Kane stepped around the corner with the Mk18 already tight to his shoulder. The suppressor was threaded, ready. Eight men filled the loading area behind the stores, circling the two women like dogs around scraps. The one with the shotgun had the black-haired girl by her hair, yanking her head back so hard her neck strained. The redhead was on her knees beside her, glasses hanging crooked, hands up like that would stop anything.
The shotgun guy saw Kane first. His eyes widened. "What the—"
Kane put two rounds through his chest. The suppressor coughed twice, soft and flat. The man dropped straight down, shotgun clattering across the concrete. Blood sprayed dark across the black-haired girl's torn shirt.
The rest of them spun toward the sound.
Kane was already moving. He slid left behind a rusted dumpster, using the metal for cover. A guy with a baseball bat charged straight at him, screaming something incoherent. Kane leaned out just enough, tracked center mass, and fired twice more. The bat guy stumbled and fell face-first, skidding to a stop two feet from the dumpster.
Shouts erupted. "He's got a gun! Spread out!"
Kane didn't wait. He popped up again, found the next closest target—a skinny kid with a kitchen knife—and dropped him with one round to the chest. The kid folded like someone had cut his strings. Brass from the first three rounds rolled across the pavement with tiny metallic clicks that sounded loud in the sudden chaos.
Two more men broke left, trying to flank him along the alley wall. Kane shifted right, keeping the dumpster between him and the main group. He fired twice at the lead flanker. The rounds hit low, one in the gut, one in the thigh. The guy screamed and went down clutching his leg. His buddy hesitated, then turned to run. Kane put a single round between his shoulder blades before he made it ten feet.
Five down.
The remaining three scattered. One dove behind a stack of wooden pallets near the women. Another tried to grab the redhead as a shield, yanking her up by the arm. The last one raised a pistol—one of the few guns they had—and fired wild toward Kane's position. The shot cracked loud and high, punching into the brick wall above the dumpster.
Kane dropped to a knee, changed magazines fast under the cover of the metal bin. The fresh one clicked home smooth. He popped up again, pieing the corner of the dumpster, and put two rounds into the pistol guy's chest. The man spun and collapsed against the alley wall, leaving a long red smear.
The one behind the pallets started shooting blindly over the top, bullets snapping into the dumpster with heavy metallic pings. Kane moved left in a low crouch, flanking the stack. He came around the far side and fired once. The shooter's head snapped back and he dropped out of sight.
Seven down.
The last man had the redhead now, arm locked around her throat, knife pressed to her side. She was gasping, glasses fogged with tears, small body shaking so hard her red curls bounced. The black-haired girl was still on her knees by the dumpster, blood spattered across her pale face and soft stomach where her torn shirt had ridden up. She looked frozen, eyes wide and dark.
Kane stepped clear of the dumpster, rifle steady. "Let her go."
The last guy laughed, nervous and ugly. "You think you're some kind of hero? I'll cut her right here—"
Kane fired once. The round took the man in the shoulder of the arm holding the knife. He screamed and staggered back, releasing the redhead. She dropped to the ground, coughing hard.
Kane closed the distance fast. The guy was still trying to bring the knife up when Kane slammed the rifle butt into his face. Cartilage crunched. The man went down hard. Kane followed him to the ground, drove a knee into his chest, and drew the Ka-Bar in one smooth motion. The fixed blade slid across the man's throat before he could suck in another breath. Hot blood pulsed over Kane's hand and onto the cold pavement.
Silence crashed down except for the two women's ragged breathing.
Kane wiped the blade on the dead man's shirt, sheathed it, and stood. His hands were steady, but the alley now smelled thick—cordite, blood, piss from someone who hadn't made it, and the sour fear-sweat rolling off the girls. Brass casings glinted everywhere. Eight bodies lay twisted on the concrete. The cold April air moved through the alley, carrying the metallic tang straight into his nose.
He slung the rifle and turned to the women.
The black-haired one was still on her knees, trembling. Long black hair with silver streaks hung in her face, smudged black eyeliner running down her pale cheeks. She had a soft, chubby belly visible where her torn band shirt had ridden up, and her combat boots were scuffed and bloody at the toes. She looked up at him, lips parted, voice cracking on every word.
"Um… thank you… I thought… we were dead."
The redhead was pushing herself up on shaky arms, glasses crooked, fiery curls matted with dirt and tears. She was tiny—maybe five-one—with a tight, nervous build that made her look even smaller right now. She wiped her face with the back of her hand and stared at him like he might disappear if she blinked.
"You… you saved us," she said, breathing fast. "Are you okay? Did they… did any of them hit you?"
Kane shook his head once. "I'm good. You two hurt?"
The black-haired girl touched the blood on her shirt—someone else's—and shook her head. "Just… scared. Really scared." Her voice stayed soft and breathy, like she was still trying to believe any of this was real. "I'm Raven. This is Willow. We were just… we were trying to get back to our apartment after the power went out. They came out of nowhere."
Willow pushed her glasses up with a trembling finger. "We hid for hours. Then they found us. I thought… I thought that was it." Her green eyes flicked to the bodies, then back to Kane. "Thank you. I don't even know what to say right now."
Kane glanced back toward the corner where he'd left Liora. She was still crouched behind the crates, peeking out, small face pale but steady. He gave her a quick nod—*stay there*—and she ducked back down.
"We can't stay here," he said. "More could show up. My daughter's waiting. You two able to walk?"
Raven tried to stand and wobbled. A cut on her arm was bleeding slow but steady. Kane stepped in, slid his arm under hers, and helped her up. She leaned into him heavy, soft curves pressing against his side, her breath warm and shaky against his jacket.
Willow stood on her own but stayed close, one hand hovering like she wanted to grab his sleeve but didn't dare. "We don't have anywhere else," she said quietly. "Our place got broken into last night. Everything's gone."
Kane didn't hesitate. "Then you're coming with us. House is fortified. We've got supplies." He looked at Raven. "You're bleeding. I'll carry you."
Before she could answer he bent and scooped her up fireman-style over his shoulder. She let out a small surprised sound but didn't fight it. Her weight was solid—soft belly against his shoulder, combat boots dangling. She smelled like fear-sweat and something faint and sweet, like old lotion.
Willow stayed right beside him as they moved. "I can carry her bag," she offered, picking up a small backpack one of the dead men had dropped. Her voice was still shaky but trying to be useful. "Just… tell us what to do. We'll do it."
Kane kept the rifle ready in his free hand, scanning the alley as they headed back toward Liora. "Stay tight. Eyes on the street. No talking until we're inside."
Liora stepped out from behind the crates when she saw them coming. Her hazel eyes went wide at the sight of Raven over his shoulder and Willow walking close. She didn't say anything at first—just fell in behind Kane like he'd taught her, small hand brushing his jacket again.
They moved quick and quiet through the backyards, same route he'd taken earlier. The neighborhood stayed dead silent except for their footsteps and the distant pops of gunfire that never quite stopped. Raven's breathing stayed uneven against his back, but she didn't complain. Willow kept glancing at him, then at Liora, then at the ground, like she was still processing that any of this was real.
They reached the back gate of Kane's house without another soul in sight. He set Raven down gently on the porch steps, unlocked the reinforced door, and got everyone inside. The sandbags and plywood made the living room feel like a bunker now. The smell of old blood from last night still lingered, but it was home.
Raven sank onto the couch, holding her bleeding arm. "Um… I don't know how to thank you enough. Really."
Willow sat beside her, glasses still crooked, pushing them up again out of habit. "We were done. You just… showed up." She looked at Kane, then at Liora standing by his leg. "Both of you."
Liora didn't speak. She just leaned into Kane's side and stared at the two women, hazel eyes guarded.
Kane closed the door, dropped the bar across it, and started pulling the first-aid kit from the bug-out bag. "Names are Kane and Liora. We'll patch you up, then figure the rest. Right now, rest. You're safe."
Raven gave a small, shaky nod, her dark eyes still wide with leftover fear. "Safe," she repeated softly, like she was testing the word. "Okay."
Willow reached over and took Raven's hand without thinking. Both of them sat there on the couch, breathing hard, looking at Kane like he was the only solid thing left in the world.
Outside, another distant scream echoed across the dead city.
Inside, the house stayed quiet for the first time since the lights went out.