The forsaken city held its breath.
General Sinn stood exposed but partially shielded by the armored vehicle, his scarred face set in a grim line. "We are not looking for a fight," he called again, voice carrying across the cracked street like a challenge.
The silence that answered felt alive, thick, watchful, and heavy with the weight of people who had learned that quiet kept them breathing.
Then a rough, gravelly voice drifted from the shadowed buildings ahead.
"Hello."
"Can you hear me?" Sinn raised his voice.
"We need food," the voice replied. "We know you're from the zombie city."
"We don't have food," Sinn replied.
A fresh volley of arrows hissed through the air and clattered uselessly against the armored plating of both vehicles. Sinn stayed low. The barrage lasted a full minute before stopping.
"Say that again, son of a bitch." The voice had shifted from negotiating to something with more edge. "You think we're fools?"
