They could clearly see the Vipers on the horizon, a cluster of armed figures outside a fortified warehouse. As the truck drew closer, a man in the group raised a hand, and the others lowered their weapons. Then, to Maarg's utter shock, the man at the main gate unlocked it and swung the heavy metal doors wide open, without any further questions.
According to Maarg, this was a stupid move, opening your main doors just because you see someone you recognise and respect. He and Jack could have been planning with the man-eaters to ambush them, a grim thought that made his blood run cold. But he guessed Cobra could be lenient. There was a reason for all of this, a very personal reason. It wasn't about the supplies or a simple transaction. It was because he had Sammy. Cobra had Sammy.
Carla brought the truck to a gentle stop just inside the open gates. The Vipers closed the doors behind them, sealing the group inside the compound.
As the group got out of the truck, they were met by a pair of armed guards who motioned them toward a makeshift building. A sign, crudely painted on a sheet of metal, read: "Inspection Chamber."
Inside, the group was subjected to a methodical search. The guards, wearing hasmat suits with no warmth in their eyes, checked for any bites or signs of infection, their gloved fingers probing along necks and arms. Their bags were emptied, their contents sifted through for any trace of infected blood or anything that may cause an infection.
Maarg's irritation was clear on his face. He had never been inspected like this on his previous visits to the Vipers' base.
As though seeing his irritation, one of the guards explained, "It's a normal procedure for anyone who has been out for a mission for over a week."
A whole week, huh? Maarg thought. It felt like a month. He found himself mentally replaying the events, a blur of chaos and near-death experiences. There was the harrowing fight with the anomaly he'd dubbed "Charity," a battle that had felt like a descent into madness. He remembered the whole saga of burning down the man-eaters' base and the relief of rescuing Carla. Then, the gut-wrenching pain of the tragedy of Tara and Mark, a loss that still felt fresh. And finally, the brief, beautiful memory of the peaceful day at the whispering falls, a small moment of normalcy in all the chaos.
A full week of non-stop fear, fighting, and loss. A week of living on a knife's edge. Now that they were here, the adrenaline was beginning to ebb, leaving him with a profound weariness. They had survived so much. He looked at Gabby, Jack, and Carla. They had all survived. Now, it might be the time to take it easy for a bit.
About half an hour later, the group was cleared. The guards gave them a curt nod, a sign that they were free to go. Stepping out of the inspection chamber was like walking onto a stage. A big crowd of people were waiting for them, their cheers a deafening sound in the open-air compound. And in the front, standing straight with a warm smile on his face, was the man himself: Cobra.
Without any hesitation, Carla broke away from the group. She didn't walk, she ran into his waiting arms. Cobra embraced her, his expression a mix of relief and adoration. He kissed her on her forehead, a tender gesture that was completely at odds with his formidable reputation.
Cobra's gaze then swept over the group, his smile faltering slightly as he counted the members. "Thank you for saving my dear Carla," he said, his voice deep and sincere. "You must have had a difficult journey, seeing it's just you two remaining from the original team." He then held up a hand. "Everyone," he called out, "let's have a moment of silence to respect their fallen comrades."
Maarg, Jack, and Gabby shared a quick glance, their faces a mix of awkwardness and exhaustion. All three had a weak smile on their faces, but inside they all felt that this was all cliche and cringey, like having a feast after a group of heroes just rescued a princess. The moment was a jarring collision between their brutal reality and Cobra's theatrical sense of celebration.
He lowered his hand and looked at them again. "Let's have a grand feast for your bravery, young men!"
Just like that, the grand feast began.
***
The boisterous crowd was left behind, and the group was led into a small, quiet room off to the side. The air was heavy with a tension that no amount of celebration could dispel. The door opened again, and a young woman who was holding a book was escorted in. It was Sammy. She walked with a slow, deliberate pace, her eyes wide and glassy, but completely emotionless. There was no flicker of recognition, no sign of relief. She was a ghost at her own rescue party.
Everyone was now sitting at a large, wooden table, and the feasting began. The meal was simple: canned beans, bread, and mashed potatoes. Nothing great, yet in the middle of an apocalypse, it felt like a royal meal.
The room was filled with an oppressive silence. The only sounds were the soft clinking of silverware against plates and the muted chewing. The weak smiles that Maarg, Jack, and Gabby had put on were now gone, replaced by expressions of concern and confusion as they watched their friend. The air was thick with unanswered questions, with the feeling that they were all sitting at a lie. This was not a celebration, but an ordeal, a reunion with a stranger who wore their friend's face. The silence stretched on, a palpable thing in the small room, more terrifying than any zombie horde.
The soft clinking of silverware on plates seemed impossibly loud in the small room. The oppressive silence stretched on, everyone avoiding the obvious, the gaping chasm where Sammy's personality should have been.
Jack was the first to break it. He placed his fork down gently and spoke, his voice soft, a fragile attempt at normalcy. "Sammy... that's a nice book you got there, what's it about?"
Sammy didn't look up from her plate. She held the book, its worn leather cover strangely out of place, but she didn't open it. Her voice was flat, without inflection or emotion. "Historia Plantarum," she said. "It's a book about the history of different plants and their uses."
A pang of sadness hit Jack, sharp and swift. The words were hers, but the voice was that of a stranger, a tour guide describing a building she had no connection to. He looked around, his eyes searching for answers. His gaze went from Cobra, who watched him with a faint, unreadable smile, to Carla, who was sitting beside him, her gaze on her plate as if she were trying to disappear. The man was a warden, not a savior. Jack's hands were gripping his knees under the table, clenching and unclenching in silent frustration. He felt a profound sense of loss, a chilling realization that whatever they had saved their friend from, they had not gotten all of her back.