The sedan rolled through the narrow gap in the wooden barricade, tires crunching over gravel and splintered boards. A pair of men on watch pushed the gate closed behind it, dragging a length of chain into place.
The engine coughed once before turning off.
For a second, nobody spoke.
Then the driver blew out a shaky breath.
"Fuck… that was close."
All four doors opened almost at once.
One man climbed out and immediately leaned against the hood, rubbing his face with both hands. Another went and popped the trunk open and started digging through it, yanking out a dusty backpack and a stained duffle bag stuffed with loose supplies. The other two lingered near the rear bumper, still keyed up, eyes scanning the treeline out of habit.
"You almost froze back there," one of them said, voice sharp. "That hesitation's gonna get you killed."
The man by the hood snapped his head up. "It was a freaking kid, man."
"It was a rotter," the other shot back. "Barely looked human anymore. Eyes gone, skin sloughing off. You saw its mouth."
"Doesn't change what it used to be."
"It changes everything," the man said, stepping closer. "You don't stop to think. You don't weigh it. You don't feel bad. You put it down or it puts you down. End of story."
The first man opened his mouth, then closed it again, jaw tight.
Before it could escalate further, a voice cut in from nearby.
"What's all the noise about?"
They turned.
A broad-shouldered man stepped out from between two cabins, shotgun resting casually across his chest. A long scar ran across one of his cheeks. His dark hair was pulled back, streaked with gray and sweat.
"Hey, Logan," one of the scavengers said. "We just got back. Giving Eli shit for freezing up on a rotter."
Logan's eyes shifted to the man by the hood.
Eli didn't look away.
Logan studied him for a moment, then glanced at the others. "Where?"
"Old county road," the man near the trunk said. "Half a mile past the burned-out gas station. Came outta the trees."
Logan nodded once. "And it's dead?"
"Yeah," the man said. "Eventually."
Then Logan's gaze returned to Eli.
"You hurt?"
Eli shook his head.
Logan lowered his shotgun. "You didn't hesitate because you're weak," he said evenly. "You hesitated because you're human."
No one spoke, allowing Cole to continue.
"But out there? Humanity gets you killed. You see something walking and it ain't breathing? You end it. Doesn't matter what it used to be. Kid. Woman. One of your neighbors. Doesn't matter anymore."
Eli swallowed.
Logan clapped a hand against the shotgun stock. "Learn from it. Don't make me have this talk with you twice."
Eli nodded. "Yes, sir."
After giving a nod Logan turned toward the cabins. "Unload the car. Inventory goes to Sarah. Then wash up. You smell like road and rot."
The men moved, tension bleeding off as they went back to work.
Logan didn't stick around for the argument.
He headed deeper into the settlement, boots crunching softly over packed dirt and scattered pine needles. The wooden barrier behind him creaked as someone began sliding it back into place, the dull scrape echoing through the trees.
Another close call survived.
His jaw tightened.
They were getting sloppy.
Or worse — they are refusing to accept how the world is now.
Logan rubbed a hand across his face as he walked, exhaustion pressing behind his eyes. The air smelled like woodsmoke and damp earth. Wooden cabins and tents dotted the clearing, some were tents they managed to scavenge, others nothing more than tarps stretched over frames of crooked branches. Low voices drifted between structures.
People trying to pretend this was normal.
"Logan."
He slowed.
Jean stood near one of the fire pits, a pot hanging over low flames. The glow painted her face warm against the dark woods behind her. She held a rag in one hand, fingers idle like she'd been wiping them when she noticed him.
She didn't rush. She just watched him with quiet concern.
"Everything alright?" she asked gently. "You look like you have something on your mind."
Logan exhaled through his nose.
"Everything is good," he said. "All four made it back."
Her shoulders eased a fraction.
"Something happen?"
He hesitated, then shrugged.
"Eli froze up. Saw a kid. Or what used to be one."
"But they handled it."
Jean's eyes softened.
"That's bound to happen," she said. "It's still hard to accept how the world changed."
Logan didn't answer right away.
"I know," he said eventually. "Just… hesitation gets people killed out there."
Silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable.
Fire popped softly.
Jean studied his face, then stepped a little closer.
"You did good by preparing them," she said.
Logan met her eyes.
For a second, the weight on his shoulders felt lighter.
"Doesn't feel like enough most days."
She gave a small, sad smile.
"Still matters."
Logan nodded once.
They stood there a moment longer, neither quite ready to walk away.
Around them, the settlement kept moving.
The fire pit sat near the heart of the settlement.
From where Logan and Jean stood, the layout of the place was easy to see.
Wooden cabins formed a rough semi-circle around the clearing, old campground structures that had been standing long before the world fell apart. The cabins varied in size and design, some were small and boxy, others longer with shallow porches and wide front windows, but all shared the same weathered look of places meant for short stays, not permanent living. Survivors had reinforced them where they could, with extra planks bolted across walls, scrap wood nailed over weak points, doors thickened with layered boards, and windows partially shuttered with mismatched pieces of plywood. A few roofs were weighted down with scavenged materials and spare lumber, small signs of desperate but careful improvement.
Between the cabins stood scavenged and improvised tents. Nothing matched, but everything served a purpose.
The center of the settlement was wide open.
Too open.
It was obvious that trees had once stood there. Fresh-cut stumps dotted the ground like scars, their pale wood still visible beneath drying sap. Every trunk had been hauled away, every branch dragged off and repurposed.
Near the main gate, a handful of vehicles sat parked in uneven rows, two sedans, an old pickup truck, and a boxy delivery van with faded lettering still clinging to its sides. None of them looked pretty. All of them still ran, which made them priceless.
People moved through the space in quiet, constant motion.
Small groups talked in low voices. A woman carried a bucket of water from one cabin to another. Two men argued softly over a stack of lumber. Near one of the tents, a few kids chased each other in slow, careful circles, in quiet laughing, like they were afraid to make too much noise.
At the far edge of the settlement, past the cabins, work continued on the wall.
Tree trunks had been sunk upright into the ground, lashed together with thick planks and long nails. Some sections were already standing, rough but sturdy. Other parts were still skeletal frames, men and women hauling together logs into place, hammering until their arms shook.
It wasn't pretty.
But it was the best they could do.
Logan stared out at it all, the firelight flickering across his face under the shadow of the forest.
Turning his gaze to the fire pit, Logan kept his eyes on the fire.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
The crackle of burning wood filled the space between them, along with the distant thud of a hammer against the half-built wall.
Jean broke the silence.
"Hard to believe how many people are here now."
Logan let out a faint breath.
"Wasn't supposed to turn into this."
Jean glanced at him.
"What was it supposed to be?"
Logan thought about that.
"At first?" he said. "It was just us. Me and the others."
A pause.
"A bunch of angry men and women with guns and nothing left to lose."
Jean didn't interrupt.
"We weren't looking for a home," Logan continued. "We weren't looking to save anybody. We were looking for places to hide. Places to stock up. Places the military wouldn't stumble across."
His jaw tightened.
Jean's expression didn't change, but her eyes softened.
"I know."
Logan swallowed.
"After my parents… after my brother…"
His voice caught, just slightly.
"I didn't know what to do with that kind of loss. So I pointed it towards the most obvious target. Anyone in uniform became the enemy. Didn't matter who they were. Didn't matter if they'd actually pulled a trigger or not."
The fire popped.
Jean shifted closer, close enough that their shoulders almost touched.
"You don't talk about them much."
"Doesn't mean I don't think about them," Logan said quietly.
Another moment passed.
"Then we ran into you," he said. "You and those families. Kids. Old folks. People who could barely hold a gun, let alone fight."
Jean gave a faint, sad smile.
"You looked like you were deciding whether to rob us or run."
"Was," Logan admitted. "Some of the guys wanted to keep moving. Didn't want baggage."
His eyes lifted, scanning the settlement.
"But you had people who needed help. And somehow… that cut through all the noise in my head."
Jean nodded.
"That's when you started changing."
Logan shrugged.
"Didn't feel like changing. Felt more like… running out of excuses."
He exhaled slowly.
"After we found this place… after we started bringing in strays, folks who'd been barely holding on…"
A small shake of his head.
"Hard to keep pretending the whole world deserved to burn."
Jean looked at him then.
"You finally let yourself grieve."
Logan didn't answer right away.
"Yeah," he said at last. "Guess I did."
They sat in silence again, watching sparks drift upward.
"Letting go to all of that anger," Jean said softly. "It built something instead of destroying everything."
Logan stared into the fire.
"Doesn't erase what i did." After a moment of silence he continued."The look on that kid's face, the regret in his eyes. He chosen to follow the orders, and i killed him for it."
"No, it doesn't," Jean agreed. "But it tells me who you are now."
Logan glanced at her, when a sharp, clipped voice cut through the quiet.
"You're impossible, Logan!"
A woman emerged from the path leading to the edge of the clearing. Her hair was tied back under a faded bandana, a hunting rifle slung over her shoulder. Her boots crunched on the dirt with every step. Behind her followed four others, two men, two women. Ages varied, one of the men looked barely out of his teens, the others clearly older, hardened by whatever this world had thrown at them.
Logan straighten immediately, hands dropping to his sides. "Anna," he said, nodding, his tone cautious.
Anna stopped a few feet away, rifle still casually slung, but her eyes were sharp, burning with frustration. "A month, Logan. A month we've been growing stronger, and you're still sitting here, hiding from what needs to be done!"
He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a slow breath. "I get it. I really do. But these people…" he gestured subtly toward the cabins and tents, the scattered figures walking through the settlement. "…they aren't fighters. Sending them out there will only get more of them killed. Nothing good will come of it."
Anna's jaw tightened, and she took a step closer. "Nothing good?!" she snapped, her eyes flashing. "Nothing good came when soldiers took everything from us! When they killed our families! You think a few more deaths matter now?"
Logan's voice stayed even, firm but calm. "It matters to me that they survive. That's why we're here. That's why I won't throw them into a fight they can't win. You want revenge, fine, but dragging the settlement into it will only bury more of us."
Anna's glare sharpened, and then her gaze flicked past Logan, landing on Jean. A bitter laugh escaped her. "Or maybe you just think this way because she's here," she said, voice dripping with accusation. "You're afraid to act because you're thinking with your dick. You've softened because of her!"
Logan's eyes narrowed, and he straightened. "Watch it. I'm tolerating your behavior just because i understand your pain, but my patience has it's limits."
Jean's expression didn't change, but she placed a hand lightly on Logan's arm, a subtle gesture of support without interfering.
Anna huffed, looking away for a moment, then stepped closer to the firelight. "We're strong enough now. Enough to not be afraid. Enough to make them pay for what they did!"
The others behind her shifted, glancing between Logan and Anna, their faces tense. The younger man's fingers twitched near his knife belt, a nervous energy radiating off him.
Logan's gaze swept across them all. Calm, steady. "I'm not blind to what we can do," he said slowly. "But I've seen what happens when anger drives every decision. It leaves nothing but death. I won't let this place, and everyone in it become another grave because of revenge."
Anna's lips pressed together, her jaw still rigid, but the firelight caught something in her eyes, frustration, yes, but also… a grudging recognition that Logan wasn't just refusing to fight out of fear.
Anna's glare lingered a moment longer, the firelight reflecting off the rifle slung across her shoulder. She didn't speak, but the grip on the rifle strap and the tightening of her jaw said more than words ever could.
The four behind her shifted uneasily, glancing at Logan, then at one another. The younger man muttered something under his breath.
Without another word, Anna turned sharply and led the group back toward the path out of the settlement. Their steps were heavy, measured, but there was no mistaking the anger and frustration simmering beneath the surface. Logan watched them go, expression unreadable, his eyes lingering on the receding forms of people he had once considered lost to grief and rage.
When the last figure disappeared into the trees, he let out a slow exhale, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.
"I get it," he said quietly, more to himself than to anyone else. "She's seen everything taken from her… parents, husband, her daughter… all of it. But more killing won't bring any of them back. Nothing good ever comes from it."
He stared into the fire again, embers drifting upward like tiny sparks of memory, and let the silence settle over the settlement. The early evening pressed in around them, carrying with it the distant murmurs of life—children laughing softly, someone hammering on the half-finished wall, the low murmur of conversation among neighbors who had survived too much to argue.
Logan's gaze softened, but his jaw remained set.
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Hi everyone, i hope you enjoyed this side story. It won't be connected to the main story anytime soon.
As well, i didn't write the 'insurgents' with the purpose of being main antagonists, it was mostly to show different types of people that survived the initial outbreak and the operation cobalt.