CHAPTER LII
I began moving slowly, placing my steps carefully over the cool, dew-kissed grass. Each blade bent under my weight, whispering underfoot like they were trying to warn me. The gunfire was still echoing behind me — sharp, sudden cracks that shattered the night — but I forced myself not to flinch.
I had to stay calm.
One wrong step, one moment of panic, and everything could fall apart — not just for me, but for everyone still hiding, still hoping, still bleeding behind the broken pillars of that house.
I gripped my sword tighter, holding it between my teeth now so I could use both hands to move through the thick brush. My eyes scanned every crevice of the house's exterior, searching for anything — a window, a door, a broken vent. Anything that might let me inside.
And then… I saw it.
A cracked wall. Barely visible in the shadows.
Not a door. Not an entrance.
Just a flaw in the architecture. A fracture in time.
Exactly what I needed.
I inched closer, careful not to disturb any loose gravel or dead leaves beneath me. My heart was racing now — not out of fear, but out of the pure, reckless adrenaline that comes when you're seconds away from risking everything.
I took the sword out of my mouth, slung it onto my back, and with a deep breath — I leapt.
Through the crack.
Through the unknown.
Landing hard on the floor inside with a roll that knocked the air out of my lungs.
And then… I froze.
Because what I saw?
Wasn't what I expected.
It wasn't zombies.
It wasn't even grown men with rifles.
It was… girls.
A whole group of them.
Teenagers. Maybe in their twenties. Young. Dressed in torn combat gear. Some had braids. Others wore bandanas and camouflage jackets. But every single one of them was armed — rifles, handguns, even makeshift explosives — and they were firing relentlessly through slits in the wall, aiming at my team outside.
My chest tightened.
These weren't monsters.
They were survivors.
And they were terrified.
I scanned the room until my eyes locked on one of them — the one giving orders, the one whose voice rose just a little louder than the rest. The leader.
Without thinking, I charged.
Before she could register my presence, I was behind her — my sword pressed cold against her neck, my voice sharp, commanding:
> "Drop your weapons! All of you! NOW!"
Everything stopped.
Time froze.
And in an instant, twenty guns turned toward me.
The click of triggers, the rising tension — all of it collided in one breathless moment.
I should've been terrified.
But I wasn't.
Because just as their eyes widened in alarm, just as they prepared to fire — my team arrived.
Like shadows from the smoke, they burst through the broken entrance behind me.
Looka grabbed one of the girls and disarmed her in a flash.
Elisa kicked a weapon out of another's hand.
Alex charged in, still carrying Aliyana but with fire in his eyes, and Mahi was already on the ground, sliding across the floor to knock two rifles out of reach.
Within seconds — it was over.
The girls were surrounded. Disarmed. Breathing heavily, staring at us with wide eyes filled with a mix of fear, fury, and confusion.
I kept my sword steady on the leader's neck, whispering just loud enough for her to hear:
> "We're not your enemies. But if you'd kept shooting, we would've had to become them."
She blinked.
Hard.
Like she was waking up from a nightmare she had been trapped in for too long.
And in that moment — as our blades lowered, as the guns hit the floor, as the dust settled — something changed.
No more bullets.
No more threats.
Just two broken teams of survivors…
Trying to remember how to trust again.
> Because in this world… sometimes, the real war isn't between the living and the dead. It's between the broken and the hopeful. Between those who still have something to lose… And those who are just too scared to believe they ever will again.
We were all exhausted — breathless from the fight, soaked in sweat, and trembling with the aftershocks of survival. None of us had slept in days. We hadn't even had a moment to think, to breathe, to feel human again.
So once the girls' team was disarmed and gathered in a corner under our watch, we let ourselves finally sit down. Not to celebrate. Not to rest. But simply to stop moving — if only for a minute.
The heavy silence was broken not by another bullet, but by a voice.
A voice that froze me where I sat.
> "Sam?" it called from the darkness of the hallway. "Is that you? Is it really you?"
It was male — older, cracked with age, but unmistakably familiar.
I turned.
And there he stood.
A man, dressed in what remained of a doctor's coat — now frayed and dust-covered, but still carrying the weight of the past. His hair was white, his frame thinner than I remembered, but those eyes… those eyes hadn't changed.
They still held the same intensity.
The same truth.
And the same secrets.
My stomach twisted. My pulse began to race — not from fear, but something colder. Deeper. Something that reached into the darkest corners of my past and pulled everything I had buried to the surface.
Alex noticed my expression instantly.
> "Sam," he whispered, stepping beside me. "Who is he?"
Aliyana, still wincing from her injury, leaned forward and said softly,
> "Yeah… Sam, how does he know you?"
Elisa's voice was sharper, more direct.
> "If he knows you, that means we can stay here, right? That means we're safe?"
Before I could respond, Looka muttered under his breath to her,
> "Let's figure out if Sam even knows him before you start planning pillow fights and sleepovers."
Mon's voice was softer, more concerned.
> "Sam… who is he?"
And then came Mahi, sitting close to me, her brows furrowed in worry.
> "Say something, Sam. Please…"
Aarvi's voice echoed like the last drop of tension that broke the silence:
> "Sam. Tell us. What's going on?"
But I couldn't hear them anymore.
Their voices had become faint, muffled — like they were underwater, distant, unreal.
All I could feel was the chill.
That sharp, cold wind that ghosted against my throat like fingers brushing over old scars. My skin turned pale, my breath caught in my throat, and my entire body tensed.
That man…
He shouldn't have been here.
He couldn't have been here.
And yet… he was.
> "You…" I finally breathed out, my voice almost trembling. "You're here?"
He smiled — not kindly, but not cruelly either. Just… tired.
> "Sam," he said quietly, "This life of mine — this survival — it's because of you. You saved me once. And now… I can return the favor."
He stepped forward slowly, his hands raised in peace.
> "I can let you stay here. Two months, no questions asked. No guns, no threats. No one will harm you here. This place is safe. For you, Sam… and your people."
The others turned to me, their faces slowly changing — from confusion to hope.
Relief washed over them like sunlight after a storm.
> "Two months?" Alex asked, surprised. "That's enough time for Aliyana to heal."
> "We actually get to rest?" Elisa said, half-laughing.
> "That's… amazing," Mahi breathed.
Mon gently touched my hand and whispered,
> "It's okay, Sam. You don't have to speak. If we're safe… that's enough."
And so, I didn't stop them.
I didn't say no.
I let them have this moment of peace, of gratitude.
But inside me?
There was no peace.
Because behind that man's smile — behind his soft-spoken offer — I knew what lay hidden.
The truth.
The truth I had buried.
The truth I had never spoken.
The truth I had sworn would never come out — not to Mon, not to Alex, not to any of them.
That man knew it.
That man held it.
And now he was here.
A ghost in a doctor's coat.
A memory I had tried to forget.
> And though everyone was smiling around me, though laughter returned to our group for the first time in days…
I was terrified.
Terrified that this safe house wasn't safe at all.
Not for me.
Not from the past.
Because what if this kindness… was just the beginning of a deeper unraveling?
What if this peace… was only the calm before the real storm?
> What if the truth I had buried so long ago was about to rise again…
And take everything from me?
To be continued....