Liam finally realized what had been bothering him. From the moment these people emerged, something felt off, though he couldn't quite pinpoint it. Now, with the situation deteriorating, it clicked—the issue lay in their emotional demeanor. These individuals were deceptive in appearance: a seemingly ordinary young Black man, a neatly groomed man resembling a corporate professional, a potbellied middle-aged man, an elderly man, and a tattooed guy. Clearly, before the apocalypse, they weren't a cohesive group. Diverse backgrounds had forced them together. But that was all—forced proximity without genuine unity. Their personalities differed, and they weren't well-acquainted. How could they have conspired to harm others? Even Liam couldn't orchestrate such a scheme with his group, if he proposed harming innocents, Laura would certainly object, and due to her influence, Old Mike and Jason would likely dissent as well. Robby, of course, wouldn't agree, and Manila would support Liam. Christine might waver. So, Liam's initial impression was that they were harmless, but something felt wrong—their emotions. They exuded a peculiar, suppressed tension. They lacked the excitement typically seen when survivors encounter others. Except for Brook, the rest seemed uniformly subdued. If one person isn't excited, it could be personality; if the entire group isn't, it suggests a conspiracy. What were they suppressing? Liam sensed it but hadn't connected the dots, mainly because he hadn't considered a threat.
"Drop your weapons!" Brook repeated, seeing the group's silence, jabbing the gun into Liam's head, forcing him to jerk his head violently.
"No, mmm!" Christine, held hostage, cried out, only to have her mouth covered by the man behind her. She felt two deadly threats: the knife at her throat and the gun pressed into her lower back. The man held her like a human shield, devoid of the earlier feigned friendliness.
Manila and the others exchanged glances, hesitant. The standoff was tense; Liam's group was clearly at a disadvantage. If a fight broke out, Christine and Liam would be the first casualties. The enemy had more people, perhaps only Robby could hold his own. The rest might not survive. But surrendering meant total vulnerability, possibly a worse outcome than a firefight.
Old Mike and Robby had stood up, hands raised. Their guns were at their backs; drawing them would be too conspicuous. There was a sliver of hope—Robby. His marksmanship was uncanny, at such close range, he could hit vital points without aiming. But he was unarmed, and with two hostages, it complicated matters. If there were only one, Robby could take out the captor with a single shot. But with two, even his speed wouldn't prevent the second captor from reacting. If Robby acted, he could only save one.
"What do you want?" Robby asked, scanning the captors.
"I want you to drop your guns. Didn't you hear me?" Brook's voice rose, mocking.
"Mmm!" Christine struggled, her head pressing against the man's chest, tears streaming from her eyes. Everyone's attention shifted to her. The man holding her had drawn a shallow cut on her neck with the knife. Liam saw it from the corner of his eye—a clear warning.
"No!" Manila shouted, her gaze snapping to Liam. The others looked at him too. Robby blinked at Liam—not a normal blink, but a signal. A signal meant action. If they were surrendering, there'd be no need for signals. Robby was ready to act. Liam's mind raced, weighing options. He subtly shook his head.
Robby acting meant sacrificing someone—either Liam or Christine. Given Liam had saved Robby multiple times and was more capable, Robby would undoubtedly choose to save Liam.
Liam was bound and pushed into the store. He realized they weren't the first captives. In the corner of the store, two people were tied up, wrists and ankles bound, mouths taped. One was a biracial girl with dark skin and braided flaxen hair, around Christine's age. The other was a towering white man, nearly sixty, with graying hair and a muscular build. His tattooed arms were as thick as Liam's thighs. They likely shared a blood relation—father and daughter or grandfather and granddaughter.
"How did Brook capture him?" Liam wondered, then chuckled at the question. Of course, with a gun. No matter how strong, bullets prevail.
Liam's group was thrown against the wall, mouths uncovered—no point in gagging them. Shouting would only attract zombies, a death sentence.
Brook's men began inspecting the vehicles. Two were working on the nearly fixed tire. The shutter was left open. Liam's group could barely see outside.
Brook stood inside, scanning the bound group with a grin. Suddenly, he raised his gun, sweeping it across each person's forehead. Everyone instinctively recoiled, including Liam. Showing too much composure might provoke Brook's ire, leading to a bullet. In this lawless world, killing was easy.
"Haha!" Brook laughed, lowering his gun. He was merely toying with them. In the corner, the tied-up man and girl remained silent. The girl hung her head, expression hidden. The old man stared intently at Brook, eyes sharp.
Brook noticed the gaze, approached, and tore the tape from the old man's mouth.
"How does it feel? Comfortable?" Brook asked mockingly.
The old man glared, then suddenly spat in Brook's face, cursing, "Scum!"
Surprisingly, Brook wasn't angry. He stepped back to avoid another spit, wiped his face, and sneered, "Dear uncle, such a temper won't serve you well."
The old man was Brook's uncle! Liam and the others were taken aback.
"Damn you! You'll die a miserable death. Don't claim to be from the Fromm family after death; we can't bear the shame!" the old man spat venomously.
Brook remained unfazed, shrugging. He looked at Liam's group, saying, "Do you like your new friends? They'll keep you company until the zombies come to feast. Oh, my poor cousin…" He glanced at the biracial girl, feigning pity. "So young, doomed to die with her rigid father."
The relationships were clear: the old man was Brook's uncle, the girl his cousin. For unknown reasons, both were bound by Brook.
At that moment, a young Black man rushed in, reporting, "Boss, the vehicles have no keys, neither of them!"
Both vehicles had been turned off per Liam's instructions, to avoid attracting zombies with engine noise, especially the loud truck.