"By the way, you all look quite young," Martin said, his weathered face creasing into a concerned frown as he studied our group while we walked. "Are you all high schoolers? And traveling alone?"
I could understand his confusion. From an outsider's perspective, we must have looked like an odd bunch—me, Elena, and Christopher were clearly still teenagers. Rachel, at best, could pass for a college student. Yet here we were, armed and moving through infected territory with a coordination that spoke of experience far beyond our years.
And we obviously weren't siblings. Our different builds, facial features, and the way we interacted made it clear we were just a group of young people who'd somehow found each other in this hellscape. No parents, no older guardians—just kids trying to survive in a world that had gone completely insane.
