Aftermath and Secrets

The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder, sweat, and the cloying sweetness of rot. Dawn bled through the boarded windows, casting long, gray shadows across the warehouse floor. The group sat scattered like broken dolls, their faces pale, their hands trembling from the adrenaline that was finally beginning to fade.

Chris leaned against a support beam, his eyes scanning the room. His chest heaved, but his mind was already working, already pulling at the loose thread of what had just happened. The barricade had held for weeks. It had been reinforced, double-checked, and triple-checked. There was no way a handful of shuffling corpses should have been able to breach it. Not unless someone had helped them.

Yasmine was tending to Marie, who had a gash on her arm from a piece of shrapnel. Monte sat nearby, his face blank, his eyes hollow. He hadn't spoken since the attack. Chris wanted to go to him, to pull him close, but he couldn't. Not yet. There was something he had to do first.