Requiem of the Dead

Fiona exhaled, her breath uneven, and glanced at Leila. "Any injuries we need to look at?" she asked in a hushed tone, careful not to let her voice carry through the half-collapsed building.

Leila shook her head, wincing slightly at the ache in her ribs, bruised from when Jace had slammed her into the shelving back at the department store. The memory still clung to her, as raw as the bruises under her clothes. "I'll live," she replied. "Check on Darren if you get a chance—he took a hit back there, I think." She tried to keep her tone even, businesslike, ignoring the lingering sting of betrayal that seemed to course through her body with every twinge of pain.

Fiona nodded, shifting her medical bag on her shoulder as she moved to join Mark and Darren, who hovered near a battered sedan in the middle of the auto repair shop. The place smelled of rust, stale oil, and something faintly metallic—like dried blood. It was a reminder of what the world had become: a place where even the most mundane locations could turn into deathtraps if they stayed too long.

That left Leila and Kai by the front entrance, both of them standing in tense silence. Beyond the broken windows, a cold wind howled through the deserted street. The faint moans of the infected drifted in sporadically, fraying the nerves of anyone who was listening. Leila's mind flickered back to her fight with Jace and Ellie: Ellie's cold, angry eyes, Jace's brute force as he tackled her, and the single shot from Kai's gun that had changed everything in a heartbeat.

"You did what you had to," Kai murmured, as though he could sense the tumult of her thoughts. His voice was low, carrying a softness that seemed out of place in a world gone mad.

Leila's gaze shifted to him, her eyes tired. "Doesn't mean I have to like it," she said, her breath catching slightly. She could still feel the adrenaline in her veins, pulsing at the edges of her awareness.

Kai's dark eyes studied her face with an intensity that made her uneasy. She almost expected another remark—some reassurance or twisted logic—but he simply gave a small nod. "No. But you kept yourself—and everyone else—alive. That has to count for something." His words sounded pragmatic, but beneath the calm exterior she sensed a storm of emotion he kept hidden.

An empty laugh escaped Leila's lips, though it held no humor. "I guess it does." She turned her attention to the darkness beyond the shop's entrance, scanning for any movement that might signal danger. The infected were out there, likely converging on any sound or light. Jace and Ellie might also be out there, licking their wounds, stoking their anger. She couldn't afford to dwell on either threat for too long.

Mark's footsteps echoed across the stained concrete. He approached with a toolbox in one hand, a faint sheen of sweat on his brow. "Found a few tools," he said, lifting the kit as if it were a treasure chest. "Nothing spectacular, but might help with barricading or repairs." His voice was subdued, weighed down by fatigue.

Darren followed a few steps behind, grimacing every time he shifted his weight. "No food, though. And I don't see any spare parts we can use," he added, a bitter edge to his voice. The group's supply situation was precarious at best.

"We have to rest while we can," Fiona interjected, emerging from behind the sedan with her medical bag in hand. She glanced at the shattered windows, her expression tight. "Everyone's exhausted, Leila. We can't keep running on fumes."

Leila hesitated, the weight of her role pressing heavily on her chest. Every minute they lingered was a minute the infected might storm the building or Jace and Ellie might launch a counterattack. But she saw the dark circles under Fiona's eyes, the trembling in Darren's hands, and the slump in Mark's shoulders. "Alright," she said at last, exhaling slowly as though releasing a burden. "We'll take the loft upstairs. But only for a short while. We leave before first light."

A low thud from outside made everyone freeze in place. Weapons came up, eyes darting to the walls. Another thump, then silence, like something—or someone—was testing the perimeter. The group remained motionless for what felt like an eternity, every breath caught in their throats. When no further noise came, Leila motioned for them to move on.

The shop was eerily quiet as they made their way toward the back staircase. Each step on the metal grate felt thunderous in the hush, echoing through the dark space. With every clang, Leila's mind raced: Could something hear them? Was another wave of infected about to break in? Or worse, had Jace and Ellie somehow followed them?

The narrow stairs led them to a cramped loft, once an office or storage room, with a single grimy window overlooking the street. A sagging couch leaned against one wall, its cushions torn open. A broken desk and a couple of toppled filing cabinets completed the sorry picture of an abandoned past.

"We'll take turns keeping watch," Leila instructed, fighting off the impulse to keep them moving all night. "Mark, you go first. Darren, you're next. Fiona, check on Darren's injuries in the meantime. Kai—"

"I'll watch by the window," Kai said quietly, positioning himself so he had a clear line of sight to the street below. In the faint moonlight, Leila caught the hard lines of his face, the unwavering focus in his posture. She still couldn't fully read him, but at least for now he was on their side.

Fiona led Darren to the couch, her voice dropping to a soothing murmur as she cleaned and bandaged his wound. Mark yawned, propping himself near the staircase with his rifle angled across his lap. Leila lingered, unsure where she fit into this fleeting moment of respite.

Pain throbbed in her side with every breath, a reminder of the brawl she'd survived. The memory of Jace's face twisted with fury flashed in her mind—she couldn't help but wonder if she'd ever see that face again, or if this world would swallow him whole before they crossed paths. The thought brought both relief and an unsettling pang of guilt.

With a weary sigh, she crossed to the broken desk and slid down against the wall beside it. The floor felt cold beneath her, but it was better than nothing. She was tired—exhausted, really—but her mind refused to go quiet. Scenes of the recent days replayed in an endless loop: the moment Ellie turned her gun on her, the ring of gunfire as she fought off the infected, the sound of Kai's voice urging her to keep going.

Her thoughts also drifted to Jace and Ellie's betrayal, the ache of that realization settling heavily in her chest. She had given them everything—her trust, her plans, a chance at a future—and they had turned it into a weapon against her. Was she too naive, or was betrayal simply inevitable in a world where survival overrode conscience?

A soft footstep pulled her from her thoughts. Kai stood beside her again, though she hadn't heard him approach. His presence was almost reassuring, like a shield against the darkness. "You should get some rest," he said, his tone gentler than before.

Leila forced a half-smile. "That's what you said earlier."

"And I meant it," Kai replied, crouching down so they were at eye level. The flicker of the moonlight in his eyes gave him a fierce look. "You can't lead if you're dead on your feet."

She knew he was right, but rest felt like a luxury they couldn't afford. Still, her body ached for it, and her spirit felt as though it was stretched to the breaking point. "Fine," she muttered, letting her eyes drift shut for a moment. "But wake me if anything so much as breathes outside that window."

Kai nodded once. "Deal." He rose to his feet and resumed his vigil at the loft's lone window, the barrel of his gun resting against the sill.

Leila's mind whirred, refusing to settle even as she tried to relax. She heard Mark shifting on the staircase, the soft clicks of Fiona's medical kit, the quiet hiss of Darren's pained exhale. Outside, the wind carried faint howls that could be distant infected or just the twisted imagination of a world in ruins.

Eventually, exhaustion won a small victory, and Leila drifted into a restless doze. Snatches of broken dreams tormented her—Jace's furious eyes, Ellie's betrayal, the crumbling city streets. She dreamt of standing on a hill of rubble, overlooking a sea of infected, her rifle out of bullets and her heart pounding in her ears. Their moans rose like a chorus of the damned, and she stood alone, shaking.

She woke with a jolt to find Kai lightly tapping her shoulder. "Time to move," he whispered.

It felt like only minutes had passed, but the slightest gray hue of predawn light leaked through the grimy window. Leila rubbed her eyes, forcing herself upright. Her body protested every movement, stiff with bruises and tension.

"Everything okay?" she asked, reaching instinctively for her rifle.

Kai nodded. "So far. Mark and Darren took turns at the stairwell. No sign of infected inside, but I've seen shapes moving in the street. Could be a small horde passing through."