"Stay right behind me," Quinn whispered, his voice barely a breath. "Whatever happens, don't make a sound."
Lily nodded, her small hand gripping the back of his jeans.
He took a deep breath, steeling himself, and then stepped out from the cover of the bookstore doorway. He moved slowly into the middle of the empty street, his hands raised to show they were empty. The iron poker was still strapped to his back, but he made no move for it.
"Hello?" he called out, his voice feeling unnaturally loud in the silence. "Is anyone there? We're survivors. We're not infected."
He waited. The only answer was the faint, mournful whistle of the wind blowing through a broken traffic light. The flickering light in the window high above continued its silent, rhythmic pulse.
"My name is Quinn," he tried again, projecting his voice towards the barricade. "I have a child with me. She's six years old. We're looking for shelter."
Silence. He was about to call out a third time when a voice, sharp and clear, cut through the night. It came from a small, grated opening in the barricade near the ground, a dark spot he had not noticed before.
"That's far enough."
The voice was calm, steady, and held an unmistakable edge of authority. Quinn stopped immediately.
"Are you alone?" the voice asked.
"It's just me and my niece," Quinn replied, keeping his tone even.
"How do I know you're not bitten?"
It was a fair question. The most important question. "We're not," Quinn said. "You can check us. But not out here."
There was a long pause. Quinn could feel unseen eyes studying them, weighing the risk. Finally, the voice spoke again. "Walk slowly to the barricade. Keep your hands where I can see them. If you make one fast move, this conversation is over. Permanently."
Quinn did as he was told, moving with a slow, deliberate pace. Lily followed so closely behind him she was practically stepping on his heels. As they reached the barricade of overturned cars and scavenged furniture, a section of it moved. A heavy metal security door from a commercial building had been rigged on hinges, and it swung inward with a low groan, revealing a dark opening.
A figure stepped out. He was tall and lean, dressed in dark cargo pants and a hoodie. He held a modified shotgun, its stock and barrel shortened, leveled directly at Quinn's chest. The man's face was sharp, intelligent, and his eyes were wary, constantly scanning, assessing. He moved with a quiet competence that spoke of training.
"Inside. Now," the man said, gesturing with the barrel of the shotgun.
Quinn ushered Lily in first, then followed, his hands still raised. The heavy door swung shut behind them, plunging them into near-total darkness, the sound of the outside world cut off completely. A powerful flashlight clicked on, momentarily blinding Quinn. The beam moved down his body, then Lily's, checking for any signs of blood or injury.
"She's a liability," the man said, his voice flat. The beam was fixed on Lily, who flinched and hid her face in Quinn's leg. "Kids make noise. They get scared."
"She's brave," Quinn said, his voice hardening. "And she's not a liability. She's my responsibility."
The man held the light on him for another long moment, then seemed to come to a decision. "Alright. Let's see what we're dealing with."
He led them through the fortified lobby and up a flight of stairs, the flashlight beam cutting a path through the darkness. They entered an apartment on the second floor. It was sparsely furnished, but the windows were completely blacked out with thick blankets and pieces of cardboard. In one corner, a complex array of electronic equipment sat on a desk, powered by a car battery connected to a small solar panel propped in the window behind the blackout material. A laptop screen glowed, displaying lines of code and static-filled frequency monitors. This was the source of the flickering light—a small, controlled LED hooked up to the rig.
The man gestured for them to sit on the floor. He kept the shotgun held loosely, but it was always pointed in their general direction.
"I'm Hex," he said.
"Quinn."
"Marine?" Hex asked, his eyes flicking to Quinn's posture, the way he carried himself.
"Corpsman," Quinn corrected. "Attached to a Force Recon unit."
A flicker of understanding, maybe even respect, crossed Hex's face. The tension in the room eased, just slightly. It was the recognition of one professional finding another in a world of amateurs.
"Hex isn't my real name," he said. "It's what they called me in the Air Force. Signals Intelligence." He gestured to the rig on the desk. "I was trying to contact my old base. Any base. Any official broadcast. All I'm getting is static, and… chatter."
"What kind of chatter?" Quinn asked, leaning forward.
"Garbled military comms from the first few hours. Talk of containment protocols. Fail-safes. Then, nothing. Just automated emergency broadcasts on a loop. The system is dead, Quinn. There's no one coming to save us."
It confirmed what Quinn already suspected, but hearing it said aloud, so definitively, was a heavy blow.
Quinn explained his own story, starting with the quiet Saturday morning at his sister's house and ending with the desperate flight through the suburbs. He left out the most brutal details, but Hex could read between the lines. He saw the grief and the exhaustion etched on Quinn's face. His gaze softened when he looked at Lily, who was now dozing, her head on Quinn's thigh.
"I've been tracking the outbreak's spread through radio intercepts and emergency calls before everything went dark," Hex said, turning to his laptop. He pulled up a map of the city, marked with red circles. "It started at Blackwood, obviously. A fast-acting pathogen. They're calling it the 'Kael Strain' in the few transmissions I could decipher. It spreads through fluidic contact. Bites, mostly. But there are whispers of… other vectors. Airborne, in highly concentrated areas."
He pointed to the center of the map. "This whole city is a hot zone. Leaving is the only long-term option."
"I know," Quinn said. "I just need a place to rest. To form a plan. To find better gear."
Hex nodded slowly, his mind working. A pragmatic alliance was forming, unspoken but understood. Quinn was a combat asset, a trained fighter who could watch his back. Hex had the technical expertise, a marginally secure location, and a broader understanding of their strategic situation. They were two sides of a coin, two pieces of a puzzle that might, together, stand a chance.
"You can stay," Hex said finally, lowering the shotgun. "For now. We can help each other. The kid can have the bedroom. She can rest."
The relief that washed over Quinn was immense. He gently scooped a sleeping Lily into his arms. She was so light. He carried her into the small, dark bedroom and laid her on the bare mattress. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, she was behind a locked door, in a building that was defended. It was not safety, not really. But it was a reprieve. It was a chance to breathe. And in this new world, that was everything.