Chapter 71:
Winter’s grip on his rifle tightened as the faint noise they’d heard earlier grew louder, more distinct. The noise sounded strange, mechanical yet muffled, even as it drew closer. Leo whimpered softly in her arms, his fevered body shifting against hers.
What the hell is that? Winter thought with a frown. A car? No way. No cars were working anymore and that didnt sound like one either.
The noise suddenly stopped.
Zara and Winter froze, their breaths held. The silence was deafening, and the darkness seemed almost alive. Now they could hear what sounded like footsteps.
Winter slowly shifted his weight, his rifle poised as his sharp eyes scanned the area. Zara’s heart pounded, her instincts urging her to run, but there was nowhere to go. The footsteps were too close now, their owners just out of sight. Turning their backs would be suicide.
Then they heard it—soft footsteps breaking the stillness. These weren’t the clumsy, aimless shuffles of the infected. This was someone—or several someone—moving through the dark.
Winter shifted to stand in front of Zara and Leo, his broad frame a shield as his rifle aimed toward the noise.
"Stay behind me," Winter murmured, "be prepared to run at my signal."
Zara nodded, clutching Leo close, her pulse hammering in her ears.
Out of the shadows emerged three figures. The first was an older man, his weathered face lined with years of hardship but his eyes sharp and calculating.
Beside him stood a young man barely out of his teens, wiry but alert, his hands stuffed in his pockets. Beside him stood a young man barely out of his teens, wiry but alert, his hands stuffed in his pockets. The last figure was a man in his late twenties.