In a house one hundred meters from the shopping center, over twenty armed men and women stood or sat idly, glancing around the dim room with boredom, occasionally yawning as they waited for something.
One of them, a muscular man with a brutal, twisted face, suddenly stood up from the sofa and strode to the window, glaring out into the night.
"Damn it! It's been so long—why haven't they come back yet?"
"Balk, what's your rush?" said another man on the sofa—middle-aged, with a haggard face and the look of a man drained of life. He took a deep drag from his cigarette, exhaling with satisfaction. "Sure, they're new recruits, but they're still soldiers from the quarantine zone. They wouldn't go down that easily."
"Listen, Lyle," Balk snapped, turning with a sneer. "They're just a bunch of rookies. How tough can they be? Probably haven't even killed many infected. With us, twenty-five strong, we could wipe them out in minutes. Why all this waiting?"
"Could you think for once?" Lyle didn't even look at him. He took another shaky drag, blew out a smoke ring, and said coldly, "You really forgot what happened two months ago with that group of survivors? There were only seven or eight of them—two were kids."
He turned his head slightly, eyeing Balk with sarcasm.
"If you hadn't been so stupid as to lead a frontal assault, we wouldn't have lost over a dozen brothers. And we wouldn't be this weak now. And by the way—I'm the leader now. Show some damn respect."
"You—!"
The words cut deep. Balk's face hardened, then twisted with rage. He raised his fist and took a step forward, ready to strike—but his comrades quickly restrained him.
Knowing he couldn't touch Lyle, Balk spat on the floor and stormed toward the door, muttering,
"Piece of trash… If the boss hadn't been killed by some damn arrow from nowhere, you wouldn't be giving orders here."
Lyle narrowed his eyes, hiding the murderous intent behind a calm mask. He turned to a woman with black-rimmed glasses beside him.
"By the way, how's the situation with those outsiders we've been tracking? Have we found them?"
The woman stood instinctively, thinking.
"We captured one of them. He was a coward—said he wanted to stay. We let him go, and since then, he's been sending us intel. Using that, we've caught a few of them. But they keep moving. Hard to pin down. But the latest message says they're holed up in a school. We've got their location."
"Good."
Lyle nodded, satisfied. He flicked his cigarette to the floor and crushed the ember under his boot.
"Once we deal with this convoy, we hit the school tomorrow. We'll avenge the boss!"
At his words, the others gave half-hearted cheers. But their eyes and expressions showed no real excitement.
"B-Boss! Boss!"
The front door burst open. A hideous-looking man rushed in, gasping for breath, stumbling to Lyle.
"C-Cindy… s-sent a m-message… th-they're…"
His stuttering made the already tense group even angrier. Balk, just returned, kicked him hard in the backside.
"Speak clearly, you idiot! Or I'll put a bullet in your skull!"
The man crashed to the floor, dazed, but scrambled up in terror.
Lyle clenched his fist, furious at Balk's insolence, but forced a calm smile.
"Balk, there's no need for that."
Then, to the trembling man:
"Take a breath. Don't be afraid. Say it slowly."
The man swallowed, glancing between Lyle's fake kindness and Balk's terrifying glare.
"Cindy says… the sedative… might not be strong enough… The soldiers are asleep… but we need to move fast… o-otherwise they might wake up…"
"What?"
Lyle's brow furrowed. He turned to a thin young man nearby.
"What's going on?"
The youth shrugged.
"We got the pills from a hospital. We've kept them cool, but… they're way past expiration. I don't know how much effect they have. But even if they don't knock them out, the side effects should be strong. They'll be weak at best."
"Fine. Then let's move!"
Lyle stood abruptly.
"Everyone, get ready!"
Though many resented his leadership, they obeyed. They grabbed their weapons and followed. Only Balk trailed behind, face dark with anger.
They left the house, crossed the wide street. No infected in sight—evidently, the soldiers had already cleared them.
They approached the shopping center and stopped behind a cluster of shrubs. Lyle turned to a tattooed man with a rifle.
"You stay here with a few others. If something goes wrong inside, keep the infected away."
"Got it."
The man grinned, picked a few— including the thin youth and the bespectacled woman—then moved aside.
The remaining twenty followed Lyle toward the mall's entrance.
They crept forward. Lyle crouched at the doorway, peering into the lit interior. He didn't enter. His brow furrowed. He hesitated.
Though not the strongest, Lyle was the most cunning. Something felt off. He couldn't place it, but a deep unease gnawed at him.
He stayed crouched for a full fifteen minutes. His "subordinates" grew restless. What the hell was this new leader doing?
No one dared speak—except one.
As expected, Balk stepped forward.
"Hey, how long are we waiting? We've got the signal! Why aren't we going in?"
The voice broke Lyle's thoughts. He fought the urge to strangle him, forcing a weak smile.
"Well then… why don't you lead the way?"
"Follow me!"
Balk, thinking Lyle was afraid, smirked with contempt. He waved his men forward and pushed through the door.
Lyle's frown deepened. His instincts were right. Something was wrong. But his men were already entering. A cold smile touched his lips.
But… wasn't someone already clearing the path for him?
Balk led his men inside. Only one clear path was open—the rest blocked by debris.
He didn't care. He moved forward, reaching the central cleared area.
A campfire burned in the center. Beside it, a human-shaped figure sat with head bowed, back turned. Around it, about twenty sleeping mats, bulging in the dim light, vaguely human-shaped.
Balk signaled. He approached the figure while the others moved toward the mats.
He slowly drew his machete, stepped forward. His cautious look turned cruel. He kicked the figure hard in the back.
"Wake up, idiot!"
The shout echoed through the mall.
—Thud!
No scream. Just silence.
Balk froze, eyes wide with horror.
The "person" he'd kicked wasn't a man. It was a dummy—made of blankets and wooden frames.
He looked at his men. As they pulled back the covers, they found only trash and junk.
"We've been tricked!"
Even the dumbest understood. They'd walked into a trap. His arrogance vanished. He spun and sprinted for the exit, screaming:
"Run! Get out of here!"