Hours passed with little incident until they came upon the skeletal remains of what had once been a vibrant neighborhood. Houses were toppled, streets cracked and buckled. The world felt abandoned, but Kev's instincts warned him otherwise.
"Hold up," he whispered, raising a hand.
Ahead, flickers of movement caught his eye — shadows moving unnaturally, too quick, too silent. From the corner of the broken street, figures emerged, ragged and desperate. Survivors.
The group tensed. Hunger and fear twisted their faces, eyes darting wildly, hands clutching whatever weapons they had — broken pipes, rusty knives, makeshift clubs.
One of the survivors, a woman with dirt-smeared cheeks and a wild look in her eyes, stepped forward. "Please… we mean no harm," she said, voice shaking. "Are you… survivors too?"
Kev nodded cautiously. "We are. We're just trying to get somewhere safe."
Behind her, more figures appeared — families, lone wanderers, all clutching to whatever hope remained.
