The engine of the armored military truck rumbled as Ethan neared his destination. Garden City, Kansas. The supposed haven for survivors. After 32 grueling hours on the road, filled with danger and near-death encounters, he had finally arrived. But as he approached, his sharp eyes caught the chaos unfolding ahead.
The haven was under siege.
Mutants—dozens of them—swarmed the perimeter, hammering against hastily built barricades of metal sheets, sandbags, and barbed wire. The defenders, ragged and desperate, fired from makeshift guard towers, struggling to hold back the relentless tide of Level 1 mutants. Their bullets cut through the monsters, but for every one that fell, another took its place.
Ethan's grip tightened around the wheel. "Guess I'm clocking in early."
Slamming the accelerator, he barreled forward, the reinforced bumper of his truck smashing into the horde. Bone crunched, bodies splattered, and limbs flew as the vehicle plowed through the front lines. The sudden assault bought the defenders a moment of relief, but they wouldn't hold for long.
Ethan threw the truck into park, jumped out, and swung open the back. It was time to arm the haven.
"Weapons! Get your damn weapons!" he bellowed, tossing rifles, shotguns, and boxes of ammo to the scrambling survivors.
Wide-eyed, they wasted no time grabbing the firepower. A burly man with a scarred face took a shotgun, cocking it with newfound determination. A young woman with sharp eyes picked up a sniper rifle, immediately taking position to cover the perimeter.
The fight turned.
With the fresh influx of weapons, the defenders unleashed a relentless barrage. Assault rifles spat fire, shotgun blasts ripped through mutant flesh, and grenades turned clusters of creatures into mist. The once-overwhelming horde started to thin.
Ethan didn't just supply the weapons—he joined the battle. A fully loaded M249 light machine gun rested in his hands, and he let it roar, mowing down anything that moved inhumanly. Mutants fell in waves as he pivoted from one side of the battlefield to the other, providing suppressive fire for those pushing forward.
A shriek cut through the chaos. A Level 2 mutant—a larger, more grotesque variant—charged toward the barricades, its clawed hands swinging wildly. It plowed through lesser mutants, its eyes locked onto the survivors.
Ethan switched tactics. He sprinted toward a nearby grenade launcher, loaded a round, and aimed at the charging beast.
Boom!
The explosion tore through its chest, sending it sprawling backward. But it wasn't dead.
Snarling, it tried to rise—until a final shot from the sniper woman shattered its skull.
Silence followed.
The battle was over.
Panting, Ethan surveyed the battlefield. The ground was littered with corpses, blood seeping into the dirt. The barricades were dented but still standing. The defenders, exhausted but victorious, began securing the perimeter, ensuring none of the monsters still twitched.
An older man, possibly the leader, stepped forward. "You just saved a lot of lives. Who the hell are you?"
Ethan slung his rifle over his shoulder. "Ethan. Just a guy passing through."
The leader nodded. "Well, Ethan, you're welcome to stay. We could use someone like you."
Ethan looked toward the horizon. For the first time in a long while, he wasn't alone. Maybe, just maybe, this place could be different.
For now, at least, he had a place to rest.