The basement felt like a tomb waiting to be filled.

  David led them through the gloom, past the laundry area where small ground-level windows provided weak illumination. Two partitioned areas were separated by homemade wooden screens - one secured with a padlock and metal gate, containing a workbench and neat shelves of stored goods.

  Camila moved quickly to the second area, reaching through the gate to fumble for something out of sight. She produced a key and unlocked the padlock with practiced efficiency.

  "Our stuff is in here. Mostly Sarah's camping gear and odds and ends."

  She headed straight for a shelving unit containing clear plastic tubs, backpacks, and camping equipment. After a moment of searching, she emerged with a large waterproof green medical bag marked with a white cross.

  "This is it." She handed the bag to Mark, then grabbed a larger backpack from the shelf. "Let's go."

  The dark, silent basement made everyone's skin crawl. They rushed upstairs, moving with new confidence now that they'd confirmed the immediate area was clear.

  Back in the apartment, Mark was already opening the medical bag on the kitchen table. When he unrolled it, revealing organized compartments of supplies, he grunted in satisfaction.

  "I can help her with this. Peroxide, bandages, topical antibiotics, sterile gloves, pain killers, the works. I still need nylon thread and a needle to do stitches but there are butterfly bandages at least." He looked up with the first real hope David had seen in his eyes. "Camila, help me wash up."

  Camila looked up from rummaging through the second bag she grabbed and offered him a handle wrapped with nylon fishing line. “I knew this was in here somewhere – will this do?” When Mark nodded she continued “I’ll get you a needle…”

  They scrubbed with soap and cold water, followed by hand sanitizer while they waited for a pot to boil on the camp stove with the nylon line, scissors and needles.

  Camila took over from Carl while Mark finished prepping “I’ll patch you up properly next Carl, give us some room to work on Katie first” then the two of them huddled over Katie with professional focus.

  Finally freed from bandage duty, Carl limped away from the couch. David, who had relocked the apartment and was now splashing water on his face in the bathroom was surprised to hear the other man approaching. His hands wouldn't stop shaking.

  "Look, man, I don't mean to interrupt," Carl said quietly, "but we have to get out of here. We were just attacked. This place isn't safe."

  David looked at Carl's pale face, bloody pants, and obvious fear. Before Carl could continue, David spoke.

  "We found Mrs. Lopez. She's dead. That thing killed her again, even though she was already gone." His voice came out flat. "So yes, I absolutely agree the world isn't safe. The only place that even claims to be safe is the obelisk area."

  Carl studied him for a long moment. "Don't you see? We have to get out. Out of the city entirely."

  His voice carried the weight of someone who'd seen systems fail before. "This obelisk is a death trap if all the people in all the houses come for it. We need to hide somewhere remote."

  Carl's eyes took on an intensity David hadn't seen before. "We also need weapons. You have a car. We swing by my place, pick up my guns, and head out of the city. Don't look back. We could leave right now…”

  The last part came out as a whisper, clearly not intended for the others to hear. Gauging the reaction he continued quietly.

  …as soon as Mark finishes patching Katie and me up I mean."

  David felt something cold settle in his stomach. He understood what Carl was suggesting. Abandon the city. Run.

  "No, Carl." The words came out harder than he'd intended. "Two people running or even ten isn't a solution. We need to find more people. Band together. Do you really think Camila will abandon Sarah and the others at the Obelisk?"

  “Not without some mighty good arguments, which is why I came to you first. Take your temperature on things. I’m not going to rock the boat, especially with my leg but felt I had to say my piece.”

  David’s analytical mind had kicked in, barely registering Carls words, or the emotions warring across his face.

  He was already providing structure for his gut reaction. "Even if it means taking risks, it's the only way we're alive in six months. We need supplies, plans, and weapons. Real weapons, not sports equipment."

  As he articulated the thoughts, David felt an odd sense of calm. "The only reason we won today was because I have a spell. All of you can get skills too. So can Charlie and anyone else we save."

  Carl's face twisted. It was clear he didn't agree with David's assessment.

  "On weapons, absolutely." He held up the tennis racket with obvious distaste. "I've got a gun or two at my place. Got the first for home defense after my apartment was broken into and the second because it was kinda fun at the range."

  His voice carried the practical edge of someone who'd learned hard lessons. "Guns we can trust. This country was built on guns, and we can rebuild it with them. We arm up, starting with my piece."

  Carl's background was showing through - blue-collar experience with systems that failed you, authority that let you down, bureaucracy that moved too slow.

  David gave him a considering look. "Sure, Carl. Let's talk to the others about arming up."

  But even as he said it, David knew they had fundamental philosophical differences about how to survive this. Carl believed in self-reliance, small groups, getting away from the chaos. David was starting to believe their only chance was to dive deeper into the chaos and try to master it.

  From the living room came the sound of Katie stirring, then a sharp cry of pain as Mark worked on her wound.

  Everything went smoothly until Mark started cleaning with peroxide. Katie shifted and moaned, then screamed and thrashed as he poured the solution directly into the deepest part of the cut.

  "Carl, David, help! Hold her still!"

  To everyone's relief, a confused voice responded: "Mark? What..."

  The words cut off in another cry of pain.

  "It's okay, babe," Mark said gently. "You're hurt. We need to clean and stitch the cut, then you can rest."

  The others held her as still as they could while Mark worked, ignoring her weak protests. The intimacy of the moment – Camila whispering assurances as Mark worked, love overcoming pain in Mark’s face as he wielded needle and thread on his girlfriend made David's chest tight.

  When Mark finished and bent to reassure Katie, speaking softly and responding to her confused questions, the worry lines around his eyes told their own story. The slowly emerging red stain on her dressing confirmed David's fears.

  She wasn't out of danger yet.

  Camila gestured for David and Carl to follow her to wash up, giving the couple privacy.

  "We can't stay here," she said quietly. "Katie needs more help than we can give her. And we have to get back to Sarah."

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  David nodded. "The obelisk is our best bet. Safety, and maybe skills that can help Katie. There might be other people there by now with better medical training."

  Camila looked at him with genuine gratitude. "Yes. And if that doesn't work, we might have to try the hospital. I know everyone there will be asleep or transformed, but they have generators, supplies. Surely someone can help."

  Carl looked conflicted. "We need weapons before we risk anywhere with lots of people. Do you girls have anything here? What about Mr. Lopez?"

  Camila's face went stricken as she remembered what lay under the blanket. "I don't know about his things. We can't spend time searching when Katie needs help."

  She used that as an excuse to end the conversation, but David caught the real reason in her eyes. Going through a dead man's possessions felt like grave robbing, especially when that man had become a monster they'd had to kill.

  They rejoined Mark beside the couch where Katie lay with her eyes drifting shut, obviously fighting to stay awake and equally obviously losing.

  "Can she be moved?" David asked.

  Mark looked stricken. "I don't know. The wound should stop bleeding soon, but she's lost a lot of blood. All we can do is keep her warm and get fluids into her. If we are going to move her we should do it soon."

  David looked around at the group - three different philosophies starting to emerge. Carl wanted to run and hide. Camila and he wanted to save everyone they could. Mark and maybe Katie wanting to hunker in place, waiting for help that might never arrive.

  David was starting to think their only path was forward into the new reality, not away from it.

  "We have daylight left," he said, "but not all that much. I have a car, and you guys have cars here. Once Carl is patched up, we need to move. Right now, there is one place we know is safe. We have to get Katie there to convalesce."

  Camila nodded. "I don't have a car. Just rideshares and lifts. Katie and Sarah have cars."

  David absorbed this information and continued building his framework. "We need to assume we won't be back here soon. Load the cars with anything useful for the obelisk. Head back to where Sarah is and unload. See if we can help Katie and Carl."

  He paused, looking at each of them. "Then we plan another run before dark to get whatever else we need. Weapons, medical supplies, more people."

  "I'm trusting the park to be safe because of the obelisk," David continued, "but more importantly, you can all get skills. Halt was the only thing that kept us alive today. There might be healing options that can help Katie and Carl directly."

  Carl nodded slowly, but David could see the disagreement in his eyes. The older man's experience told him that trusting in magic and alien obelisks was a fool's game. Better to trust in things that had worked for generations - guns, small groups, getting away from trouble.

  "Twenty minutes to load once Carl is patched," David said, checking his phone. "Leave space for Katie to lie down. Then we head back."

  Camila and Mark nodded agreement. Katie looked confused but nodded once she saw the others doing so. Carl's nod came slower, more reluctant.

  David set a timer on his phone. "Camila, can you look after Katie, maybe get her some fresh clothes while Mark patches Carl. I can assist.”

  “After that, tell us what to grab or we can search downstairs. Nobody goes alone."

  The girls headed for the bedrooms while Carl, Mark and David moved towards the stained couch and the medical kit. Carl sat with obvious distaste as David and Mark set to work making him a more permanent dressing.

  "Guess I get to look for that gun after all," he said before hissing as Mark cleaned his wound with peroxide.

  Half an hour later as they headed toward the back door, Carl spoke quietly. "You know, kid, I've been through this before. Not exactly this, but close enough."

  David looked at him questioningly.

  "Hurricane Katrina. I was a boy, younger than you, working construction in New Orleans when it hit. You know what I learned?" Carl's voice carried the weight of hard experience. "When systems fail, they fail completely. Government, police, military - when the shit really hits the fan, you're on your own."

  They paused at the covered shape of Mr. Lopez. Carl's voice grew harder.

  "I've seen what people do when there's no law, no consequences – amazing and terrible things. Hell, I've seen what they do when there are consequences but nobody's around to enforce them." He looked directly at David. "Magic skills and alien helpers... maybe they're real, maybe they work. But a gun in your hand and a place to hide? Those I can count on."

  David felt the weight of Carl's experience, the practical wisdom born from seeing civilizations crack. But something in him rebelled against the idea of just hiding and hoping.

  "Maybe you're right," David said. "But what happens when we run out of gas? Or food? Or when winter comes and we need shelter?"

  “That’s why we need to make sure we load up on as much useful stuff as possible.” With that Carl turned to looting, because no matter how David justified it that was exactly what they were doing.

  They approached Mr. Lopez's apartment, the smell still faint but present. Carl pushed open the door with his tennis racket, scanning the rooms for anything useful.

  "We need resources, space. Not just stuff that’s already made." Carl continued. "If everything is gone like you think we find a place with water, farmland, defensible positions. You stock up, you learn skills that matter - farming, mechanical work, basic medicine."

  He paused by a bedroom dresser, looking uncomfortable. "This feels wrong, going through a dead man's things."

  "I know." David said quietly. "Weren’t you the one who said we need to take everything we can? I’m trying to tell myself that he would want us to use his stuff, especially to help Camila."

  Carl nodded grimly as he opened the top drawer of the bedside cabinet “doesn’t make it easier though…” After a moment, he produced a small key. "Gun safe key. These old-timers, they always keep them in the bedroom."

  They found the safe in the closet - a small fireproof box that opened to reveal a .38 revolver, a box of ammunition, and some paperwork.

  Carl checked the weapon with practiced hands, examining the cylinder and action. "Good shape. Mr. Lopez took care of his things."

  “Okay, let’s pile everything useful by the front door. See what we have got. Any tools around here?” Carl was being pragmatic again, conversation over apparently.

  “I think I saw some in the basement, maybe a workshop space?”

  When they headed back upstairs, there was a pile of gear by the rear door and Carl was moving gingerly having pushed his leg. He was juggling the revolver, slugs and an old truck key that he scrounged up as he continued his argument.

  "Look, I'm not saying your magic isn't real. I saw what you did with that halt thing. But I'm also seeing people turn into monsters, dead folks getting up and walking around."

  He paused on the stairs. "In my experience, when everything goes to hell, the people who survive are the ones who don't depend on anyone else. Government, military, alien helpers - they all have their own agendas."

  David understood the appeal. There was something seductive about the idea of just grabbing supplies and disappearing into the countryside. Finding a cabin somewhere, living off the land, avoiding all the chaos and horror.

  But his analytical mind kept circling back to the same problem: it wasn't sustainable without lots of people. And more than that, it felt like giving up on everyone else.

  "What about Katie?" David asked. "Mark? Camila? Sarah? Charlie? Billy? Do we just leave them?"

  Carl's face tightened. "You take who you can, we won’t abandon them. The ones who can contribute, who won't slow you down are easy. It's harsh, but it's reality."

  The words hung in the air between them as they reached the apartment.

  Inside, Camila and Mark had assembled their own collection of supplies on the kitchen table. Clothes, food, camping gear, Katie's car keys.

  "Ready?" Mark asked. Katie lay on the couch, wearing fresh clothes, pale but conscious. There was a stain on the shoulder of her outfit, blood had seeped through the bandage.

  David looked around the apartment - their brief haven, now stained with blood and violence. They'd turned it from a home into a supply depot.

  "Carl found a gun, and car keys." David said. "We should talk about what else we might need for weapons."

  Carl held up the revolver. "Six shots. Not much, but better than a tennis racket." He held up the key “anyone know what the old man drove?”

  Mark looked uncomfortable with the weapon but didn't object. Camila crossed herself quietly then replied.

  “He was so proud of that old truck, it’s in the garage outside.” She seemed sad remembering “It’s a stick shift; we used to joke when I squeezed in with them to go to church about how much smaller things were back then.” She shook herself then she was all business again.

  "We need more supplies. The bigger shops are all out by the main road, you know where you saw the dog thing.” Suddenly his paranoia of earlier didn’t seem foolish to them. “Not much between here and the park…" she said.

  “All locked up too based on when I think it happened” David added.

  “I don’t think we should be planning side trips, not with walking wounded.” Mark gave a worried look to Katie, noting the red on her shoulder and her pale face.

  David nodded, “OK let’s load up.” Even as the group prepped, he was thinking about something else. What came next.

  Somehow, he wasn’t surprised when they had things loaded and Carl spoke up “Look, Y’all. We have three vehicles now, four if we want to spread out. Only one gun though. I’m going to take this here truck seeing as I can drive stick and swing by my place. Get my own guns. Anyone who wants is welcome to come with, I’ll meet you at the park to plan next steps.”

  Here it comes David thought. Carl represented a philosophy of survival that made sense, that appealed to basic human instincts. But David was starting to suspect that kind of thinking - individual survival, small groups, hiding from the larger crisis - might be exactly the wrong response to a disaster of this scope.

  Camila responded first “Hell no old man. We need to get Katie taken care of. No side trips until later.”

  Carl’s response was final “I wasn’t asking for permission missy. I was informing you of my choice, I respect your wishes, I expect you to respect mine.”

  David saw where this was going and jumped in “Damn it, both of you. We can’t fight here and now. It’s a free country so let Carl swing by his place, hell I wouldn’t mind stopping by mine at some point…”

  Just when it looked like a full-blown argument was about to start Katie ended it with five words. “I don’t feel so good.” One look at her white face and the slowly spreading bloodstain on her shoulder explained why she hadn’t really moved since they helped her downstairs.

  Mark reacted first. “We need to go, NOW.”

  With little ceremony the group divided two cars heading for the park and one truck turning away to chart a different course.