The black Navara rumbled down the desolate road, its tires crunching over debris and the occasional discarded piece of luggage. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long, ominous shadows across the abandoned streets of Olongapo.

Inside the truck, there was silence—not the comfortable kind, but the kind that pressed against the chest like a weight.

Ric kept his eyes on the road, scanning every alleyway, every side street, every rusting, motionless car. The city, once alive with honking tricycles, rushing pedestrians, and the occasional street vendor shouting about balut or fish balls, was now eerily still.

Sam sat in the backseat, her bow resting across her lap. She was the first to break the silence.

"Dad," she said, her voice uncertain. "Are we gonna make it to Subic Bay?"

Ric glanced at her in the rearview mirror. She was trying to sound tough, but he saw the tightness in her jaw, the way her fingers twitched over her bowstring.

"We're gonna do everything we can," he answered firmly.

Teo, who had been quietly staring out the window, turned to him. "How will we know if the Navy is really there?"

"We won't," Ric admitted. "Not until we get there."

Teo frowned but didn't press further.

For a while, the only sound was the soft hum of the engine and the occasional rustling as Cat adjusted her seatbelt.

Then Sam spoke again. "I was thinking... if we ever get to a safe zone, do you think people like us—people who know how to survive—will be more valuable?"

Ric let out a short breath, considering his answer. "Knowledge is the key to survival," he finally said. "It's not just about having weapons or a strong shelter. It's about knowing how to find food, how to purify water, how to stay quiet when you need to. The people who adapt... they're the ones who make it."

Sam nodded, absorbing his words.

Teo hesitated, then asked, "Dad... can you teach me how to shoot?"

Ric tightened his grip on the wheel. He had been waiting for this question ever since the fight at the compound. His son had watched them battle the infected. He had handed Sam her arrows like a soldier resupplying a sniper. And now... now he wanted to be able to fight, too.

Ric exhaled, glancing at Cat. She gave him a small nod.

"Soon, when we have the time," Ric said. "I'll show you."

They were approaching The Jungle—a stretch along Rizal Avenue near the James L. Gordon Memorial Hospital. Ric knew the area well. Too well.

It was once the city's busiest route, packed with jeeps, motorcycles, and pedestrians. At night, the neon signs of karaoke bars and small eateries would glow, and people would pour into the streets, laughing and drinking.

Now, the road was clogged with abandoned vehicles. Many had smashed windows, doors left wide open as if their owners had fled in a hurry. Blood smeared the walls of some buildings, and the air carried a stench that made Ric's stomach turn.

Beside him, Cat was gripping the door handle tightly. Ric knew why.

"This place... I used to walk here every day," she murmured.

She had worked at the hospital just a few blocks away. Now, it loomed ahead like a dark monolith, its windows shattered, the entrance gates torn open.

Ric slowed the truck, eyes darting around. "Keep watch," he said.

Sam shifted, readying her bow. Teo swallowed hard but did as he was told.

They passed a burned-out police vehicle. Its doors hung open, bullet holes riddling the sides. A body in a tattered uniform lay half out of the passenger side, its skin gray and lifeless.

The truck crept forward, the tension inside thick enough to cut.

Then, Cat spoke. "YBC."

Ric followed her gaze to the left.

YBC Supermarket.

The building was mostly intact, its glass windows still standing—a rare sight in this city of broken things.

"We should stock up," Cat said. "We don't know when we'll have another chance."

Ric hesitated, then nodded. "Alright. But Sam and I will go in. You and Teo stay in the truck."

Cat frowned. "Are you sure? I can help."

"I need you to keep an eye out," Ric said. "If something goes wrong, you drive. No hesitation."

Cat looked like she wanted to argue, but she nodded. "Fine. Just... be quick."

Ric gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before stepping out of the truck.

Sam followed, adjusting her quiver. She exhaled, shifting into her focused, battle-ready mindset.

Ric checked his rifle. Sam readied an arrow.

They approached the entrance.

The glass doors stood eerily still, reflecting their wary figures.

Silent. Dark.

And waiting.

* * *

The glass doors of YBC Supermarket stood eerily still, smeared with grime and dust, yet surprisingly unbroken. A rare thing in this city of shattered windows and broken lives.

Ric pulled the door open slowly, his rifle at the ready. The air inside was thick with the scent of rot—spoiled produce, sour milk, the unmistakable coppery tang of dried blood. The dim emergency lights flickered above, casting long, distorted shadows along the aisles.

Sam followed closely behind him, her bow gripped tightly in her hands. She exhaled softly, steadying herself.

The store had been ransacked. Shelves lay toppled, bags of rice torn open, and shattered glass from broken liquor bottles crunched underfoot. The meat section was a disaster, the once-frozen cuts now reduced to maggot-infested sludge.

They moved cautiously, their footsteps careful against the debris-strewn tiles.

"Stay close," Ric whispered, his voice barely audible.

Sam nodded.

They made their way toward the canned goods aisle. Ric's experienced eyes scanned for anything useful—canned meats, beans, soups. The MREs from his father were good, but they needed more variety.

Then, a sound.

A shuffle.

Ric froze.

Sam heard it too. Her grip tightened around her bow.

Ric slowly raised his rifle and turned toward the noise.

At the end of the aisle, three men stood.

They weren't infected.

They were worse.

The man in the center stood with a deceptive ease, wearing a black tactical vest marked "PULIS" across the chest. He was thick-necked, his grizzled face carved with old scars. A pistol rested lazily on his hip, but his eyes—sharp, calculating—were the real weapon.

To his left, a wiry man with sunken cheeks leaned on a machete strapped to his side. His smile was too wide, too eager, like a scavenger waiting for scraps.

The third man, shorter but built like a slab of meat, gripped a baseball bat crusted with something dark. He tapped it against his palm, his gaze lingering on Sam.

Predators.

"G'afternoon," the ex-cop greeted, his voice dripping with false warmth. He took a slow step forward, his boots crunching over shattered glass. "Didn't expect to see anyone civilized out here."

Ric kept his rifle leveled, his stance solid. "Just passing through."

The ex-cop nodded, feigning understanding. "Yeah? Looking for supplies, I take it?"

Ric didn't answer.

The wiry man with the machete grinned. "You military?"

Ric shook his head.

The ex-cop raised an eyebrow. "You handle that rifle like you are."

Ric remained silent.

The man's gaze flicked to Sam. Something dark flickered behind his eyes.

"Your daughter?"

Ric's blood ran cold.

"Yes."

The ex-cop smirked. "Brave kid. Hard to find young ones these days."

Sam stiffened.

The man with the bat took a slow step forward. "It's dangerous out here," he mused. "A pretty young girl like her... lotta bad people around."

Ric's grip on his rifle tightened. His heartbeat pounded in his ears.

The wiry man chuckled. "You know, a group passed through here yesterday. Said they were heading to Subic Bay. Just like you, maybe?"

Ric kept his face unreadable.

"They didn't make it."

Silence.

The ex-cop smiled. A predator's smile.

"I bet," Ric said evenly.

A long pause.

Then, the man with the bat let out a slow chuckle. "I like this guy," he muttered. "Got some balls."

The ex-cop smirked. "Yeah."

Then he asked:

"Where you coming from?"

Ric didn't answer.

The machete man's grin widened. "Where you headed?"

Again, Ric stayed silent.

The ex-cop sighed, shaking his head like a disappointed teacher. "See, that's not very friendly." He took a slow step forward. "We could all help each other out. You got supplies. We got protection."

Ric knew where this was going.

And they knew he knew.

The air thickened.

The ex-cop's hand drifted toward his pistol.

Ric's finger tightened around the trigger.

Then—

The machete man lunged.

Ric moved on instinct, yanking his Glock 19 from his holster.

One shot—BANG!

The machete man staggered back, clutching his throat, choking on his own blood. He collapsed, his body twitching.

The man with the bat roared, swinging at Ric's skull—

BANG!

A bullet between the eyes.

His body dropped like a sack of meat.

The ex-cop had his pistol raised—

Too slow.

BANG!

A clean shot to the forehead.

The ex-cop fell backward, dead before he hit the ground.

Silence.

Ric stood there, Glock still raised, his breath ragged, his hands steady but his mind reeling.

Sam was frozen, her wide eyes locked on the bodies.

For the first time, Ric felt it—the weight of killing a living, breathing human.

Not infected.

People.

But if he hadn't...

He clenched his jaw, swallowing down whatever guilt tried to surface. This was survival.

Their world had just changed forever.

And there was no turning back.