“They were being chased by zombies. We couldn’t just leave them to die…” Old Mike explained nervously, his voice trembling. The towering white man, Andrew, clearly intimidated him.

  Andrew’s eyes narrowed as he glared at Mike, then shifted his gaze to Vincent and Manuela. He didn’t seem pleased that Mike had brought strangers back. His eyes lingered on Manuela for a moment, but he said nothing.

  “Where are the guns?” Andrew barked, his left hand gripping the arm of the Black woman beside him. He shoved her forward, using her as a human shield while pointing his gun at her head. The woman, whose eyes were red and puffy from crying, looked terrified.

  “The gun shop… it was swarming with zombies. We couldn’t get close,” Mike stammered, his eyes darting nervously between Andrew and the gun. He was afraid of what Andrew might do.

  Vincent quickly assessed the situation. It seemed Andrew was holding the woman hostage, forcing Mike and the others to retrieve guns for him. Now that they’d failed, tensions were high.

  “Useless!” Andrew spat, his eyes landing on the duffel bag in Vincent’s hand. He raised his gun, pointing it at Vincent, and snapped, “What’s in there?”

  “We don’t know. He brought it with him,” Mike said quickly, shaking his head. Behind him, Jason and Christine stayed silent, their fear of Andrew palpable. Even Jason, who was usually outgoing, didn’t dare try to charm the muscular, gun-toting man.

  “Hand it over!” Andrew demanded, his eyes locked on Vincent. Vincent had two bags—a small backpack on his back and the duffel bag in his hand. The latter looked suspicious.

  Vincent, covered in blood and looking worse for wear, narrowed his eyes slightly. He glanced at Andrew, who was twice his size and armed, then tossed the duffel bag to him without a word. From the way Mike and the others reacted to Andrew, Vincent knew this man was dangerous—possibly a former gang member. There was no point in provoking him. Food could be replaced; a bullet to the head couldn’t.

  Vincent was a pragmatist. It was why he’d survived working for the mob for over a year.

  Andrew caught the bag and roughly shoved the Black woman aside. She stumbled into Mike’s arms, her hands trembling as she checked him for injuries. “Are you hurt?” she asked, her voice shaking.

  “I’m fine, Laura,” Mike reassured her, holding her close. Laura leaned into him for a moment before looking up, her eyes darting to Jason and Christine. “And the kids?”

  “We’re okay, Aunt Laura,” Jason said quickly.

  “I’m fine, Mrs. Brown,” Christine added.

  Vincent pieced together their relationships. Mike’s full name was likely Mike Brown, which explained why Christine called Laura “Mrs. Brown.” Jason was Laura’s nephew, and Christine was probably a neighbor or family friend.

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  As Vincent observed the group, Manuela stood nervously to the side.

  “Food… good. And this?” Andrew rummaged through the bag and pulled out a box of… condoms. He raised an eyebrow, glancing at Vincent and then at Manuela.

  Vincent shot Manuela a look. She quickly turned away, pretending not to notice.

  “You all better stay in line. Don’t give me any trouble,” Andrew growled, zipping up the bag and waving his gun at the group. He then walked toward the back of the store, his heavy footsteps echoing as he climbed the stairs to the second floor.

  Mike visibly relaxed, his shoulders sagging as he led Laura toward the stairs. “Let’s go upstairs. It’s safer there,” he said, gesturing for the others to follow.

  The first floor of the clothing store was surrounded by roll-up shutters, which muffled the sounds of the zombies outside. But the shutters wouldn’t hold forever, and the horde drawn by the Ford was still out there. The second floor was a safer bet.

  As they climbed the stairs, Vincent walked beside Jason and asked in a low voice, “Who is that guy?”

  “Andrew. He lived near my aunt. When the virus hit, we all escaped together. But… be careful with him. He’s got a temper. He’s already killed people,” Jason whispered back.

  “Got it. Thanks,” Vincent replied, his eyes flicking toward Manuela, who was walking with Christine. He wasn’t sure what to make of her just yet.

  The second floor of the store was a storage area, filled with racks of clothing and boxes of inventory. Near the entrance was a small sitting area with a couple of couches and chairs. Further back was a small break room, its door tightly shut.

  Andrew had disappeared into the break room with Vincent’s duffel bag, leaving the others to settle in the sitting area. Manuela, uncomfortable in her bloodstained clothes, rummaged through the racks of clothing, picking out a few items, including some underwear. She then headed to the small bathroom next to the break room to clean up and change.

  The second floor wasn’t large—maybe 100 square meters, including the break room and bathroom. The sitting area was cramped, with barely enough space for everyone to sit.

  Vincent took a chair in the corner, leaning against the wall and staying silent. Mike and Laura sat on one of the couches, Laura crying softly as Mike comforted her. Christine, the high schooler, sat across from them, holding a compact mirror and fussing with her hair. Jason stood by the window, peeking through the curtains at the chaos outside.

  The room was quiet, the growls of the zombies outside a constant reminder of the danger. But for now, they were safe.

  Then, the break room door creaked open. Andrew stepped out, his face grim. He scanned the room, his eyes landing on Christine.

  Christine froze, her mirror slipping from her hands as Andrew approached. He crouched in front of her, his massive frame towering over her even as he tried to appear less threatening. He whispered something to her, his voice too low for the others to hear.

  Christine shook her head, her eyes wide with fear. “No, please… don’t…”

  Andrew’s expression darkened. He grabbed her wrist, yanking her to her feet. “Come on, don’t make this harder than it has to be,” he growled, dragging her toward the break room.

  “Hey! Andrew, what are you doing?” Mike jumped up from the couch, rushing toward them.

  Andrew spun around, his gun pointed at Mike’s head. “Sit the hell down, or I’ll blow your brains out,” he snarled.

  Mike froze, his hands raised in surrender. “Okay, okay… I’m sitting,” he stammered, backing away slowly.

  Jason, who had started to move toward Andrew, stopped in his tracks and retreated to the window.

  “That’s better. Don’t piss me off,” Andrew said with a twisted smile. He turned back to Christine, who was now sobbing and pleading.

  “Please, don’t do this… I can’t…” she begged, her voice breaking.

  Vincent sat in the corner, his jaw clenched. He knew Christine was only sixteen, despite her mature appearance. But he stayed silent, his mind racing as he weighed his options.