"They were being chased," Old Mike said quickly, his voice tight. "We couldn't just leave them to die out there…" His tone wavered. The towering white man in front of him, thick with muscle and menace, clearly put him on edge.
The man's glare shifted from Mike to Liam and Manila, his face darkening. He didn't say anything, but his eyes lingered on Manila a little too long before finally pulling away.
"The guns?" the man demanded, tugging the Black woman in front of him by the arm, using her as a human shield. He raised his pistol to her head without hesitation. Her eyes were puffy, still rimmed red from crying.
"There were too many of them at the gun shop… we couldn't get through. We didn't get any," Mike stammered. He looked at the man like a dog waiting for its owner to strike, hoping maybe today it wouldn't come.
Liam watched it all and quickly pieced it together—this brute had clearly forced them out into the chaos, using the woman as leverage, demanding they bring back weapons.
"Useless," the man spat.
Then his eyes shifted to the bag in Liam's hand. He raised the gun again, this time pointing it at Liam. "What's in that?"
"It's his," Mike said immediately, stepping back. Jason and Christine silently shook their heads. Jason, usually the type to get chatty with anyone, kept his mouth shut and his eyes low. No one wanted to draw Andrew's attention.
Liam held the man's stare for a beat, his fingers twitching. There was no winning this one. The guy was built like a freight train and armed. Liam didn't know who he was, but it didn't take a genius to guess he wasn't the kind of man who paid his taxes on time. A gun in his hand, a hostage at his mercy—he was probably a criminal before the world fell apart. Liam tossed him the bag.
Andrew caught it, shoved the woman aside, and she collapsed into Mike's arms, instantly clutching at him. "Are you hurt?" she asked, voice tight with worry.
"I'm okay, Laura. I'm fine," Mike whispered, trying to calm her.
"Where are the kids?" she asked quickly, turning her head toward the back.
"We're fine," Jason called out.
"I'm alright, Mrs. Brown," Christine added.
It all clicked in Liam's mind. Mike Brown. His wife Laura. Jason was her nephew. Christine—probably a neighbor's daughter or someone they were looking out for.
Andrew rummaged through the bag. "Food. Good…" Then he held something up. A box of condoms.
He looked from Liam to Manila. Liam immediately turned his head, catching Manila as she jerked her gaze away, face burning.
"You two better not give me any trouble," Andrew said, zipping the bag back up and slinging it over his shoulder. He waved his gun lazily across the group before heading upstairs, footsteps heavy on the wooden steps.
Mike exhaled, his whole body seeming to sag. He wrapped an arm around Laura and followed.
"We should go up too," he called back. "Down here's not safe."
He was right. The store had windows on three sides. All covered, sure, but one loud noise could bring the horde. Upstairs, even if the dead heard them, they couldn't climb in through second-story windows.
"Who is that guy?" Liam asked quietly, walking beside Jason on the stairs, voice low.
"Andrew. Lived near my aunt's place. We all escaped together when it started. Watch yourself. Dude's got a short fuse and a real gun. He's killed before," Jason muttered.
"Got it. Thanks." Liam's eyes flicked toward Manila, now walking with Christine, though her thoughts seemed far away.
He asked Jason a few more questions as they made their way up.
The second floor was mostly storage. Racks of clean, folded clothes, adult sizes. Some lingerie in plastic. On the right, by the windows, the space had been turned into a makeshift lounge—two worn sofas, some chairs, and a little side room that looked like it had once been for staff breaks. Next to that, a small restroom.
Andrew vanished into the back room with Liam's bag, shutting the door tight.
The rest of them spread out. Manila rifled through a pile of clothes, clearly fed up with the blood and grime on her skin. She picked out a few things, including a bra, then ducked into the restroom beside the lounge.
Liam pulled a chair into the far corner and sat down against the wall, arms crossed, silent.
Mike cradled Laura on the couch. She was crying again. No one asked why.
Christine sat on the opposite sofa, holding up a mirror, brushing her hair and pouting at her reflection. Probably the only girl in the apocalypse still trying to look cute.
Jason stood by the window, curtain cracked just enough to keep an eye outside.
It was quiet. Only the distant, constant snarls of the infected broke through. But for now, this place was safe.
Click.
The lounge door opened. Andrew stepped out, scowling. His pistol now tucked at his waist.
His eyes scanned the room. Manila was still in the bathroom. He didn't seem to care.
Then his gaze landed on Christine.
She froze, mirror halfway down.
Andrew smiled.
It was wrong. Too calm.
He crouched in front of her, saying something low. Too quiet to hear.
She leaned back, shrinking into the couch, shaking her head.
Then he grabbed her wrist.
"What are you doing? Stop—please!" Christine cried out.
"Get up. Now. Don't make me repeat myself."
He yanked her to her feet, dragging her toward the room.
"Hey! Andrew! What the hell are you doing?!" Mike stood, pushing Laura aside and charging over.
Andrew didn't even blink. He drew the pistol and shoved it in Mike's face.
"You wanna die, old man?" he growled. "One word and I'll paint the walls with your brains."
Mike froze. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Hands in the air. "Okay. Okay. I'm going back."
He stumbled backward, sat down hard. Jason had started forward too but stopped cold, retreating to the window.
"That's better," Andrew sneered, tightening his grip on Christine, who was now crying, thrashing, trying to pull away.
"Please don't—please—I can't—"
In the corner, Liam's hands clenched.
His jaw locked. Brow furrowed. But he didn't move.
Christine was sixteen.
Just looked older, that's all.