"We rest here," Kev said. "Two-hour rotations. Doctor, check Sidhu again. Agatha, take first watch with Parvi."
No one complained.
The night was long. The silence deeper.
They heard noises around 3 a.m. A distant crunch of feet on gravel. A skittering sound. But nothing came close.
Morning broke slowly, the clouds stained copper and grey. As they resumed their journey, Kev noticed something strange—nature itself seemed reluctant to grow here. Most of the trees had withered roots, and even the grass was sparse. The sky carried the faintest red tint near the horizon, like dried blood smeared over the clouds.
Then they found them.
Survivors.
A small group—maybe ten—camped in the ruins of a collapsed church. The steeple had fallen sideways, the bell half-buried in the dirt. Makeshift tents made from tarp and signs surrounded the building. When Kev's group approached, guns were immediately drawn.
