CH. 5

Without a word, Jake—once a firefighter, now a ghost of his former self in soot-streaked gear—bolted into the night. His footsteps slammed the concrete, echoing like gunshots down the alley. The heavy clatter of his oxygen tank and boots shattered the silence they’d fought to preserve. No one spoke. They only watched, breathless, as he vanished into the void. Fear for him warred with a flickering hope that those cries were real—that they hadn’t just sent him into a trap. Marcus clutched his crossbow tighter, every nerve screaming for vigilance. "We can’t all go," he said under his breath, eyes pinned on the alley’s mouth. "If it’s a setup, someone has to cover the retreat." Penelope’s heart drummed in her chest. “Take Rachel. And a few others. I’ll hold this line.” Marcus didn’t question it. He knew. She was their strongest hand if things went sideways. He pressed a cold, battered walkie-talkie into her palm. “Keep this on. Scream if you have to.”

The group split silently. Marcus, Rachel, and two others slipped into the dark, following the path Jake had taken. Those who remained behind crouched in anxious silence, ears tuned to every creak of metal and whisper of wind. The cries had stopped. A bad sign. Time distorted. Every second dragged like a blade across their nerves. The air thickened, humid with dread. Somewhere nearby, a distant structure collapsed with a moan that echoed like a dying animal. Then came movement. Figures emerged from the alley shadows—first Marcus, his face sharp with urgency, then Rachel, cradling something. Behind them followed children. Filthy, gaunt, blinking at the sudden exposure to stars. Some held broken broom handles like weapons. Others huddled together, clinging to scraps of fabric or each other. They were shaking, but alive.

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the survivors. Hope returned—but not untouched by horror. “They were hiding in an old daycare,” Marcus said hoarsely. “Left behind. Crying for parents that never came back.” Rachel didn’t stop moving, already assessing cuts, fevers, dehydration. Her nurse’s instinct overtook the chaos. Penelope scanned their faces—so many—but Jake’s wasn’t among them. Her mouth dried. “Where is he?” she asked Marcus, then turned to Rachel. “Where’s Jake?” Rachel froze, the flicker of triumph dying in her eyes. Her voice cracked. “He... didn’t make it.” The words hit like gunfire to the gut.

“He held them off,” she added, struggling to speak. “They were surrounded. He gave us a way out. Held the line.”

Penelope’s grip tightened on the armrest of her chair. Jake—brash, relentless Jake—was gone. Lost to the city, to the dead, to the silence. The weight of his absence pressed down like iron. “We have to move,” Marcus said, voice low but firm. “The guards will sweep this sector soon. We can’t be here.” No one argued. Rachel wiped at her eyes and turned back to the children. “They come with us.” Marcus nodded once. “No debates. We protect them now.” Rachel handed Penelope a bundle—tiny, trembling. A baby, wrapped in a surprisingly clean fleece blanket. Its eyes were wide and glassy, too silent. Penelope tucked the infant gently into the basket rigged on her motorized wheelchair, securing it with her scarf. A single breath of life clinging to a world drenched in death.

They moved out. The march was tense. Every echo of their steps seemed too loud. The wheelchair’s low motor hummed like a beacon, but they had no choice. They took the back streets, weaving through shattered storefronts and burned-out vehicles. Marcus led, weapon raised. Rachel and two others rotated pushing Penelope when the terrain grew rough. The city felt different now. Not just broken, but watching. A sudden sound broke the hush. An engine. Low at first—distant, indistinct. But growing. Roaring. A mechanical snarl long absent from the deadened soundscape. The group froze as headlights broke over the horizon, cutting clean through the shadows. A massive, lumbering shape followed—an old city bus, its engine coughing smoke, its lights blinking like ghost eyes.

“No way,” Marcus breathed. “That’s not possible…” The loudspeaker cracked, static sputtering—then a voice. "Penelope! Marcus! It’s me—Jake! I’ve got a surprise for you!" For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then Penelope surged forward, eyes burning. The bus screeched to a halt in a cloud of dust. The door groaned open. Jake stood there, alive, filthy, bleeding—but grinning. The kids gasped, some clapping, others bursting into tears. To them, it might as well have been a spaceship. A miracle. Marcus stormed forward. “What the hell, Jake? How?” Jake laughed breathlessly. “I don’t die easy.”

Rachel hugged him hard, then pulled away, slapping his chest. “You idiot!”

He gestured grandly to the bus. “Found it in an old transit garage. Was half-buried under rubble, but the tank still had fuel. Barely. Took some love... and a little divine intervention.” As the children began piling in, Penelope stayed fixed on him. “How’d you survive?” she asked quietly, the baby still nestled against her.

Jake’s smile dimmed. “It was close. I barricaded the daycare, used overturned cribs and tables. Held long enough for you all to get out.” He swallowed. “They were breaking through. I heard their claws. Their teeth. I climbed into the bathroom vent—just barely fit—and crawled through like a rat.” His eyes clouded. “It felt like a tomb. But when I came out on the roof... I saw the garage across the street. And this beast parked right inside.”

He placed a hand on the wheel like it was a sacred relic. “Like it was waiting for me,” he whispered. Marcus stared at him, part in awe, part in disbelief. “You’re out of your mind.” Jake grinned again, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. But we’re still breathing.” The door hissed shut behind the last child. Penelope was lifted inside and wheeled to the back. Jake tied down the chair with rope. Rachel took a headcount. Marcus checked the ammo bags. The bus pulled forward, its groaning engine blending with the sound of shifting shadows beyond. Through the cracked windows, the city watched them go—silent, resentful. The roads passed beneath them like ribs in a dying beast. The children stared, wide-eyed, as neighborhoods once bright with color and laughter crawled past in ruin.

Then the prison loomed. Steel. Stone. Wire. It rose out of the dark like a last stronghold of the old world. “Be ready,” Marcus said. “This might not be over.”

Penelope nodded, cradling the baby tighter. Because in a world like this... safety was never certain. And hope came with a cost.