EPISODE TWO
❝ THE NEWS ❞
TRIGGER WARNINGS || Language,, Gore,, Violence,, Death ,, Crude Humor ,, Smoking ,, NOT EDITED

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The morning light bled through the trees in a cold, pale haze, barely warming the dew-soaked forest floor. The group had woken in silence, sleep offering no real rest—just a pause from the weight pressing down on all of them.

Tommy led the way through the underbrush, machete in hand to slice away overgrowth as they trudged through the woods. Milaya followed close behind, eyes sharp, her ponytail damp with mist. Tyler walked a little apart from the group, hands in his pockets, his usual scowl etched deeper than usual. Orion lagged at the rear, arms crossed, eyes darting between the trees as if expecting the forest itself to strike.

They said little as they walked. The memory of the crash site was a phantom tug, something they all felt in the pit of their stomachs. When the twisted silhouette of the plane finally came into view, slumped against the trees like some giant, broken animal, no one said a word.

The air smelled of fuel and metal and damp earth. Bits of torn fuselage clung to the trees, glinting dully in the light.

"Alright," Tommy said, breaking the silence. "Spread out. Supplies first. Then the cockpit."

Milaya nodded and peeled off toward the broken storage compartments. Orion disappeared into the remains of the cabin, stepping over seats and debris with practiced ease. Tyler hesitated, then followed Tommy to the nose of the plane.

The cockpit was a mess. Glass shattered. Panels half-detached. Cables spilled like guts across the floor.

Tommy crouched beside the instrument panel, brushing away dirt and leaves. "Still intact, mostly," he murmured.

Tyler knelt beside him, pulling open a side panel. "Looks like the radio's here."

They both paused. Looked at each other.

Tommy reached in and carefully twisted the knobs, fingers coated in grime. Static crackled faintly.

Then—nothing.

He adjusted the frequency. Switched channels. Waited.

Still nothing.

Tyler leaned in, frowning. "Dead?"

Tommy nodded slowly. "Yeah. Fried or disconnected...it's useless."

Tyler exhaled sharply and stood, running a hand through his hair. "Perfect."

Meanwhile, Milaya emerged from the wreckage carrying a small duffel bag filled with half-crushed water bottles, a first-aid kit, and a box of granola bars. Orion followed her with a smug smirk and an armful of blankets and a flashlight.

"Good news," Milaya said, approaching. "Supplies aren't all trashed."

Tommy stood, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Bad news—radio's gone. No signal. Nothing."

Orion scoffed. "Figures."

Tyler didn't speak. He just stared off into the woods, jaw clenched. This had been his biggest doubt—and now it was confirmed.

Tommy looked at them all, his voice quiet but firm. "We're on our own."

The wind rustled through the trees like a whisper, and the wrecked plane loomed behind them, silent and cold.

As the group prepared to leave the wreckage behind, Milaya lingered near the back of the cabin, her eyes scanning every shadow, every torn scrap of fabric or paper that clung to the walls. Something told her to keep looking—just a little longer.

She stepped over a shattered seat, her boots crunching glass underfoot, and crouched near what was once the emergency kit compartment. Most of it was empty now, ransacked by the impact or looters, maybe. But something was wedged deep inside, damp and curled at the edges.

Milaya tugged it out carefully—a folded piece of laminated paper, still intact despite the chaos. She peeled it open slowly.

A map.

"Tommy," she called, her voice low but urgent.

He turned immediately, eyes narrowing as he stepped over debris toward her. "What is it?"

She held up the map and smoothed it against the side of a dented panel. "It's local. Some kind of emergency escape route printout—probably for the pilots."

Tyler and Orion were there in seconds.

Milaya's finger traced over the faded lines until she found the red you are here dot stamped in the corner. "We crashed just outside the border of this forest," she said. "Look—" she pointed lower on the map, "—there's a town. Looks like it's maybe ten miles from the crash site. Small, but it's got roads. Maybe even a radio tower."

Tommy's face lit up with a flicker of something rare: hope.

"Could be the same town Orion mentioned," Milaya added, glancing up at him.

He nodded, eyes locked on the map. "That's the one."

Tyler leaned in closer, skeptical but interested. "How accurate do you think it is?"

Milaya folded the map with care and tucked it into her jacket. "Does it matter? It's the only direction we've got."

Tommy nodded, voice steady. "Then that's where we go."

The plane creaked behind them, groaning in the wind like it was finally giving up. They didn't look back as they stepped away—just forward, toward the possibility of something that wasn't silence and wreckage.

Toward the town.

The group had stopped to rest beneath a dense canopy of trees, where the sunlight filtered through in pale, streaked columns. It was quiet but not peaceful—just enough stillness to hear the occasional snap of a twig or the distant caw of a bird circling above.

Yiseo sat on a mossy log, lips pressed tight, one ankle stretched out awkwardly in front of her. It was swollen, the skin around it already turning a sickly shade of purple-blue. She winced as Loralie knelt beside her, gently pressing around the joint with sure, careful fingers.

"You should've told someone sooner," Loralie said softly, her tone kind but edged with concern.

Yiseo scoffed lightly, trying to mask the discomfort with her usual bite. "Didn't want to add more drama to the campfire cabaret."

Loralie gave a small smile, unfazed. She opened the first aid kit, pulling out an ace bandage and beginning to wrap the ankle with practiced ease. "You don't have to pretend it doesn't hurt. This isn't a stage."

Yiseo raised an eyebrow. "What gave it away? The limp or the swelling?"

Loralie let out a quiet laugh, focused on her work. "Both."

She finished the wrap and secured it, then sat back on her heels, brushing her hands off on her pants. "You're lucky it's just a sprain. Could've been worse."

Yiseo studied her for a moment. "You know what you're doing."

"I should," Loralie replied, voice softer now. "I'm a nurse. Or...I was.. before the crash." Yiseo tilted her head slightly. "That explains the whole calm-in-a-crisis thing."

Loralie looked away for a moment, eyes flicking to the trees. "I've seen worse. Doesn't mean this isn't terrifying."

For a second, Yiseo didn't say anything. Then, quieter than usual, she murmured, "Thanks...for helping."

Loralie looked back at her, warm eyes meeting Yiseo's guarded ones. "That's what I'm here for."

And for the first time, Yiseo didn't have a witty comeback. Just a nod—and a flicker of something unfamiliar on her face.

The fire pulsed low in the center of camp, its glow painting the survivors in warm tones that didn't reach their bones. Night pressed in from the woods, heavy and cold. Most had quieted into exhaustion, scattered around in sleeping bags or slumped against packs.

Katya sat slightly apart from them, her back against a mossy log. The firelight caught the edges of her face—sharp with tension. She was hunched over a stick, clumsily sharpening it with a small knife. Her movements were jerky, impatient. Her jaw clenched, her breath shallow.

She looked thinner than she had before the crash—except for the slight curve of her stomach beneath her jacket, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it.

Danny was. He watched her from across the flames, unable to look away. He hadn't said a word since she snapped at him earlier that day. But something about the way she was moving now—shaky, angry, worn down—pulled him forward like a hook in his chest.

He crouched beside her, careful not to get too close. "You shouldn't be straining like that."

Katya didn't look up. The knife scraped across the wood again. "I'm pregnant, not made of glass."

"I didn't mean—" He swallowed the rest. "I just meant you could rest. Let someone else—"

Her head jerked up, eyes gleaming, voice low and bitter. "Someone else wasn't there when everything fell apart."

Danny froze, heart thudding.

"You think you get to swoop in now, just because we fell out of the sky together?" she hissed. "You weren't there when I woke up sick every morning. When I cried so hard I couldn't breathe. When I thought I was going crazy trying to decide if I was going to keep it. You don't get to act like any of this is yours."

His face twisted, pain flashing in his eyes. "I didn't even know, Katya."

"That's the point!" she snapped, voice cracking. "I didn't tell you. Because I knew you'd say all the right things. That you'd mean well. And it would still feel wrong. Because you weren't there from the start. And now?" She let out a ragged breath. "Now you're just a reminder of everything I've already survived."

Danny didn't answer. His hands hung uselessly at his sides, like he didn't know what to do with them. Like he wanted to reach out, but didn't dare.

Katya looked down at the stick in her lap. Her knuckles were white around it. The knife had stopped moving.

"I'm doing this alone," she said quietly. "Not because I want to. But because I have to."

And with that, she stood, walking away from the fire and the noise and him. The stick dropped from her hand as she disappeared into the darkness.

Danny stared at where she'd been, throat tight, heart heavier than it had ever been. He'd always thought their silence was temporary.

Now, he wasn't so sure.

The morning was gray and heavy with mist, curling between the trees like breath from something asleep and ancient. Birds called somewhere overhead, distant and restless. The forest felt tighter now—like it knew they didn't belong.

Avalon sat on a moss-slicked rock just outside the camp's edge, legs crossed, hoodie pulled up despite the damp. She held her lighter with shaky fingers, the flick-flick-flick breaking the early silence. When the flame caught, she leaned in and lit the tip of her blunt like it was oxygen. Her fourth to last. She'd counted them over and over, each one a measure of sanity.

She took a long drag, eyes fluttering shut, the smoke curling from her lips like some kind of prayer. Her hand trembled. She didn't care if anyone saw.

"Shit," she whispered to herself. "I'm gonna lose it."

She took another hit.

Then—voices.

Branches snapped ahead. She turned her head just as Tommy, Milaya, Orion, and Tyler emerged from the trees, faces tired, clothes torn with bramble scratches, but all alive. Milaya had the map folded in her hands, and Tyler held a now-broken radio like a symbol of their luck.

Avalon stood, brushing ash from her hoodie as the group made their way toward the others.

"Any news?" Yiseo asked, limping slightly as she approached.

Tommy gave a grim shake of his head. "Radio's dead. Plane's picked clean."

"But we found a map," Milaya said, lifting it. "There's a small town about ten miles from here."

Orion nodded, eyes scanning the woods. "If we head now, we can make it before sunset."

Yiseo muttered something under her breath, but stood up. Loralie helped her.

Danny barely looked up, but his eyes flickered toward Katya, who ignored him, arms wrapped around her belly.

Avalon took one last drag, then crushed the blunt beneath her boot like it owed her something. "Well," she muttered, slinging her pack over her shoulder, "guess we're walking."

The group gathered in a loose line, everyone weary, silent, but moving. The forest opened ahead of them like a throat, dark and unknown. Behind them, smoke from the dying campfire drifted lazily into the mist.

No one looked back.

The morning was gray and heavy with mist, curling between the trees like breath from something asleep and ancient. Birds called somewhere overhead, distant and restless. The forest felt tighter now—like it knew they didn't belong.

Avalon sat on a moss-slicked rock just outside the camp's edge, legs crossed, hoodie pulled up despite the damp. She held her lighter with shaky fingers, the flick-flick-flick breaking the early silence. When the flame caught, she leaned in and lit the tip of her blunt like it was oxygen. Her fourth to last. She'd counted them over and over, each one a measure of sanity.

She took a long drag, eyes fluttering shut, the smoke curling from her lips like some kind of prayer. Her hand trembled. She didn't care if anyone saw.

"Shit," she whispered to herself. "I'm gonna lose it."

She took another hit.

Then—voices.

Branches snapped ahead. She turned her head just as Tommy, Milaya, Orion, and Tyler emerged from the trees, faces tired, clothes torn with bramble scratches, but all alive. Milaya had the map folded in her hands, and Tyler held a now-broken radio like a symbol of their luck.

Avalon stood, brushing ash from her hoodie as the group made their way toward the others.

"Any news?" Yiseo asked, limping slightly as she approached.

Tommy gave a grim shake of his head. "Radio's dead. Plane's picked clean."

"But we found a map," Milaya said, lifting it. "There's a small town about ten miles from here."

Orion nodded, eyes scanning the woods. "If we head now, we can make it before sunset."

Yiseo muttered something under her breath, but stood up. Loralie helped her.

Danny barely looked up, but his eyes flickered toward Katya, who ignored him, arms wrapped around her belly.

Avalon took one last drag, then crushed the blunt beneath her boot like it owed her something. "Well," she muttered, slinging her pack over her shoulder, "guess we're walking."

The group gathered in a loose line, everyone weary, silent, but moving. The forest opened ahead of them like a throat, dark and unknown. Behind them, smoke from the dying campfire drifted lazily into the mist.

No one looked back.

They were back on the trail, moving slower now. The town was close—close enough to taste, but still buried in trees and uncertainty. Fatigue dragged at their heels. Tension laced every breath.

Avalon hung toward the back of the group, a blunt pressed lazily between her fingers. Her hoodie was pulled up again, smoke drifting from the shadows of her face as she took a long, practiced drag. It was her third today—rationing, but barely.

She exhaled, watching the smoke curl into the crisp air.

Ahead of her, Katya slowed. Her eyes caught the smoke, and she turned her head just enough to look—no, glare—over her shoulder. There was a flicker in her expression. Something tight and quiet. Judgment, maybe. Or something deeper.

Avalon caught it instantly.

"What?" she asked, voice dry, lifting her blunt slightly. "You've never seen someone smoke before?"

Katya said nothing, but her lip curled, disgust barely hidden. Her gaze dipped to the blunt, then back to Avalon's face—like it was poison.

Avalon smirked, but the edges of it faltered when Katya finally said, voice low and cold, "You don't know what it's like to crawl out of that and watch someone else dive back in."

For a moment, Avalon's cocky expression wavered. She blinked, startled—like Katya had ripped a curtain away.

Then she scoffed, forcing the grin back into place. "Congrats," she muttered. "Gold star for recovery."

Katya's shoulders stiffened. She didn't answer.

The group kept walking. The smoke hung in the air between them like a barrier neither one was willing to break.

The group had been walking in silence for a while, the air growing thicker with tension as the day wore on. They were all exhausted—physically, mentally—but Yiseo couldn't shake the need to stir the pot, even if just a little.

Tommy, at the front, was checking the map again, the crumpled edges already starting to fray under his fingers. He muttered something under his breath, scanning the trees, when Yiseo finally spoke up from behind him, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Still trying to lead us, huh? You really think you're the best one for the job?"

Tommy's shoulders stiffened, his head snapping toward her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Yiseo smirked, eyes narrowing. "You've been holding onto that map like it's your ticket out of here. It's cute. But I don't trust anyone who thinks they're the hero in this situation."

Tommy's jaw clenched, and he turned to face her fully. "You got a better idea, Yiseo? Because last time I checked, we're all just trying to survive. And if you want to walk around making snide comments, be my guest. But I'll lead us, and we'll keep moving forward. If you don't like it, then stay quiet."

Yiseo laughed, a short, bitter sound that echoed between them. "Oh, I love how you're all Mr. Responsible now. You think you're the only one who knows how to survive out here?"

"I don't think I'm the only one, but I do think you're too busy talking to actually do something useful."

Her eyes flashed. "Oh, I'm useful, alright. Just don't need to hear your lectures."

Tommy's chest tightened. He was close to losing it, but he wasn't about to back down now. "Look, we all want the same thing—getting out of here alive. But if you keep undermining me every step of the way, it's not gonna help any of us."

Yiseo scoffed, crossing her arms. "And you think your little pep talks are? You can lead, but you can't control me. Or anyone else for that matter."

Tommy was about to snap back when Avalon, sensing the rising tension, stepped in between them, her voice casual but cutting. "Save it for later, kiddos. The only thing that should be getting heated around here is that fire tonight." She raised an eyebrow, a wicked grin forming. "Unless you want me to get out the marshmallows."

The sudden lighthearted jab caught both of them off guard, breaking the tension just enough for Tommy to exhale sharply. He turned away, muttering under his breath, but Yiseo shot him one last look, eyes burning with a challenge.

The group had been walking in silence for a while, the air growing thicker with tension as the day wore on. They were all exhausted—physically, mentally—but Yiseo couldn't shake the need to stir the pot, even if just a little.

Tommy, at the front, was checking the map again, the crumpled edges already starting to fray under his fingers. He muttered something under his breath, scanning the trees, when Yiseo finally spoke up from behind him, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Still trying to lead us, huh? You really think you're the best one for the job?"

Tommy's shoulders stiffened, his head snapping toward her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Yiseo smirked, eyes narrowing. "You've been holding onto that map like it's your ticket out of here. It's cute. But I don't trust anyone who thinks they're the hero in this situation."

Tommy's jaw clenched, and he turned to face her fully. "You got a better idea, Yiseo? Because last time I checked, we're all just trying to survive. And if you want to walk around making snide comments, be my guest. But I'll lead us, and we'll keep moving forward. If you don't like it, then stay quiet."

Yiseo laughed, a short, bitter sound that echoed between them. "Oh, I love how you're all Mr. Responsible now. You think you're the only one who knows how to survive out here?"

"I don't think I'm the only one, but I do think you're too busy talking to actually do something useful."

Her eyes flashed. "Oh, I'm useful, alright. Just don't need to hear your lectures."

Tommy's chest tightened. He was close to losing it, but he wasn't about to back down now. "Look, we all want the same thing—getting out of here alive. But if you keep undermining me every step of the way, it's not gonna help any of us."

Yiseo scoffed, crossing her arms. "And you think your little pep talks are? You can lead, but you can't control me. Or anyone else for that matter."

Tommy was about to snap back when Avalon, sensing the rising tension, stepped in between them, her voice casual but cutting. "Save it for later, kiddos. The only thing that should be getting heated around here is that fire tonight." She raised an eyebrow, a wicked grin forming. "Unless you want me to get out the marshmallows."

The sudden lighthearted jab caught both of them off guard, breaking the tension just enough for Tommy to exhale sharply. He turned away, muttering under his breath, but Yiseo shot him one last look, eyes burning with a challenge.

When they reached the edge of the street, they came upon a small convenience store, its windows cracked and grimy. The door hung crookedly on its hinges, like it had been forced open long ago. It looked like an ideal place to scavenge for supplies, but there was something about it—something off—that made the air feel thicker as they approached.

"Let's check inside," Tommy said, his voice quiet but firm. "We need food, water—anything we can find."

There was a hesitation in the group, a collective pause before they reluctantly agreed. They entered in a loose formation, eyes scanning every corner as they stepped through the broken door.

The smell hit them first—a thick, sour stench of rot that burned their nostrils. It was overwhelming, like something had died in here a long time ago and was never properly cleared. The shelves, once stocked with goods, were now barren, and the floor was littered with shattered glass, cans, and remnants of what was once a place of business.

As they moved further into the store, the silence was oppressive, deafening. Each step felt like an eternity.

Milaya was the first to spot something useful—a shelf with cans still intact. She hurried toward it, her fingers already reaching for a few cans of beans. The others scattered as well, rummaging through the mess of scattered items, their eyes constantly darting toward the back of the store.

Then, there was a sound. A low, guttural growl, somewhere from the shadows in the back aisle.

Everyone froze.

"What the hell was that?" Tyler whispered, his body tensing as he straightened up from the shelves.

Another growl, closer this time, followed by the sound of something dragging across the floor. Then, a loud thud—like the crash of a body hitting the ground.

Orion's eyes narrowed, and he motioned for them to stay quiet, moving cautiously toward the source of the noise. They all followed, hearts racing, their every sense on edge.

As they rounded the corner, they saw it—an emaciated figure, its skin a sickly gray, its clothes torn and stained with something dark. It was hunched over a long-forgotten pile of discarded food, its head snapping up when it heard them. Its eyes were hollow and glazed over, its mouth drooling with a wet, ragged breath.

A low hiss escaped its throat, and it lurched toward them, dragging its feet with a broken, jerky motion.

Milaya's breath hitched, her eyes widening in terror. "It's one of them..."

Tommy's hand shot out, grabbing her wrist. "Get back," he hissed, pulling her behind him.

But it was too late.

The thing let out an unearthly screech, its gnarled hand reaching out toward them with unnatural speed. Tyler reacted first, kicking a nearby can toward it with a loud clang that echoed through the store. The creature faltered, momentarily distracted by the noise.

"Go!" Tommy yelled, his voice a sharp command.

They sprinted backward, their feet slipping on the debris as the creature snarled and followed, dragging itself with horrifying persistence. But it wasn't the only one.

From the shadows in the back, more figures emerged—slow, broken, and hungry.

Avalon cursed under her breath, reaching for the nearest makeshift weapon, a broken broom handle that had been abandoned on a shelf. "We need to get out, now!"

Tyler swung around, throwing a quick glance toward the door. "This way!"

They rushed toward the exit, the groan of the creature behind them growing louder, more desperate. The floor creaked, the walls seemed to close in on them, and the smell of decay intensified as they stumbled toward the open doorway.

Orion was the last to leave, glancing over his shoulder just in time to see one of the zombies lunge at him. He shoved it back with all his strength, his heart hammering as the thing's teeth snapped dangerously close.

With one final push, he was out the door, just as the others made it outside.

Breathing heavily, they took a moment to regain their bearings, the adrenaline still surging through their veins. The store, and the horrors inside, were now behind them—but only by a few feet.

The town had already begun to reveal its true nightmare.

"We need to keep moving," Tommy said, his voice rough as he wiped sweat from his forehead. "There's no time to waste."

But even as they turned to leave, they all knew—there would be no more safety, no more quiet. The world had changed, and so had they.

The group trudged through the quiet streets, the fear still clinging to them like a second skin after their first encounter with the creatures. They had no real plan, just the raw instinct to survive, and the oppressive silence of the abandoned town was starting to weigh on their nerves.

As they reached a neighborhood, the houses looked eerily normal at first glance. Some were larger, two-story homes, others smaller, older bungalows. But each one had the same eerie emptiness. The lawns were overgrown, cars sat rusting in driveways, and the mailboxes were overflowing with weeks' worth of undelivered letters. There was no sign of life. Not a single soul in sight.

Tommy was the first to stop in front of one of the houses. It was a simple two-story home with a large porch, the front door ajar. He glanced at the others, his expression grim. "We need shelter. Now."

Orion nodded, eyes scanning the surrounding area. "We don't know how long this place has been abandoned. Could be safe, or it could be filled with..." He trailed off, the rest of his words unnecessary.

Without another word, they all moved toward the house. The door creaked as they pushed it open, and the smell hit them immediately—a mixture of dust, rot, and stale air. The inside was dark, save for the faint light seeping through the grime-coated windows. Furniture was scattered around, covered in thick layers of dust. The air felt cold, lifeless.

"Anyone in here?" Avalon called out, her voice echoing in the silence.

No response.

They moved cautiously inside, one by one, and Tommy quickly shut the door behind them. "We secure this place, then we figure out what's next."

The house was small but enough for them to use as a base, at least for a while. There was a staircase leading up to the second floor, but the immediate priority was securing the ground floor.

Loralie, ever the practical one, started toward the windows, assessing their vulnerability. "We need to board these up. If they find us, it won't take long for them to break in." She didn't wait for a response, already moving toward a small pile of wood and broken furniture in the corner of the living room.

Tyler, who had been standing in the doorway, turned to the others. "I'll take the back door. We don't want them sneaking up on us from behind."

Orion went toward the kitchen, searching through the cabinets for anything useful. "I'll check for food. We'll need whatever we can find." He pulled open a drawer and rifled through it, coming up empty except for a few rusty cans of beans. Not much, but it was something.

Avalon lingered near the windows, her eyes scanning the street. "I don't like this... it's too quiet." She took a long drag from her blunt, the smoke swirling in the dim light. "I don't think we're alone here."

Milaya, still shaken from the earlier encounter, shuddered and pulled her jacket tighter around herself. "We don't know how many of those things there are. We can't stay here long."

Tommy, who had been standing near the door, turned to face the group. "We stay for now, but we secure this place. No going out unless we have to. We make this our base. Understand?"

They all nodded in agreement, the reality of their situation settling in deeper. There was no going back. The world outside had changed forever.

The night settled in, thick and heavy, as the group huddled in their temporary shelter. The only sounds in the house were the creaks of the wooden floors and the occasional rustle of the wind outside, as if the world beyond was holding its breath.

Tommy sat near the door, eyes darting back and forth between the boarded-up windows and the dark shadows stretching across the room. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was lurking out there, waiting. He had volunteered to take the first watch, his mind restless, unwilling to give in to sleep. He needed to be ready if anything—anything—came for them.

Milaya, though tired, joined him. She couldn't bring herself to sleep, either. Her thoughts raced as she looked out the cracks between the boards, her eyes flicking from one shadow to the next. She had learned from their first encounter with the infected creatures that sleep could be deadly. She stayed alert, her hand clenched around a rusted metal pipe she had found earlier. If anything tried to get in, she'd be ready.

Loralie, who had already wrapped herself in a blanket, lay on the floor nearby. Her breathing was slow and steady, though the worried frown on her face betrayed her calm exterior. Despite the exhaustion, she had offered to take the second watch, but it was clear she needed rest. "Get some sleep," Tommy had told her, and she had reluctantly obeyed, closing her eyes, though sleep didn't come easily.

Tyler and Yiseo were already asleep on the far side of the room, both curled up against the walls. Yiseo's breathing was slow, a peaceful contrast to the tension in the air. But Tommy knew that it wouldn't take much for her to wake up at the slightest noise.

Avalon, ever the chain smoker, had taken up position near the window, keeping watch in silence. She leaned against the wall, the faint glow of her cigarette the only light in the room. She didn't sleep. She hadn't slept well in days, and the constant anxiety gnawed at her from the inside. Every breath she took was tinged with dread, but she didn't mind the discomfort. It kept her sharp.

Danny, too, was awake. His gaze constantly shifted between Katya, who lay in the corner, curled up, and the door, his hands clenched into fists by his sides. His earlier confrontation with her still lingered in his chest like a weight, but now wasn't the time for that. He had to focus on surviving, not on old wounds.

Katya had finally fallen asleep, her body still and stiff as she lay under a worn blanket, her arms tightly folded across her chest. Her face was pale in the dim light, but the rise and fall of her breathing indicated that she was at least able to rest, despite the heavy weight of everything that had happened.

The house was still, too still. The kind of stillness that felt wrong. Tommy kept his hand on the makeshift weapon he had fashioned—an old broomstick with a shard of broken glass tied to the end. It was crude, but it was better than nothing.

Milaya shifted next to him, looking out the same crack in the window. "Think it'll be quiet tonight?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Tommy's gaze flickered toward her, his eyes tired but focused. "Don't count on it," he replied. His voice was steady, though his mind was racing. He'd seen the way the infected moved—slow but relentless—and he knew it wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

Outside, the wind howled louder, as if answering his words. The house creaked, and somewhere in the distance, a muffled, echoing groan reached their ears. Not a human sound. The realization hit Tommy like a punch to the gut.

He quickly turned his attention to the others. Avalon, sensing the change in the air, took another drag of her blunt, her eyes scanning the shadows outside the window. She didn't speak, but the tension in her posture said everything.

Milaya stood up quietly, moving over to Danny, who was still staring at Katya. "You should get some rest," she whispered softly, though she knew he wouldn't listen.

Danny didn't reply immediately, just shook his head, his eyes lingering on Katya. "I don't know how she does it. Just... acts like everything's normal." His voice was raw with frustration.

Milaya placed a gentle hand on his arm, her voice reassuring, even if her own fear was obvious. "We all have our ways of dealing with it."

They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of the situation settling over them. They couldn't afford to let their emotions break them now.

Tommy's voice cut through the quiet. "Alright, it's almost time for the second watch. Get some rest, Milaya. You'll need it."

She nodded reluctantly, moving over to the corner where Loralie had settled, but before she could get comfortable, she looked back at Tommy. "If anything happens—anything—we fight. We don't hesitate."

Tommy met her gaze, the unspoken understanding passing between them. "Agreed."

The night dragged on, each minute feeling like an eternity. As Tommy kept watch, the others drifted in and out of sleep. The crackling of Avalon's cigarette was the only sound besides the wind, her restless movements the only sign she wasn't fully relaxed.

But despite the effort to remain vigilant, sleep was inevitable. Slowly, one by one, the survivors succumbed to exhaustion. But it wasn't a peaceful sleep—each one of them lay with their eyes half-open, hearts racing at every sound that echoed in the house.

Outside, the shadows moved, and the growls of the infected grew louder. But for now, they were safe.

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