"I'm going to kill those little bastards..."
Inside the lakeside house, Kenneth lay on the couch, nursing the throbbing pain at the back of his skull, cursing Bryan and Sarah with every breath.
His wife Cassie sat beside him, silent.
When Kenneth had stumbled back, claiming the kids had ambushed him and stolen his gun, everyone—except the children—knew exactly what had really happened.
But when Cassie heard the gun was gone, resentment flared inside her. She hated her husband's incompetence. She hated Bryan and Sarah for taking their only protection. In this chaos, only guns kept children safe.
"Vehicle approaching! Everyone get ready!"
Tyler's shout from outside cut through her thoughts.
Kenneth and Cassie grabbed makeshift weapons and rushed out.
At the perimeter fence, Tyler watched the approaching vehicle with mounting anxiety. He glanced at his wife, shielding Barton and Angela behind her, then at the single pistol in his hand.
Kenneth's gun was gone. This was their only firearm. If these newcomers meant harm, one handgun wouldn't save his family.
"What's happening? Who is it?"
Kenneth and Cassie arrived, weapons ready. They spotted the vehicle immediately. Their expressions turned grim.
Everyone watched tensely as the truck drew closer—then their faces transformed with recognition and hope.
It was a military vehicle.
"It's the army! They're here to rescue us!"
Kenneth was first to react, waving his arms frantically in welcome.
Relief washed over the group. Tyler embraced his sobbing wife. Cassie's face lit up. Even Barton and Angela caught the mood, grinning with excitement.
Minutes later, the truck stopped outside the fence. A dozen armed soldiers jumped down from the rear. The passenger door opened and a man in tactical gear stepped out.
His expression was cold as he approached.
"We're with the National Disaster Response Unit. Are there other survivors in this area?"
"No, no, sir—just us here! Are you taking us somewhere safe?"
Kenneth rushed forward, eager to ingratiate himself.
"Don't worry. Follow orders and we'll take you somewhere very safe."
Something flickered in the officer's eyes—disgust, then something darker—before his lips curved into a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
He signaled his men. "Standard procedure—search them and confiscate any firearms. Then we transport."
The survivors bristled but complied. The promise of safety outweighed their dignity. They submitted to the soldiers' hands.
A moment later, one soldier reported: "Sir, just one handgun. No other threats."
"Good. Then—"
Kenneth stepped forward again, hands clasped. "Sir, can we leave now?"
"Leave?" The officer's expression soured at the interruption. His smile turned cruel. "Very well. Let's send you off first."
He drew his sidearm and put a bullet through Kenneth's forehead.
The gunshot echoed across the lake.
Kenneth's body toppled backward, blood pooling beneath his shattered skull.
Everyone else stood frozen in shock, hope curdling to horror.
"You BASTARD! What are you DOING?!"
Cassie was first to recover, screaming at the officer in fury and grief.
He didn't even look at her.
"Take care of them."
He walked back toward the truck.
Behind him, soldiers raised their rifles. The survivors begged, pleaded, demanded answers.
None of it mattered.
The weapons fired. Bullets tore through flesh. Women. Children. No distinction made, no hesitation shown.
When the shooting stopped, the fence line was littered with bodies. Blood seeped into the earth, thick with the copper stench of death.
The soldiers confirmed the kills, loaded back into the truck, and drove away—disappearing over the horizon like they'd never been there at all.
...
Bryan heaved the last infected corpse outside the warehouse and wiped sweat from his brow. Dusk was settling in.
Back inside, the office desk had been moved. Sarah knelt by a shallow compartment in the floor, pulling items out one by one.
Bryan surveyed the haul: food, a handgun, ammunition, even a first aid kit.
"Ford left quite a stash. Wonder what his deal with Morris was."
"Who cares?"
Sarah spread her arms over the supplies, beaming.
"It's all ours now!"
Her joy was infectious. Bryan couldn't help but smile.
"You handle inventory. I'll check on the truck."
He found the vehicle tucked in the northwest corner—cleverly positioned for a quick exit, hidden by surrounding debris. Even the wheels were locked.
He entered the code from the note, removed the wheel lock, and climbed into the driver's seat. It had been a while since he'd driven. Better to refamiliarize himself before tomorrow's journey.
The tank was full. Everything checked out. He pulled the truck into the warehouse, parking it near the main entrance for easy departure.
Together, they packed all the supplies into boxes and loaded them into the truck bed.
By the time they finished, night had fallen. The warehouse had a break room, but Bryan didn't want to risk surprises. They dragged a mattress next to the truck and decided to sleep there.
Mid-September. The nights were getting cold. Wind whistled through gaps in the walls, raising goosebumps on their skin.
Bryan felt Sarah shivering beside him. He sat up, pulled the blanket entirely over her, and lay back down.
A moment later, she stirred. She tugged his arm straight and nestled her head against it, curling into his side. Then she pulled the blanket over them both.
Bryan went rigid.
He'd had almost zero experience with women in his past life. He had absolutely no idea what to do.
But gradually, her steady breathing calmed him. Exhaustion won. Their breath mingled in the darkness as sleep claimed them, carrying them into their separate dreams.