With a turn of the wheel, they drove toward the Garden District, their temporary home.
---
When they arrived, Ethan's tone turned grave.
"Everyone," he said firmly, "start moving the supplies immediately. Everything in the apartment—bring it down to the trucks now."
The seriousness in his voice made every girl in the room tense. Their laughter and chatter vanished like smoke in the wind.
Nikki, her delicate face smeared with dust, walked up to Ethan, her long hair tied back in a messy ponytail. "Ethan, what's wrong?" she asked softly, sensing his unease.
"We're leaving," Ethan replied, his eyes hard as steel. "Now. We're heading to the Long Hai survivor enclave."
Olivia, usually elegant even in casual clothes, frowned slightly. "Can we not go tomorrow? Everyone's exhausted from hauling boxes all day," she said, her voice carrying both weariness and longing.
But Ethan's expression hardened. "No," he said coldly. "We don't have time for that. I'd love a break as much as anyone—but we're not safe here anymore. If anyone doesn't want to leave, you can stay. But understand this: by tomorrow, this city will be a graveyard."
The sharp edge in his voice silenced all argument. No one dared speak again. The girls exchanged quick glances and immediately went to work, driven by both fear and trust in Ethan's judgment.
---
Meanwhile, in the neighboring building, Sarah stood by her cracked window, clutching her daughter's hand. She watched as Ethan's group worked tirelessly below—hauling boxes, fuel, and weapons to the trucks. Even the skeleton was carrying crates like some nightmarish porter. Ethan himself oversaw the loading, shouting orders, reorganizing supplies, double-checking every strap and lock.
Her heart twisted painfully.
"They're leaving," she whispered.
She'd been watching them for days. They were different—disciplined, kind, almost humane in a world that had forgotten kindness. They had even shared food with her and her little girl once, something no one else would do in this nightmare.
Sarah knew what their departure meant. Once they were gone, she and her daughter would be alone in this decaying city, surrounded by the groans of the dead and the screams of the desperate. She had seen enough horror movies—Resident Evil wasn't fiction anymore. Here, a single scratch meant death.
Her eyes filled with tears, but desperation gave her courage. She dragged an old suitcase from the corner, packed what little they had, grabbed her daughter's hand, and rushed downstairs.
---
Outside, Ethan stood beside the truck, his arms crossed as he observed the chaos of hurried work. The clang of metal, the hum of the engine, the nervous chatter—it was all organized noise. He was ensuring that nothing was misplaced: food separate from weapons, medicine apart from fuel, essentials split between the two trucks. He wasn't just careful—he was methodical. One mistake could mean starvation or death later.
He didn't want his food supplies tangled with gun oil or medical kits. Everything had to be balanced—redundancy, he thought. If one truck was lost to the hordes, they wouldn't starve or die bleeding. His quick mind was already calculating contingencies, imagining routes, and estimating fuel costs.
That's when Sarah approached—her daughter clutching her arm tightly. Her face was pale but determined.
"Excuse me," she said, her voice trembling. "This student— we had meat before, remember? I'm Sarah." She paused, gathering her courage. "May I know your name?"
Ethan looked up from his clipboard, his eyes briefly softening. "I'm Ethan," he said quietly. "Is there something you need?"
Before Sarah could answer, Julia appeared—her radiant beauty catching the sunlight despite the soot and grime on her skin. She tilted her head curiously, a faint smile curling her lips. "Big brother Ethan," she said sweetly, "what does this woman want from you?"
Her voice carried a mix of curiosity and subtle protectiveness, as if she were unwilling to let another woman approach too closely.
Moments later, Luna and Grace joined her, both equally striking in their own ways—Luna's gentle charm and Grace's calm authority. They didn't need to lift heavy loads anymore; their skills were too valuable. They managed the medical kits, checked the ammo belts, and helped maintain equal dividends. Still, seeing this woman approach Ethan made them instinctively alert.
Luna's emerald eyes blinked as she studied Sarah. "Why is she here?" she asked softly, curiosity tinged with caution.
Under their collective gazes, Sarah swallowed hard, clutching her daughter closer. In that moment, she felt the gulf between herself—a helpless mother—and this group of survivors who carried guns, hope, and power.
"Ethan, please…" Sarah's voice trembled as she stepped closer, clutching her daughter's hand tightly. Her eyes, filled with exhaustion and fear, flickered with the last traces of hope. "Please take my daughter and me with you—to the Long Hai survivor enclave. As long as you take us… these are for you."
She dropped the worn suitcase onto the pavement with a dull thud and slowly opened it. Inside were stacks of crisp, green Valcorican dollars—bundled, clean, and untouched by the chaos outside.
The faint smell of old leather and paper mixed with the metallic scent of blood and fuel that filled the street. The sight of real money felt surreal in this decaying world.
Luna's eyes widened slightly. "That's… over a million," she murmured, glancing at Ethan. Her voice carried disbelief rather than greed. Coming from a wealthy background, a million dollars had once been trivial to her—a figure she could spend in a single shopping spree. But now, seeing so much cash in this era of hunger and decay felt almost absurd.
Ethan looked down at the money, his expression cold and unmoved. "I'm not interested in the money," he said flatly.
The bills fluttered faintly in the wind like meaningless leaves. The world had changed; currency no longer held power. A single can of food or a handful of bullets was worth more than an entire suitcase of dollars. Without merchants, without an economy, paper money was just trash—too soft to burn, too rough even to wipe ass with.
Sarah's heart sank. She could feel the ground slipping beneath her feet. Desperation flashed across her face before she gritted her teeth, crouched, and pulled another smaller case from the suitcase. She clicked it open with trembling hands.
Inside, nestled in velvet padding, were three gleaming gold bars.
Under the pale sunlight, they shone with a warm, tempting glow—symbols of wealth, power, and safety in the old world.
Sarah pushed the case forward and bowed her head deeply. "Please," she pleaded, her voice breaking. "Take these too. Just… save us. Take us to Long Hai City. I'll repay you however I can."
The girls nearby went quiet. Even Grace's usual composure faltered as she stared at the gold. It wasn't greed—it was the realization of how desperate Sarah had become.
Ethan remained unmoved. He looked at the bars with calm detachment and said softly, "I have no need for gold. It's just shiny metal—can't feed anyone, can't stop a bullet, can't kill a zombie."