Five of my squad members were down. Owen, Lance, Mark, and Zia were heavily injured, while Rhea remained unconscious. Their groans filled the damp air, a chorus of pain and fatigue that made the silence outside feel heavier. The room reeked of blood, metal, and desperation.
Arden was the only one who could still move properly, but even he was trembling from exhaustion. His hands were stained red as he worked to keep their vitals stable, trying to stop the bleeding, to regulate the fever spreading among them. I could tell from the way his breathing hitched that he was barely hanging on.
I stayed by the entrance, scanning the shadows through the broken windows. Every sound, every flicker of movement, set my nerves on edge. The building we'd taken shelter in was barely standing, with cracked walls, shattered glass, and rusted frames. It was once a hospital, maybe, or a clinic for the people who lived in City E7 before it turned into this wasteland.
