Ben’s shoulders sagged with a grunt. "We don’t have food for more mouths," he said, jab of a finger toward the convoy. "And after what happened with our crew... we ain’t taking chances."
Dylan. The na slipped through Sasha’s head like a cool thing on her tongue — clinical, oddly lodic. She didn’t know why it lingered, only that he watched her as if weighing a hypothesis.
Just like Reid.
Sasha lowered her voice, trading bravado for business. "Listen. We’ve got fuel, d-kits, food—enough to feed a squad for a week. There are extra magazines and tools in the van. Let us prove ourselves. We know how to move. We know how to clear buildings. Give us a chance."
Ben’s face closed like a trap. "You killed our people back there. You expect to just forget that because you say you’ve got canned beans?"
The accusation hit like a thrown stone; for a beat, the road held its breath. Dylan’s face did not change, but Sasha saw sothing flicker in his eyes—annoyance, maybe, or a mory of cold decisions made for cold reasons.
Alvaro shoved forward before she could, voice rough like gravel. "They attacked us first. In this world, survival cos first. Don’t act holy now."
Ben’s lip curled. "Survival, huh? Survival’s a funny word when you take from other survivors."
Cloud moved like a calm shadow, stepping between words before they beca bullets. "We didn’t go hunting your people. We ran when we had to. We fight when we had to. You attack us first, and we answer in kind."
A short, humorless chuckle rippled through the convoy. Tension buzzed in the air. n shifted their weight on their heels, fingers close to triggers.
Dylan lifted a hand, surprising everyone with the softness of the gesture. "Enough." His voice was quiet but carried, like a scalpel. "We’ll inspect the van. If their supplies check out, we’ll talk recruitnt. If not—Ben, you have my full support."
Ben spat. "Fine. We inspect. One week. They stay in guarded quarters. One misstep, and they die."
Sasha inclined her head once, a small, businesslike bow. "One week."
As they were led forward, Cloud’s eyes flicked to Alvaro. Alvaro returned it with a narrow smile and a thumb lifted at Sasha.
Sasha heard the n around her muttering — about luck, about fools, about bargains. She heard Dylan’s soft voice again, giving orders to a younger guard.
They pushed the van open under watchful guns. Dust spilled out. The sll of hot tal and engine oil t the convoy’s scrutiny.
Ben grunted and gestured the n in. Dylan moved, catalog in hand. Cloud and Alvaro stood easy but ready. Sasha stood between them, shoulders straight, pulse steady.
Dylan stared at the van like a surgeon inspecting a new instrunt.
It wasn’t just the stacks of food and dical kits. The hull itself was layered with plates, the windows reinforced with lattice, and the roof rigged for a turret. Wiring, hidden compartnts, spare parts — everything about it scread purpose-built.
Could they have this made?
Dylan’s mind ticked through possibilities. Yes. Dangerous possibilities.
He turned to Ben. "This van isn’t off-the-shelf. Soone engineered this for combat — against things bigger than looters. We can use it."
Ben scowled, chewing the words like a bad taste. "We could also kill them and take everything without bargaining."
Dylan’s reply was a quiet, logical thinking. "That would be wasteful. Humans are scarce. Skilled humans are scarcer."
Ben’s teeth ground. "I don’t trust them."
"You don’t have to trust them yet," Dylan said. "But we just lost a raid team. We could use fighters like these — if they prove themselves."
It took a long mont. Ben’s jaw loosened, not with trust, but with pragmatism. "One week. Trial. If they betray us — no second chances."
Decision made, n barked orders. Sasha, Alvaro, and Cloud were cuffed and led toward the trucks while Ben’s n drove the prized van.
The road spat them with a few skirmishes — undead drawn by the commotion — but nothing the convoy couldn’t swallow. Grenades blood through fog; rifles barked; the armored van ramd through a makeshift blockade with chainsaws shrieking and steel groaning. It was violent, chaotic, and short.
Sasha felt heat on her face from a near blast and tasted dust in the back of her throat. She’d survived worse battles — but this one was pure chaos.
No formation, no tactics... just frightened people hurling anything they could at the approaching undead. These weren’t trained soldiers — just survivors forced to fight because there was no other choice.
By late afternoon they rolled into an old jail compound, red-brick walls scarred by ti and fire. Gates still stood. Towers lood. It slled like iron and dried blood — the perfect place to hide from the world outside.
Undead clustered at the outer gate; Ben’s n popped a few grenades and cleared a path while Dylan coordinated their entry. The convoy poured in. Guards swept the walls. The vehicles settled like hungry beasts coming ho.
Inside, the rules snapped into place.
The trio were separated and processed just like new recruits: body checks, inventory checks, a rough-voiced guard pointing to bunks.
The jail had been converted into a fortified village — rows of cots, narrow windows, ration lines — a grim micro-society.
Sasha was ushered into a wing for won. The cell slled of sweat and unwashed clothes. It was cramped, but it had structure — and a surveillance of sorts.
She was placed in a bunk with other won who watched her like wolves. One of them, Stacey, had been here longer than most.
Stacey’s voice was flat as a blade. "Surprised Ben and Dylan took you. Thought their mouths were shut for new people. Food is thin, water thinner."
Sasha shrugged, folding her hands. "We brought enough supplies to gain entry."
Stacey snorted.
Sasha t her with a steady look. Stacey didn’t like her; fine. Making friends wasn’t Sasha’s imdiate objective. She had bigger plans.
She had to get Dylan on her side— not just because he ran things politely and clinically, but because Dylan might be the villain.
Stay inside this cramped ring forever and rot? No.
Sasha chewed on the thought like a decision she’d already made.
There were more villains out there, and she would not take chances.
So she settled into the bunk, mind racing with plans.
As night fell, she pulled the thin blanket tight and watched the cell’s shadowed figures breathe. Alvaro and Cloud were sowhere on the n’s side. She wasn’t worried about them because she knew they could hold their own.
Sasha closed her eyes and let the new plan bloom. She would get Dylan with her, one way or another.
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