Two weeks had passed since Morgan and Elara stumbled into the relative sanctuary of the supermarket. Day 62 since the world fractured. Elara's left arm, scarred but functional, was finally healed. Amelia and Victor, the teenagers they'd found hiding in the basement, had become quiet shadows, helping with the monotonous tasks of survival.
Time, however, hadn't diminished the danger outside. They'd spent precious hours fashioning crude spears, lashing salvaged knife blades onto sturdy wooden mop handles. Resources were dwindling. Morgan counted the bullets left for his pistol: only nine remained. Each one felt heavier than the last.
Morgan hefted two empty backpacks. "Elara, gather every weapon we have. Everything."
Elara moved efficiently, collecting the wickedly sharp kitchen knives, heavy metal rods pried from shelving units, the newly made spears, and the weighty dagger Morgan favoured. He took them from her, distributing the arsenal methodically between the packs.
"You two," Morgan directed Amelia and Victor, his voice low and serious. "Start filling these bags with high-energy, non-perishable food. Pack light, but pack smart." The teenagers nodded silently and began raiding the organized supplies.
Elara watched Morgan
"Morgan, what is this? You told me... back at the house, you said if we made it here alive, you would stay and now you are helping me again."
Morgan paused in his packing, letting out a slow, weary breath. He avoided her gaze for a moment.
"You're planning to leave now, aren't you?" Morgan pressed softly. "To find your father."
He finally looked at her, running a hand through his already messy hair. "That wasn't the plan, no. But..." He hesitated, the words seeming to catch in his throat. "I need to know. About my sister. If she's... if she made it."
Elara's expression softened with a flicker of sadness. She sensed a deeper pain coiled within him, something raw and unspoken, but instinctively knew now wasn't the time to pry.
"Where is your father's office?" Morgan asked.
"Echo Canyon Street 4," Elara answered automatically.
Morgan processed this, calculating mentally. "Echo Canyon... By car, maybe four hours in the old world. On foot, through this..." He trailed off, the implication heavy. "Could take two, three days. Maybe longer. Assuming nothing goes wrong."
"And if we can't find a secure place to rest along the way?" Elara asked, voicing the unspoken fear that tightened her own chest.
Morgan met her gaze directly, lifting one of the now-heavy bags. His voice was flat, devoid of emotion. "Then we die."
Just then, Amelia and Victor returned, dragging the bags now bulging with supplies. Amelia hesitated, twisting her fingers nervously before finally finding her voice. "Sir... are you leaving?"
Morgan nodded curtly, his face grim. "Yes. Elara and I are going to look for our families."
"We... we want to come with you," Amelia blurted out, the words tumbling out in a rush.
Morgan frowned, shaking his head immediately. "No. Absolutely not. It's too dangerous out there. We barely got away last time one of those things attacked. I can't guarantee your safety."
Victor clenched his fists at his sides, looking down but speaking with surprising firmness. "We're not asking you to protect us, sir! We want to find our families too, find out if they're alive or... or not. We won't blame you, whatever happens. We can't just hide here forever, wondering!" He looked up then, his young face etched with a mixture of fear and desperate resolve. "We were scared, hiding in that basement. We're still scared now. But we need to know."
"Please," Amelia added, her voice thick with unshed tears.
Morgan looked from their desperate faces to Elara, whose own expression was carefully neutral, offering no guidance. He let out another heavy sigh, the sound harsh in the quiet supermarket. "Okay. Fine." His voice was tight with reluctance. "But mark my words: don't you dare blame us if things go sideways."
Visible relief washed over Amelia and Victor's faces, quickly replaced by determined smiles. "Thank you! We promise, we won't."
Morgan thrust the food bag he'd just taken back towards them. "Right. And listen carefully." His tone turned flinty. "Stay close. Always. No exceptions. If you get separated out there..." He let the chilling implication hang in the air. "Consider yourselves gone."
Amelia and Victor nodded solemnly, the brief moment of relief already overshadowed by the grim reality. Morgan retrieved weapons from his own pack, pressing a sturdy kitchen knife into Amelia's hand and giving Victor one of the crude spears. Its makeshift nature felt both pathetic and deadly.
He checked his watch again.
2:00 AM.
Morgan moved silently to the heavily barricaded front entrance, pressing his ear against the cold metal door. He strained to hear anything beyond the thumping of his own heart and the shallow breaths of the others – a distant scrape, a low moan, anything that signalled the presence of a Darkness Monster lurking nearby.
Nothing but oppressive silence.
He stepped back, a frustrated growl rumbling low in his throat. Damn it. Flying blind again. No idea what's waiting for us out there.
Steeling himself, Morgan gripped the heavy steel bar securing the door, lifted it away with a grunt, its clang echoing unnervingly in the vast space. He grasped the cold metal knob. With a final, hard glance back at the others – Elara tense and ready, Amelia and Victor wide-eyed but resolute – he turned the knob. He pulled the heavy door inward, revealing the impenetrable, Stygian blackness of the pre-dawn world outside.
"Let's move."