The room hung heavy with an oppressive silence, the kind that suffocates words before they even form. Each individual seemed lost in their own thoughts, their gazes flickering to one another but never settling long enough to spark conversation. It was as though the man outside the door hadn’t spoken at all, and his words had simply dissolved into the thick, tense air.

Finally, Richard's voice shattered the quiet, his tone measured but firm, carrying the weight of a man accustomed to leadership—whether acknowledged or not. He addressed the unseen figure beyond the door with calculated caution, his words imbued with a sense of protectiveness for those within the room.

"I'm sorry, sir," he began, his brow furrowing as he glanced toward the others. "We don't know you, and frankly, we don't know if we can trust you." His words hung in the air like a defensive wall, an automatic response born of survival and hard-earned wariness.

Before the room could fully absorb Richard’s words, Andrew, standing near the edge of the group, stepped forward. His voice, softer yet no less confident, carried a tone of familiarity that seemed to counteract the tension.

"That's Jackson Smith," Andrew said, gesturing loosely toward the door as if the name alone carried significance. "Older guy—he was talking to me downstairs for a bit earlier. Seemed... decent enough." He paused, searching for the right words to balance trust and reason. "He didn’t strike me as a threat."

Despite Andrew’s reassurance, Richard’s skepticism remained evident in the set of his jaw and the sharpness in his narrowed eyes. His doubt, however, didn’t get a chance to solidify before Allison interjected, her voice cutting through the conversation with unexpected authority.

"Look," she said, stepping forward, her gaze firm but not unkind. "It sounds like he wants to escape with us. We could use some extra hands, don’t you think?" She tilted her head slightly, her tone edged with pragmatism as she glanced around the room. "We’re not exactly overflowing with manpower here."

Her words struck a chord with the group, even if they didn’t say it outright. There was a truth to her logic that was hard to argue with. Richard, however, crossed his arms, his posture stiffening. He cast a glance toward Allison, but her steady expression left little room for debate. For now, it seemed the others were more inclined to listen to her than to him.

"Great," Richard muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible but laced with bitterness. "Another pair of hands." The words, though quiet, carried the weight of frustration and a touch of something unspoken—perhaps resentment, perhaps fear. Even he wasn’t entirely sure what fueled his irritation.

The room itself seemed to mirror their unease. The makeshift refuge was dimly lit, the faint glow of a single lantern casting flickering shadows across the cracked walls. The air smelled faintly of mildew, and the worn carpet beneath their feet was stained and threadbare. It was a far cry from comfort, but it was safety—for now. Each creak of the floorboards and distant echo in the hall served as a reminder of the precariousness of their situation.

From the other side of the door, the man—Jackson—cleared his throat, his voice carrying a mix of exhaustion and earnestness. "I’m not here to cause trouble," he said, his tone steady but tinged with urgency. "I’m an engineer. If you’re planning to get out of here, I can help. Trust me or don’t, but you’re going to need all the help you can get."

The group exchanged glances, the weight of his words settling over them like an unspoken challenge. The decision to open the door—or not—felt like a precipice they were all teetering on, and in the silence that followed, each person seemed to weigh the risks against the potential reward.

"Let him in!" Julie hissed, her tone firm and decisive, slicing through the room's tense atmosphere. Her sharp gaze swept across the group, daring anyone to challenge her command.

Richard didn’t budge from his spot against the wall, his arms still crossed tightly over his chest. His face betrayed little emotion, though the furrow in his brow hinted at frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He remained still, opting to observe rather than act, letting the others take the lead.

“Fine! Alright! We are coming!” he barked after a moment, his voice louder than necessary, as if the volume would drown out his reluctance. His eyes lingered on the door, his thoughts preoccupied with the possibility of having an engineer on their side. Jackson’s skills could be the key to setting up communication—perhaps a radio to reach someone beyond the chaos. With the cellphone towers down and their devices nearly dead, their options were dwindling rapidly.

Despite his words, Richard didn’t move, watching intently as Timothy stepped forward. Timothy’s movements were deliberate, his posture straight and confident, though there was a hint of impatience in the way he approached the door.

“Tim!” Richard called out sharply, his tone more a caution than a command. Timothy turned his head slightly, his eyes locking with Richard’s in a brief exchange of defiance. Without a word, he continued, reaching out to grasp the door handle and pull it open.

As the door creaked on its hinges, light spilled into the room, illuminating a man standing on the threshold. Jackson’s face was calm but serious, his posture relaxed yet purposeful, as though he were measuring the situation before stepping in. Behind him stood a young boy—Tyler—no older than ten, peeking out nervously from behind his father’s arm.

Tyler’s wide eyes scanned the room with a mix of curiosity and unease. He was dressed neatly in a casual t-shirt and shorts, his sneakers slightly scuffed but far from falling apart. His small hands gripped the edge of Jackson’s shirt as if for reassurance, but his posture suggested he was ready to step forward if needed.

“This is my son, Tyler,” Jackson said, his voice steady and even. He placed a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder. “We’re just passing through, but I heard about your plan. I’m not here to make trouble—I just thought maybe I could help. I’m an engineer, and I might be able to get something working for you, like a radio or... whatever you might need.” His tone was practical, leaving no room for embellishments or unnecessary details.

The group exchanged uncertain glances, their silence stretching for a moment as they processed the unexpected sight of the man and his son. Tyler glanced nervously at Julie, who softened her sharp gaze ever so slightly when their eyes met. The boy’s presence seemed to shift the dynamic in the room, adding an unspoken layer of complexity to the situation.

Richard remained against the wall, his gaze flickering between Jackson and Tyler. His expression was unreadable, but the tension in his posture suggested he was weighing every word and action with meticulous care. He said nothing, letting the silence speak for him, as the decision to accept or reject these newcomers loomed heavy in the air.

"Well… our kids are in the other rooms," Richard said after a moment, his voice measured but tinged with impatience. "You can take your little boy over there if you need to… I can take you there." He nodded toward the door next to theirs, as though the suggestion was a formality more than an invitation.

Jackson stood firm, his hand resting protectively on Tyler’s small shoulder. The subtle tightening of his grip made it clear that he had no intention of letting go. Tyler, for his part, pressed closer to his father, his wide, fearful eyes darting around the room. He looked hesitant to speak, his small hands gripping the hem of Jackson’s shirt as though it were a lifeline.

The boy’s timid demeanor and the way he clung to his father made the truth of their bond unmistakable. Whatever had transpired before this moment—whether Tyler fully grasped it or not—it was clear he wouldn’t be leaving Jackson’s side anytime soon.

Jackson exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening as memories flickered behind his eyes. Tyler’s mother had fallen ill almost a month ago, leaving Jackson to care for his son alone. The weight of that responsibility bore heavily on him, though he’d never admit it aloud. He had intended to drop Tyler off with his mother after this vacation, but now… he couldn’t bring himself to part with him just yet. Not in the midst of this chaos. The world felt fragile, teetering on the edge of something unrecognizable, and Jackson’s sole focus was on keeping Tyler safe for as long as he could.

Julie broke the silence, her voice slicing through the tension. "Well… if that’s the case, shouldn’t we get our kids as well?" She looked around the room, her gaze landing on Andrew and the other parents. "I don’t think they should miss this."

Allison was quick to chime in, nodding briskly. "Yes… let’s do that. The sun’s rising, and we need to move fast." Without hesitation, she reached for Timothy’s hand, her grip firm but urgent. It wasn’t a question—it was a decision, one that demanded action. Timothy glanced at her, then toward the others, before silently agreeing to follow her lead.

As the families began to file out of the room, Richard remained planted where he was, leaning against the wall. His sharp, scrutinizing eyes followed their movements, narrowing with every step they took. His plan—if he could even call it that—felt like it was slipping further out of his control. He’d envisioned order, strategy, and precision, but the reality unfolding before him felt more like chaos masquerading as cooperation.

He clenched his jaw, his frustration palpable as he muttered under his breath, “This isn’t going anywhere.” Still, he didn’t move, his expression hardening as he watched the group disperse into the hallway. The sound of footsteps faded, leaving Richard alone in the room with his swirling doubts and the faint glow of dawn creeping through the cracks in the blinds.

“So… I assume you’re the guy who’s in charge here,” Jackson said, his voice steady but not intrusive. He sat in the corner of the room, his frame relaxed but his sharp gaze betraying a constant awareness of his surroundings. Tyler sat beside him on the edge of the bed, his small frame tense and his gaze fixed on the floor.

The boy didn’t say a word, his silence not unusual for someone of his temperament. Tyler had always been a bit of an introvert, but this situation amplified his quiet nature. He barely knew his father, and the absence of familiarity made the room feel even heavier. Despite this, Jackson was all he had now, and Tyler clung to that small thread of connection like a lifeline.

Memories of his mother flickered in Tyler’s mind, painful and raw. He recalled her anger, the way her temper had flared unpredictably as her sickness worsened. The day she tried to lash out at him was seared into his memory, the terror and confusion of seeing her face twisted with aggression. That moment had been the breaking point. The call to Jackson hadn’t been out of choice—it had been out of necessity.

For Jackson, the call had been unexpected, a sudden reentry into a life he’d thought he’d left behind. His ex-wife had been the bridge between him and Tyler, but that bridge had been burned long ago. After she left him to raise their older children, Jackson had spiraled, seeking solace in fleeting relationships. He’d tried to fill the void, but it hadn’t worked. One relationship had even resulted in another child, but guilt and disconnection drove him to leave them both behind. Now, staring at Tyler, he wondered if he’d been given a second chance—or if this was just punishment for his failures.

The silence between them lingered, broken only by the faint rustle of fabric as Jackson shifted in his seat. Tyler remained motionless, his head low, his small hands gripping the edge of the bed tightly.

Finally, Richard’s voice cut through the quiet like a dull blade, the weight of his words dragging the room’s attention toward him. “Yeah… you could say that, I suppose,” he muttered, his tone detached. He stood by the window, his gaze fixed on the faint light creeping through the blinds. The thin slats offered a distorted view of the outside world, one he dared not expose fully.

Richard’s hand hovered near the cord to the blinds, but he didn’t dare pull it. The fear was palpable in his posture, in the way his shoulders tensed and his jaw tightened. He’d seen what was out there—things that defied the stories he’d grown up with. These weren’t the lumbering, mindless corpses of movies and books.

“They’re not the dead… or zombies,” Richard muttered, almost to himself, as if saying it aloud would make it easier to comprehend. “This is something far more dangerous.” His voice dipped low, his words heavy with the weight of truth. He turned his head slightly, his gaze flicking briefly toward Jackson before settling back on the blinds.

“They’re strong,” he continued, his tone hollow. “Fast. Too fast. For all I know, they could fly.” The absurdity of his own statement made him grimace, but he couldn’t shake the images burned into his mind. The creatures he’d seen were nothing like the shambling horrors of fiction—they were predators, efficient and deadly.

Jackson listened silently, his expression unreadable. Tyler shifted uncomfortably on the bed, his eyes darting toward the window as though expecting one of the creatures to burst through at any moment. The room fell quiet again, the unspoken fear thick in the air, as each of them grappled with the terrifying reality they now faced.

“Well… that’s why we’re here,” Jackson said, his voice steady and deliberate, though there was a faint undertone of optimism that cut through the tension. He reached over and tousled Tyler’s hair affectionately as he spoke, the gesture clumsy but sincere.

Tyler flinched slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line. He didn’t particularly enjoy the way his father ruffled his hair—it felt childish, patronizing even—but he allowed it. It wasn’t worth the effort to push him away, not when it was clear Jackson was trying. Tyler could see it in the way his father’s movements carried a nervous energy, like a man who wasn’t sure what to do with himself. Something inside Jackson was broken, Tyler could sense that much. Whether it was pain from a mistake, a loss, or some ghost of the past, he didn’t know.

His father had said little about his life before now. No mention of Tyler’s half-siblings, only vague references to the life he had left behind. It left a hole in Tyler’s understanding of the man sitting beside him, a void filled only by speculation and lingering awkwardness.

“Yes… but the more of us there are,” Richard interjected, his voice low and heavy, “the easier it will be for us to be spotted.” His gaze remained fixed on the floor as though the words themselves were too difficult to face head-on. The tone of defeat in his voice was palpable, and for a moment, the weight of his doubt seemed to settle over the room.

Tyler, however, surprised everyone by speaking up, his voice quiet but firm. “Well… we’ll work together and figure this out. I promise. And once we do, we’ll find somewhere safe.” He nodded as he spoke, his eyes meeting Richard’s with unexpected determination. For a ten-year-old, his words carried a maturity beyond his years, the kind of resolve born out of necessity in times like these.

The room grew still as the boy’s words hung in the air. For the first time in what felt like hours, Richard’s rigid posture seemed to relax, even if only slightly. His lips quirked into a faint smile, the corners tugging upward with a reluctant flicker of hope.

“Well… that’s the good thing, eh?” Richard said, nodding toward Jackson as his voice gained a touch of its usual strength. “I’ve already found a place to stay.” His tone was confident, though a trace of uncertainty lingered beneath the surface.

He glanced between the two, his smile tightening as his thoughts drifted. The place he had in mind might work, at least for now. But he couldn’t shake the nagging doubt. Would it still be standing when they arrived? Would it still be safe—or had it already been overrun? His mind swirled with questions, none of which he dared to speak aloud.

For now, all he could do was hope. Hope that the place would hold. Hope that they could make it there. And, perhaps most importantly, hope that this fragile semblance of a group could stick together long enough to make it out alive.

“Tell me about this place that you say is safe for us,” Jackson said, his voice even but probing. His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied Richard, gauging the truth behind the man’s words. Jackson didn’t need perfection—just somewhere that would keep Tyler safe. That was all that mattered.

Richard shifted slightly against the wall, uncrossing his arms as he spoke. “Well… it’s a small town next to a mountain. On top of a mountain, actually. Pilot Mountain,” he said, his tone calm but deliberate, as if trying to lend the words more weight. He watched Jackson for any flicker of recognition, but the man’s expression remained neutral.

Tyler, sitting quietly on the bed beside his father, looked just as confused. His connection to North Carolina barely extended beyond the town Jackson had picked him up from a few days ago. Geography wasn’t exactly his strong suit, and neither the name nor the description sparked anything familiar.

“Alright… sounds like a safe place to me. Anywhere besides the city,” Jackson said after a moment, nodding slightly. The words felt foreign as he spoke them. Having grown up in the suburbs of Philadelphia, Jackson had always felt at home in the energy and chaos of urban life. But now, the idea of being surrounded by towering buildings and dense crowds seemed more dangerous than comforting. He hated how quickly his perspective had been forced to change.

Richard gave a faint nod. “Exactly. The city’s a death trap. Out there, we’ll have space—room to breathe and think. I’ve heard the place is isolated, easy to defend. It’s supposed to have a tight-knit community too.”

Jackson raised an eyebrow. “Heard? What do you mean by ‘heard’?”

Richard hesitated, his confidence faltering for a split second before he pressed on. “There’s this YouTuber I follow—a guy who does survival videos and stuff. A prepper. He talked about Pilot Mountain in one of his streams a while back. Said it’d be one of the safest places to hole up if things went south. I mean, it’s not like I’ve contacted anyone there. But…” He shrugged, his voice trailing off. “It’s better than staying here.”

Jackson’s face remained unreadable, but he nodded slowly. He couldn’t argue with that logic. The city had already become a nightmare, and they couldn’t stay holed up here forever. Pilot Mountain might be nothing more than a vague promise, but it was still a plan.

“Alright,” Jackson said finally. “We’ll try it. We’ll get Tyler somewhere safe.” He glanced at his son, who sat quietly, his small hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. The boy gave a tiny nod, though his expression was cautious. He hadn’t said much, but it was clear he was listening closely.

Richard exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Good,” he said. “We’ll leave as soon as we can. The sooner we’re out of here, the better.” He tried to sound optimistic, but the uncertainty of their destination weighed heavily in his mind. He had no way of knowing if the YouTuber’s words would hold true or if they were walking into a ghost town—or worse.

But for now, it was enough to have a direction, even if the path ahead was shrouded in doubt.

Jackson sat quietly, lowering his head as he held Tyler close to his chest. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the plan was flawed, that it was more a gamble than a solid strategy. But despite his doubts, the warmth of his son leaning into him grounded him in the moment. Tyler’s small hands rested against Jackson’s shirt, his grip faint but steady.

Even though Tyler was well aware of the danger outside, this newfound closeness to his father—a man who had been a distant figure for so long—brought him an odd sense of comfort. It wasn’t perfect, but it was something. The boy closed his eyes briefly, letting himself be soothed by a presence he’d never thought he could rely on.

The room was thick with silence, the kind that pressed on the ears and made time feel slower. No one spoke. The faint creak of the floor and the occasional rustle of movement were the only sounds, stretching the quiet into something almost unbearable. Then came the noise—multiple footsteps outside the door.

Richard flinched, his muscles tensing as his mind raced. His eyes darted to the door, his breath quickening with the same fear that had gripped him less than fifteen minutes earlier when Jackson had arrived. His thoughts spiraled, imagining the worst: the dead moving in packs, fast and relentless.

“It’s just the others…” Richard muttered under his breath, trying to steady himself. He inhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling as he attempted to calm the storm in his mind. But a lingering doubt gnawed at him. What if it wasn’t?

The sharp click of a key card sliding into the lock broke through his thoughts, and relief washed over him. He had forgotten Timothy had taken the card earlier. The beep and soft whir of the mechanism unlocking felt like a small reprieve, a lifeline to reality.

The door opened, and Timothy stepped inside, followed closely by Allison and their children. The kids looked refreshed, their faces brighter than they had been the night before. Sleep had worked its magic, though the shadows under their eyes hinted at restless dreams. They clung to their parents, whispering quietly but holding onto a sense of security for now.

Andrew and his family entered next, filling the room further. The space, already modest in size, now felt oppressively small. The presence of so many people turned the air heavy, amplifying every sound—the shuffle of feet, the faint rustle of clothing, the creak of the floorboards. Richard shifted uncomfortably, the walls seeming closer than they had moments before. His latent claustrophobia, which he had been managing in silence, now clawed at the edges of his composure.

He exhaled slowly, forcing his focus away from the tightening sensation in his chest. The room might have been crowded, but they were together, and for now, they were safe. That had to count for something.

The door closed and locked with a soft click, the sound bringing a wave of relief to Richard. He took a deep breath and adjusted his posture, though the crowded room still felt oppressive. Everyone found their places—some seated on the worn chairs or the edge of the bed, others standing near the walls, their postures tense yet restrained.

“So… what’s the big plan, hot shot?” Jordan quipped, his smirk breaking the solemnity of the room. His voice carried a light, almost mocking tone, as if the gravity of the situation hadn’t fully settled with him.

Richard glanced at the younger man briefly, his expression devoid of humor. He didn’t acknowledge the remark, instead redirecting his focus to the group as a whole. The weight of their expectations bore down on him, and he straightened his shoulders before speaking.

“The kids stay next to their parents at all times. No exceptions,” Richard began, his voice firm and commanding. He turned his attention to Timothy and Allison. “I can fit five people in my car, so that will be enough for your family. Since you said you’re running on fumes, it makes the most sense.”

Timothy nodded appreciatively, glancing at Allison. The relief on their faces was mirrored by their children, who relaxed visibly. It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it was a plan, and that was more than they’d had moments ago.

“But what happens when we get to the floor at the bottom?” Ben asked, his voice small but steady. His wide eyes betrayed his fear, but his question was valid. “What happens when we go outside?”

Richard pressed his lips together, his jaw tightening slightly. He had already considered this, but speaking it aloud made the risk feel even more real. He let out a slow breath before continuing.

“We go in smaller groups, one at a time,” he explained, his voice unwavering. “Once we’re outside, we head straight for the cars. No stopping, no second-guessing. As soon as everyone’s at their vehicles, we don’t hesitate. I’ll take the lead, and the rest of you follow me to the beach house.” His eyes swept over the group, landing briefly on each family, as though seeking silent confirmation.

The room fell quiet for a moment, the gravity of the plan settling over them. Jackson sat back slightly, processing Richard’s words. A pang of jealousy flickered within him at the mention of a beach house—an apparent luxury in this crumbling world. But he quickly swallowed the feeling, knowing it was misplaced and irrelevant. His priority was keeping Tyler safe, not envying someone else’s circumstances.

“Alright,” Jackson said, his tone measured. “We’ll stick close behind each other. I think we should keep an eye out for weapons or anything useful on the way down.” His suggestion came from a place of practicality, his instinct to prepare for the unknown taking over.

Andrew frowned, his head shaking slightly as he countered. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” His voice was calm but edged with concern. “All it takes is one person to panic, one person to break under pressure. If those things are as strong as we’ve seen… it could mean all of us. A few weapons might not be enough to make a difference.”

He glanced at his son, the boy leaning quietly against Julie. His heart tightened at the sight. His son was strong for his age, but strength meant little against creatures that could overpower grown adults in seconds. He tightened his grip on Julie’s hand, his protective instinct flaring.

“Keeping them safe has to be the priority,” Andrew added, his voice softening but resolute. “Not taking unnecessary risks.”

The group’s collective silence returned, the weight of Andrew’s words palpable. Timothy shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Jackson as if seeking his thoughts, while Richard’s face remained impassive. Decisions had to be made, and every choice felt like a gamble with their lives.

"Well… alright then. Who's ready to get supplies and weapons?" Richard said with a faint grin, pushing himself off the wall and standing tall. His voice carried a confidence that was almost infectious, a spark of determination that cut through the lingering tension in the room.

The energy shifted instantly. One by one, everyone stood, the weight of inaction finally lifting. It was clear no one wanted to stay in this cramped, suffocating space any longer. Whatever was out there, it felt better to face it with purpose than to sit idly by, waiting for disaster to strike.

“There are other people on this floor,” Jackson said, his voice calm but resolute. “I spoke to some of them last night. We might want to bring them along.” He nodded toward the door as if to indicate the unseen survivors he was referring to.

The suggestion wasn’t well received. The men’s expressions hardened, a silent consensus forming among them. Their focus was on their own families, and adding more people to the mix felt like an unnecessary risk. Their silence spoke volumes.

But the women in the room didn’t share that sentiment. Allison was the first to speak, her tone firm but compassionate. “Good idea,” she said, nodding to Jackson and then to Timothy. “We have to save as many people as we can. Leaving them behind isn’t right.”

Timothy shifted uncomfortably, his gaze dropping to the floor. He wanted to argue, to point out the dangers and how every additional person increased the odds of something going wrong. But he couldn’t bring himself to voice his thoughts. It felt wrong to argue against helping others, and deep down, he knew that was part of why Allison loved him—his quiet sense of decency, even when it wasn’t convenient.

“Right… get others and then get out of here,” Timothy muttered, though his tone was anything but enthusiastic. He stared at the ground, his jaw clenched, as he forced himself to accept the decision.

Richard, sensing the growing tension, knew he wouldn’t win this debate. With a sigh, he nodded, his tone sharp as he took control of the situation. “Alright! Let’s get to it. Kids and women stay in the back!” His eyes scanned the group, lingering on the children to emphasize his point. “This isn’t the time to play hero.”

Angela and Ben exchanged nervous glances but didn’t argue. Tyler, however, seemed distracted, his gaze locked on Angela. His eyes followed her every movement, making her shift uncomfortably under his unrelenting focus. She crossed her arms, looking away from him, but the awkwardness lingered.

Before anyone could comment, Jordan’s voice rose from the back. “No way I’m staying in the back! I want to be out there, helping!” He stood a little taller, his expression defiant, but his mother cut him off before he could say more.

“No way am I staying in the back either!” Julie said, her voice sharp and unyielding as she directed her glare at the men. “I want to be out there, helping us get out!” Her hands were on her hips, her posture daring anyone to challenge her.

Allison shook her head slightly, a silent message of disapproval, though Julie didn’t notice. Andrew, however, did. He turned to his wife, his expression stern as he addressed her directly.

“No,” Andrew said firmly, shaking his head. “You’re staying back with Jordan and keeping him safe. And that is final.” His tone left no room for argument, his eyes narrowing as he locked gazes with Julie.

Julie’s expression hardened, but she didn’t speak again, the room falling into an uneasy silence. The tension was palpable as the group mentally prepared for the task ahead, each person grappling with their own fears, doubts, and unspoken frustrations. Richard exhaled slowly, his gaze sweeping over them all.

“Alright,” he said, his voice cutting through the quiet. “Let’s get moving.”

Jackson, as he had said before, took the lead, stepping cautiously into the dim hallway. His eyes darted from side to side, scanning every shadow for potential threats. The rest of the group followed closely behind, their footsteps soft but still loud enough to make the floorboards creak ominously beneath them. The sound seemed deafening in the silence, each groan of the wood amplifying their collective tension.

Jordan, however, seemed unimpressed by their caution. He scoffed quietly, the sound breaking through the fragile quiet like a ripple. “Why are we being so quiet?” he whispered, his tone dripping with skepticism. “Do we actually think there are zombies up here?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he shivered involuntarily, realizing he didn’t truly want an answer. The images of what he had seen the night before flashed through his mind—people screaming, running, and being bitten. He felt the bile rise in his throat but swallowed it back. Maybe they were right to be cautious, but he wasn’t ready to admit it.

Jackson ignored Jordan’s comment, his focus entirely on the task at hand. He stopped halfway down the hallway in front of a door, raising his hand to knock. The sound of his knuckles against the wood was deliberate but hesitant, echoing in the oppressive stillness.

From inside, a gruff, irritated voice answered, slurred and heavy with fatigue. “Can I help you? I ain’t got any more whiskey if that’s what you’re here for, Josh.”

The group froze, listening intently. The voice, dripping with bitterness and exhaustion, didn’t inspire much confidence. Jackson glanced back at the others briefly before leaning closer to the door and speaking in a hushed tone. “It’s me, Jackson. We’re trying to get the hell out of here.”

The silence lingered for a moment before the lock clicked, and the door swung open. Standing in the doorway was a man whose presence seemed to fill the entire frame. Buck Huckleberry, a Native man with a face weathered by time and scars, squinted at the group. His dark eyes scanned the crowd, settling briefly on each person before he shook his head.

“There’s no getting out of here,” Buck said, his voice low and matter-of-fact. “The world’s over. You know that, right?” His gaze shifted to the children, who instinctively shrank back at the sight of his scarred face and towering figure.

Andrew stepped forward protectively, placing himself between Buck and the kids. His body language spoke volumes—he wasn’t about to let a stranger frighten his family, let alone harm them. His voice was sharp, laced with disdain. “Not everyone has given up just yet. If you don’t want to join us, fine. Stay here. Keep drinking.”

The words stung, but Buck didn’t seem to take offense. He chuckled dryly, leaning against the doorframe. “Well, I’m all out of drinks anyway,” he said with a crooked grin. “Guess that gives me a reason to leave this place—or at least hit the kitchens.”

Andrew rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath, clearly unimpressed. Jackson, however, kept his composure. He stepped closer to Buck, his voice calm but firm. “Good. If you can help us get down there and leave, that’s all that matters to me.” He glanced at Tyler, who stood silently at his side, his wide eyes glued to Buck. The boy’s gaze was a mixture of curiosity and unease, but he said nothing, remaining as still as a statue.

Buck sighed, scratching at the stubble on his chin. “Alright,” he said finally, his tone begrudging. “If it gets me out of this dump, I’ll help.” His eyes flickered back to Jackson, then to the group behind him. “But don’t expect me to be your babysitter.”

Jackson nodded, glancing at the others to confirm they were ready to move forward. The group exchanged uncertain looks, but no one objected. For now, Buck was just another gamble they’d have to take.

"Alright, Buck… help me get the others, and let’s get out of here," Jackson said firmly, his voice carrying the weight of urgency. He locked eyes with Buck, waiting for the man to move, but Buck stood rooted in place. His expression didn’t change immediately, and after a moment, he blinked and shook his head, his response slow but deliberate.

“No,” Buck said, his tone even but laced with finality. “There’s nobody left up here. Josh and Ashley took the others and decided to leave already. Looks like you weren’t the first ones to come up with this plan.” His sharp eyes narrowed slightly as he delivered the news, his words landing like a blow.

“Shit! Well, there goes that plan,” Jackson muttered, shaking his head in frustration as he took a step back from the door. He clenched his fists briefly, though it wasn’t entirely clear who he was angry with—Buck, the absent survivors, or himself for not acting sooner.

He turned to leave, ready to tell the others to forget it and move on, when Tyler’s small voice cut through the tension like a knife.

“Why didn’t you go with them?” Tyler asked, his tone soft but direct. He stared at Buck with unwavering intensity, his wide eyes locking onto the man’s as though searching for the truth buried within.

Buck seemed momentarily caught off guard by the boy’s question, his expression softening. There was something piercing about Tyler’s gaze, something almost otherworldly. Buck let out a slow breath, a faint smile curling his lips as he replied, his voice calm and almost wistful.

“Well,” he began, his tone light, “I still had my whiskey then. And…” He glanced at the group before turning his gaze back to Tyler. “You seem like you have a better plan than they did. But mainly because of the whiskey.” His grin widened slightly, but the humor was lost on the group, their faces remaining stoic.

Allison stepped forward, her calm and measured voice breaking the silence. “What exactly was their plan?” she asked, tilting her head slightly, her curiosity evident but restrained.

Buck chuckled dryly, lifting an empty whiskey bottle to his lips out of habit. When nothing came out, his grin faded, and he shook the bottle slightly as if to confirm it was truly empty.

“Their plan?” he repeated, setting the bottle down on a nearby table. “They figured they’d just get to the ground floor and run for it. No strategy, no backup plan. Just run. Didn’t sound too smart to me.” He shrugged, nodding toward the interior of his room. “Figured I’d stay up here, scavenge what I can from the rooms, and keep to myself. Not like I’m unarmed—I’ve already got my shotgun.”

At the mention of the weapon, three of the kids instinctively jumped back, their wide eyes betraying their unease. But Jordan, true to form, didn’t share their reaction. His face lit up with excitement as he stepped forward eagerly.

“You have a shotgun? That’s awesome! Can I see it?” Jordan asked, trying to push past his father. His enthusiasm was palpable, but Andrew was quick to block his path, planting a firm hand on his son’s shoulder and keeping him in place.

Buck’s grin faded entirely as he got down on one knee, bringing himself to Jordan’s level. His eyes, now serious, bore into the boy’s with an intensity that made Jordan hesitate. “Guns aren’t as awesome as you think they are,” Buck said, his voice low and steady. “They’re used to kill. So no, you can’t see my shotgun.”

Jordan’s face fell, and he opened his mouth as if to argue, but the words never came. The stern tone of Buck’s voice and the man’s imposing presence made him think twice. He clenched his jaw, his frustration evident, but he ultimately stayed quiet, stepping back reluctantly.

Buck straightened, his eyes briefly scanning the group before settling back on Jackson. “If you’ve got a real plan,” he said, his tone softening slightly, “then maybe I’ll tag along. But I’m not babysitting, and I’m not taking orders from anyone who doesn’t know what they’re doing.”

Jackson nodded slowly, glancing at Tyler and then back to Buck. “We’ve got a plan,” he said, his voice firm but calm. “And if you can help us get down there safely, then we’ll all stand a better chance.”

Buck didn’t respond immediately, but his faint smile returned, and he gave a small nod of agreement. For now, it seemed he was in.

“Alright… I like the sound of that,” Buck said, his voice gruff and tinged with impatience. He twisted his face into a grimace, his discomfort evident. “Let’s get to it. I can’t stand being sober!”

Julie, standing near the door, glanced nervously toward Buck. “Do you have anything for us?” she asked hesitantly. “We left all of our stuff in the cars… Not that we had much to begin with,” she added, her last words muttered under her breath.

Buck blinked at her, his expression momentarily blank before he turned and disappeared into his hotel room. Moments later, he returned, dragging a large, well-worn suitcase. Setting it down, he opened it with deliberate slowness, the faint light inside glinting off his shotgun. “I’ve got two guns in my car,” he said, his tone casual, as though discussing something mundane. “But that’s not going to help us right now. Best I’ve got in here is a screwdriver and a hammer. And honestly?” He paused, closing the suitcase with a firm snap. “Running’s a better idea than fighting.”

Jordan let out a gasp of excitement at the sight of the shotgun, his face lighting up. But the moment was short-lived as Buck pushed the suitcase aside and handed the screwdriver and hammer to Timothy and Andrew.

“Thanks,” Andrew said with a low grunt, gripping the hammer tightly. He turned it over in his hand a few times, adjusting to its weight. Though far from ideal, it was better than nothing. The simple presence of a tool in his hand made him feel slightly less vulnerable.

Julie’s worried gaze lingered on her husband as he steadied the hammer, her lips pressing together in a thin line. The sight of him armed, even with something as simple as a hammer, made the gravity of their situation sink deeper.

Jackson’s voice cut through the silence, drawing everyone’s attention. “Alright, let’s check these other rooms for any extra supplies or food. Then we head down,” he said firmly, stepping into the lead position without hesitation.

Richard clenched his jaw, the flicker of annoyance in his expression betraying his thoughts. He didn’t like the new guy taking charge, but he held his tongue. They were following his plan, after all, and he wasn’t eager to put himself at the frontlines. With a quiet huff, he hung back with the women and children as the group began to methodically check the rooms.

Room by room, they searched, grabbing whatever supplies they could find. A few unopened cans of food, water bottles, a flashlight, and some basic first-aid items were added to their collection. The men carried the bulk of the loot in hastily packed bags, while the women held onto smaller, easily managed items.

When the floor had been cleared, the group regrouped in the hallway, their collected supplies piled into makeshift bags or held in their hands. The air felt a little lighter with their newfound resources, though the tension remained just beneath the surface.

“Looks like we hit the jackpot!” Richard said, a rare grin spreading across his face as he held up a pistol he had found. His excitement quickly turned into an unintended scare as Timothy’s kids flinched at the sight of the weapon.

Realizing his mistake, Richard quickly slipped the pistol into a secure pocket. “Sorry about that,” he muttered, his tone more sheepish than apologetic.

Timothy stepped forward, shaking his head but choosing not to comment on Richard’s carelessness. “Well, we certainly got lucky,” he said, holding up the metal bat he’d found. “I can do a lot more with this than I can with a screwdriver.” He handed the small tool to his wife, who took it with a grateful but uncertain expression.

Allison turned the screwdriver over in her hands, unsure of what to do with it but accepting it nonetheless. She glanced at her husband, her brow furrowed slightly. “Guess it’s better than nothing,” she said softly.

The group stood in a loose circle, their supplies gathered and their weapons distributed. For now, they were as prepared as they could be. The tension in the air lingered, a reminder that the real test lay ahead. They had cleared the floor, but the descent to the ground level—and whatever awaited them outside—was still to come.

"Alright then… let’s do it! Let’s get out of here!” Julie said, her voice steady with determination as she wrapped an arm around Jordan. She glanced around at the men, her eyes silently asking if they were ready. Her confidence seemed to waver slightly when she met their expressions, but she didn’t let it show.

Jackson stood at the front, scanning the group. His eyes lingered briefly on Buck, who looked half-sober at best but oddly composed despite it. Then Andrew, whose imposing frame and stoic demeanor made him seem unshakable, though the subtle tension in his jaw said otherwise. Richard stood next, his suit rumpled but his stance still carrying the air of a man used to being in charge, even if he was clearly out of his element. Finally, Timothy, clutching the metal bat in one hand, his other arm protectively resting on Allison’s shoulder, stood like a man who was willing to face anything to protect his family.

Jordan, however, was the outlier. His wide grin and sparkling eyes stood in stark contrast to the somber expressions around him. He was practically bouncing with energy, his excitement impossible to miss.

“This is going to be awesome!”