When Cindy heard the question, a flicker of surprise and suspicion flashed across her face. Though it vanished in an instant, Brian—watching her without blinking—caught it perfectly.
She lifted her head slightly, scanning Brian's face, trying to determine whether he was asking as part of routine procedure or if there was a hidden purpose behind the question.
But after studying him for several seconds, she saw nothing unusual. Maybe I'm overthinking it, she thought. They've only just arrived in Peachtree City. How could they possibly know anything?
Relieved, she let out a quiet breath and said,
"No, I've been here for several days and haven't seen any other survivors. It seems… everyone's already left."
As she spoke, Cindy kept glancing up at Brian. Though she now believed they didn't know the truth, her guard remained high.
"Good, that's a relief."
After Cindy finished speaking, Brian's otherwise expressionless face shifted into a look of calm relief, as if a heavy burden had been lifted.
He then instructed Mike to take Cindy and two soldiers into the mall to rest, while he stayed behind to handle other arrangements.
Standing alone, Brian silently watched them enter the building. As he did, he replayed Cindy's answers in his mind. He had already classified her—she belonged to the local survivor group in Peachtree City. And if one of them had already appeared, then…
He turned his gaze toward the cemetery area, recalling the figure he'd seen inside and Norman's earlier report. He now had a strong suspicion about the other group's identity.
"Interesting."
He murmured under his breath, his expression growing slightly serious. This was the first time since he'd begun external missions that he'd encountered two separate survivor groups operating within the same town.
But now, they were exposed. Their only advantage was that neither group knew the other had been discovered. Both still believed they were hidden in the shadows.
"How's it looking? Did you find any usable supplies in the mall?"
Pulling his thoughts back, Brian turned to Elton and asked about the results of his reconnaissance. After all, their primary mission was gathering supplies.
"Not great…"
Elton sighed, pulling out a notepad from his jacket and reporting:
"The first floor has clothing and appliance stores. The appliances are useless, but I found a few boxes of clothes in some storage rooms. We can take those back to the quarantine zone."
"The second floor has restaurants. I checked them out, but all the food is rotten. Even what was in refrigerators is past its expiration date. Nothing edible."
"The third floor has sporting goods and a small supermarket. Most items are in decent condition, though not much is useful. In the supermarket, most food is expired. But I found a hidden storage room filled with canned goods, backpacks, ropes—our biggest find so far."
"The fourth floor has beauty and nail salons—mostly cosmetics and things we can't use. Though… we could bring some back. The wives and daughters of high-ranking officials would probably pay a lot for them."
Brian nodded, satisfied with the report. He then walked over to the quarantine zone civilians.
Wade had already lined them up neatly at the entrance of the mall. Sixteen in total—ten men and six women. Many hadn't traveled this far from the quarantine zone in years, and now they gazed at the surrounding streets with a sense of nostalgia.
But the moment Brian approached, that nostalgia vanished. Every face turned fearful and submissive.
It wasn't surprising. News traveled fast within the quarantine zone. It wasn't uncommon for civilians to accompany supply teams, but casualty rates were alarmingly inconsistent. Some teams lost no civilians, while others returned with half their group dead or missing.
The excuses were always the same: "civil unrest" or "infected attacks." But over time, survivors revealed the truth.
The team leader held absolute power. Soldiers who saw civilians as expendable would beat or curse them for minor mistakes—slow work, bad attitude. Anyone who resisted was shot on the spot. And if they saw an attractive woman, they often forced her to obey.
When survivors returned and reported the abuse, the military handed down only light punishments. In return, the civilians were beaten severely. If they reported again, no one listened. There was no justice.
This only began to change with the rise of the Resistance Army. As rebels began targeting supply teams, civilian deaths dropped sharply. Now, after official warnings, such abuses were nearly gone. But the trauma remained. That's why the civilians still acted with such obedience.
Brian looked each of them in the eye. He knew exactly why they were afraid. But he didn't care. It was better this way. As long as they were afraid, they wouldn't do anything reckless.
"Elton, take them inside. Assign tasks. Gather all supplies on the first floor first. We'll load them onto the trucks tomorrow. Keep an eye on them."
"Yes, sir!"
"You, with me!"
Elton gave the order, and the civilians entered the mall, ready to work.
Once they were gone, Brian turned to Wade.
"Push all abandoned vehicles toward the mall entrances. Block the access points. If you find infected, eliminate them. Be careful."
"Got it."
Wade nodded, gripped his shotgun, and ran across the street.
As the people disappeared, the mall entrance fell silent. Only Brian remained, standing alone, staring at the darkening sky. His expression was unreadable. No one knew what he was thinking.
Southern Peachtree City
The streets were packed with infected, wandering aimlessly, so dense they covered every inch of pavement. Any human who appeared would be swarmed and torn apart in seconds.
—Thwip! Thwip!
Suddenly, from a dark alleyway at the edge of the street, two arrows shot out, striking two Runners straight through the head.
A small figure darted out, swiftly pulling the arrows from the corpses' skulls, then climbing with agility onto the roof of a nearby house.
Sunlight revealed her face and form. She was a girl, about fourteen or fifteen, holding a longbow, with a quiver on her back. The moment she reached the roof, she sprinted toward the next building.
She moved like she'd memorized every step. When buildings were separated by a street, pre-attached ropes allowed her to swing across. With a leap, she crossed safely. Though the ground below writhed with infected, her face showed no fear.
After crossing several blocks, she reached an elementary school. The interior was chaotic—on the surface, no different from the ruined houses outside. But look closer, and it was clear: everything was deliberately arranged.
The iron gate was sealed shut with rubble and heavy objects. Along the walls, impaled infected corpses served as warnings. From the roof, a long rope descended into the compound.
The girl pulled a curved axe from her belt, placed it on the rope, and with a strong push, slid down into the school.
The moment her feet touched the ground, a head appeared from the third floor of the main building. A bearded man with a shotgun smiled.
"Hannah! You're back. Your sister's been looking for you. Go see her."
"Thanks, Uncle Hall."
Hannah nodded, then hurried into the building.
But as she entered, a tall figure appeared in the right hallway. Hannah stopped instantly. Her calm face lit up with a warm smile.
"Sister!"
The golden light of sunset streamed through the windows, illuminating the girl's long, wavy red hair.