Just when they thought the worst was behind them, the sky burned red again.
It wasn't zombies this time.
No groans. No mindless chaos. Just the cold, calculated roar of engines, the crackle of fire, and the scream of war cries from beyond the gates.
Another camp had found them. And they didn't come to talk.
This wasn't survival against the dead—this was war among the living.
Asharab stood frozen for a moment, the scent of smoke thick in the air, as explosions echoed through the colony. His hand instinctively reached for Habiba's. The peace they built was shattered in seconds. Now, they weren't just fighting to survive...
They were fighting to defend everything they had left.
The colony was silent, cloaked in darkness under the starless sky. Crickets chirped faintly in the distance, and soft snores echoed from the rooms where the family rested after a long day of survival.
But Asharab wasn't asleep.
He sat near the window, lost in his spiraling thoughts—worries about Habiba, his brother, the safety of his family, and the uncertain days ahead. He didn't know why he was restless, but something inside him refused to let him sleep. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was fate.
And then it happened.
The deep, guttural roar of an engine pierced the quiet night, sending a chill down his spine. He froze. The sound drew closer, rumbling just outside the colony gate. Then it stopped. Silence followed. But not the comforting kind—this one was thick and heavy with danger.
Clank.
The colony gate creaked open.
His heart dropped.
Then—click-click. He could hear the unmistakable sound of weapons being reloaded. His breath caught in his throat.
Without a second's delay, Asharab sprang to his feet, his mind sharper than ever. He ran to the bedrooms and gently but urgently shook everyone awake.
"Wake up. Quiet. Now," he whispered.
One by one, they stirred—confused but trusting. He moved them swiftly to a hidden room, dark and silent.
He handed a pistol to his father. "Stay in here. Don't make a sound."
His father gripped the gun with shaking hands. "What's your plan?"
Asharab's voice was calm but firm. "To protect you all. Whatever it takes."
Then he dashed out, barefoot and determined. He sprinted to his brother's house next door, where the colony's sniper also lived.
He knocked three times, fast and quiet.
The door opened. His brother's eyes widened in alarm.
"Trouble?"
Asharab nodded. "Get your rifle. You—" he pointed at the sniper—"on the terrace. You—" he motioned to his brother—"hide behind the corner buildings. We take them by surprise."
No questions were asked. They moved like ghosts in the night.
Minutes later, the sniper positioned himself on the terrace, eyes fixed on the gate, finger resting on the trigger.
Then he shouted, "Who's there?!"
A voice shouted back mockingly, "Step aside. We want all of you. Alive or dead makes no difference."
Without warning, a barrage of bullets rained up toward the terrace. But the sniper was well hidden, the bullets ricocheting harmlessly off the concrete.
Asharab and his brother used the distraction. They crept around the sides of the buildings. Asharab could see their silhouettes now—armed men, scanning the area.
Suddenly—
"Now," Asharab whispered.
They burst from cover, guns blazing. The first two enemies didn't even see it coming—dropped dead before they could react. But a third managed to roll to safety and opened fire.
Click.
Asharab ducked. He was out of bullets.
So was his brother.
The third man raised his gun again, smirking—until his head snapped back with a silent pop and he dropped.
The sniper had saved them again. He gave a small nod from above.
But their moment of relief shattered—five more enemies charged through the gate, fully armed, fast, and furious.
Asharab ducked, swore, and pulled his brother behind cover. But before they could react, the sniper took two of them out with perfect headshots. The others scattered, trying to avoid the unseen threat.
And then, a shadow leaped out from behind a pillar—a massive man with bloodlust in his eyes. He lunged straight at Asharab.
They collided with a heavy thud.
Asharab rolled back, winded. The man towered over him, muscles like stone, eyes burning. He turned and fought both brothers at once, fists flying like iron hammers.
Asharab tried to punch, but the man dodged and slammed him with a crushing elbow to the chest. He fell back, gasping.
His brother charged, swinging hard. But the enemy caught his arm mid-swing, twisted it, and hurled him to the ground like a rag doll.
Asharab staggered to his feet. He had no choice—he had to end this.
He stood still for a moment, watching. Timing. Calculating.
The enemy charged again.
As he swung his fist, Asharab shifted his weight and dodged with precision, then struck—a powerful combo he had practiced in training but never used in real combat.
He drove his elbow into the man's jaw, then followed with a brutal punch to his ribs, knocking the wind out of him.
His brother recovered just in time—grabbed the man's head, yanked it downward, and smashed his knee into his face.
The attacker dropped to his knees, groaning.
Asharab quickly grabbed a rope from nearby and tied him to a chair, yanking the knots tight.
"Stay here and bleed."
When the brothers returned home, bloodied and exhausted, they just wanted water. But the moment Habiba saw Asharab—cut, bruised, chest heaving—her eyes filled with rage and panic.
She ran toward him.
Before he could say anything, she stormed past him to the tied enemy.
SLAP.
Then another. And another.
His mother joined her.
SLAP!
THWACK!
They both hit the captive harder than even Asharab or his brother had. The man's face swelled, blood dripping from his nose.
"STOP!" Asharab pulled them both back, holding them tightly. "I'm fine. Look at me. Nothing happened. I'm okay."
His mother clung to him, sobbing. Habiba, too, trembled in his arms, her fists still clenched.
Then—out of nowhere—his sister-in-law appeared, wild with anger, and landed a punch that made the man's head snap back.
Asharab chuckled despite the pain. "Alright, that's enough. I promise, we're safe. Let's find out who he is."
The women hesitated… then nodded and walked back, still furious.
Asharab and his brother dragged the chair up to the terrace.
"Wake him up."
A slap did the trick.
The man groaned, eyes barely open.
"Talk," Asharab said coldly.
No response.
Asharab picked up a metal rod, lit a fire, and held the rod in the flames until it turned red-hot. He walked over slowly, eyes locked on the enemy.
He brought the glowing tip inches from the man's eye.
The man screamed. "OKAY! OKAY! I'LL TALK!"
Asharab stopped.
"We came from the dairy farm camp. We were ordered to destroy your colony. We've been watching ever since you cleared this place of zombies. Someone wants it back."
Asharab frowned. "Who?"
"I don't know the name… just the order. Kill and take everything."
Suddenly—BANG.
A gunshot echoed in the night.
Asharab turned—his brother had shot the man in the head.
"He talked enough."
Asharab sighed. "We'll never get the whole truth if we keep doing that."
But there was no time to argue.
They burned the bodies at the edge of the colony, the flames rising high against the darkness. Then they parked the enemy's car, stripped it of weapons, and locked everything away in a separate safe house.
Back at home, the family waited, quiet and shaken.
Asharab collapsed onto a cushion. His mother brought him milk, honey, and herbal remedies.
"You need to rest," she said, cupping his face.
"I will. Soon."
Later that night, under a calmer sky, Asharab, Habiba, and his best friend sat on the rooftop, watching the stars.
For a moment, it felt like peace.
Asharab leaned back, arms folded behind his head. "We survived tonight."
Habiba rested her head on his shoulder. "But for how long?"
His best friend smirked. "Long enough for me to finish that weird canned spaghetti we found."
Asharab laughed. "That's the real motivation."
They sat in silence for a while. Then Habiba whispered, "Don't scare me like that again."
Asharab turned to her, smiled softly, and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "I'll always come back."
The wind blew gently across the rooftop as stars twinkled above, and for that brief, fragile moment—they were just people again.
Not survivors. Not warriors.
Just a family beneath the night sky.