CHAPTER 28: 28: THE WORLD WAS BLEAK

The faint hum of muffled voices grew louder as they moved deeper. Every door they passed seemed like a potential ambush site, and Zara couldn’t help the quick glances she shot into every shadowed corner.

Her stomach tightened as they neared the end of the hallway, where two guards stood outside a heavy steel door, their rifles slung across their shoulders. They exchanged no pleasantries, their cold stares cutting through the silence like a warning.

Winter gave them a tight nod, his broad shoulders relaxed, his hands loose at his sides. Zara envied his calm. She tried to emulate it, though her hands curled into nervous fists at her sides.

Their wiry escort rapped on it twice, a coded knock that reverberated like a challenge. A small slot slid open, revealing a pair of sharp, suspicious eyes before the door creaked inward.

The room was sparse but functional, illuminated by a dim lantern at its centre. The air carried the acrid tang of sweat and gun oil. Around a battered wooden table sat several figures: the old man they’d met outside the base, a woman with a long braid falling over her shoulder, the healer who had tended Zara’s injury earlier, and a few others who exuded the kind of hardened, dangerous energy that came only from surviving countless battles.

Winter’s gaze swept the room, noting every exit, every potential weapon, and every shift in the group’s posture.

Zara’s hand briefly brushed against his, grounding herself in his steady presence.

"You’re late," the scarred man growled, leaning back in his chair and gesturing for them to sit.

Winter pulled out a chair, the scrape of metal on concrete loud in the silence. Zara took the seat beside him, her movements stiff as she kept her eyes trained on the table.

"Your guide must have thought we needed some sightseeing," Winter replied smoothly, his deep voice carrying an edge of authority. "It was him who led us here."

The scarred man huffed but said nothing, his attention shifting to the old man, who shifted in his seat.

"Welcome," the old man rasped, his voice as weathered as his face. He leaned forward, folding his hands over the table.

"There’s a cache in City B," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "Weapons, food, medical supplies. If we get to it first, it could keep this base alive for months. But we’re not the only ones who know about it."

Winter and Zara frowned. Why were they being told this? It would be foolish for these people to share their plans with literal strangers.

The braided woman cut in, her voice sharp. "We’ve intercepted chatter from another group heading there. We need to move fast. Take them out before they take us out."

Zara stiffened, glancing at Winter. His expression remained neutral, but she could see the slight tightening of his jaw. His military past had trained him well in concealing emotions, but she’d spent enough time with him to notice the small tells.

"How many are we talking about?" Winter asked, his tone steady.

"Does it matter?" the braided woman snapped.

"We’re not here to play nice. We’ll kill them and take what’s ours."

Zara’s stomach churned at the casual cruelty in her voice. These people weren’t just survivors—they were predators, willing to do whatever it took to stay alive. She couldn’t help but feel a stab of unease at being in their midst.

"They won’t go down easy," the broad-shouldered man added. "We’ll need to be strategic. Take out their scouts first, then ambush the main group."

The conversation shifted to tactics, the group discussing choke points, ambush strategies, and fallback plans.

Zara tuned out most of it, her attention drawn to the healer, who was openly staring at Winter. Her gaze was bold, predatory, and entirely inappropriate given the circumstances.

"We’ve heard about the variants," the old man interjected, his voice gravelly. "The hunters. They’ve been appearing more frequently. Faster, smarter. You seem to have run into them. Tell us about that."

Winter leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable. "The hunters are different. They move in packs and coordinate attacks. They’re not like the usual shamblers." His voice was steady, betraying none of the unease Zara knew he must have felt recalling the encounter.

"So," the healer said suddenly, cutting off the old man mid-sentence. "How did you manage to escape those variants? Fast ones, smart ones... not many live to tell the tale."

The room fell silent, all eyes on Winter. Zara felt her pulse quicken, her mind racing to anticipate his response.

"I had military training before all this," he said with a calm shrug.

The group exchanged glances, scepticism flickering across their faces. The woman’s gaze lingered on Winter, her lips curving into a faint smile that sent a shiver down Zara’s spine.

"That training must come in handy," she purred, stepping closer. "You seem to bounce back quickly. That wound earlier barely slowed you down."

Zara clenched her fists under the table as the woman placed a hand on Winter’s arm. He didn’t react, but Zara caught the slight tightening of his jaw.

"I heal fast," Winter said curtly.

"Yeah, I noticed," the woman’s eyes beamed on his chest with laser-like focus.

Zara’s jaw tightened, and she glared at the lady, her eyes burning with barely concealed anger. Winter noticed, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smirk.

Good. Let them think she was possessive—it would help sell their story.

"Can we leave now?" Zara asked, her voice tight. "We’ve given you the information you wanted."

The braided woman smirked, her eyes narrowing. "You can leave. You’re not exactly useful to us. But we need Winter for the raid tomorrow."

Zara’s heart skipped a beat. This was unexpected—and dangerous. Why would they want him on such an important mission when he was still recovering?

"That’s ridiculous," Zara said, her voice rising despite herself. "He’s not fully healed. You have someone who can fix him up, but—"

"But what? We are busy making plans here, and all you do is interrupt," the woman interrupted with a cold laugh. "What are you worried about exactly, huh?"

Zara blinked at her sudden attack.

But the woman wasn’t done. "Are you worried that some of us are actually focused on survival? Do you have anything of importance to contribute, or are you going to keep complaining?"

Winter frowned at her words. Zara was more than capable of holding her own outside. He had seen it before she suddenly turned up injured and with the coat.

"...Maybe you should stick to what you’re good at—opening your legs and getting knocked up."

The room fell silent.

The words hit Zara like a slap, flushing her face with anger and humiliation. She opened her mouth to retort, but Winter stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor.

"Apologize," Winter said, his voice low and dangerous.

The room turned cold. The shift in Winter’s demeanour was startling. His towering frame cast a shadow over the table, and his piercing gaze bore into the woman with the braid, who shrank back slightly despite her bravado.

"Excuse me?" she spat, though her voice wavered.

"Apologize," Winter repeated, his tone icy. "Now."

The leader raised a hand, his expression unreadable. "Enough. Apologize, Nadine."

The woman with the braid—Nadine—scowled but muttered a curt, "Sorry."

Winter didn’t move, his gaze lingering on her until she looked away.

"Good," Winter said, his voice like steel. "It would be best to remember who she is before speaking that way in my presence."

Slowly, he sat back down, the tension in the room easing slightly. His posture relaxed, but the air around him still crackled with barely contained fury.

The old man cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "Let’s continue. Winter, we’ll need you to..."

As the meeting went on, Zara caught Winter’s gaze. He gave her a subtle look, a silent communication that took her a moment to interpret. He wanted her to leave, to find the depot while they kept him occupied. She nodded softly, pushing back her chair and standing.

"I’ll leave you to it," she said, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside her.

The leader didn’t acknowledge her; his attention was already on the map and spread across the table.

Zara slipped out of the room, her mind racing as she made her way back down the hallway.

She forced herself to focus, cataloguing every door and passage she passed. Somewhere in this base was a depot of supplies, and if they had any hope of escaping, they’d need to find it.

Her thoughts briefly strayed to Winter. The way he’d defended her... She pushed the thought aside, forcing herself to concentrate on the task at hand.

It didn’t mean anything. Any self-respecting person would have done the same. The bitch was lucky Leo was in her arms, or she’s have dragged her across the base with that stupid ass braid of hers.

*****

When Winter finally left the meeting, night had fallen. He found Zara’s room in a quiet corner of the base, her expression unreadable as she waited for him.

"You find anything?" he asked, his voice low.

She nodded. "A storage room near the east wing. Locked, but I think it’s the depot."

He exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Good. They want me to join their raid tomorrow. It’s a test."

Zara frowned. "You’re not going, are you?"

"We don’t have much of a choice," he said, his gaze steady. "We’ll have to play along and get their guard down first."

She looked down, chewing the inside of her cheek. "It’s a risk."

"I know." His voice softened, surprising even himself. "But I can handle it."

Together, they sat down with the map, their heads close as they whispered about possible routes and escape plans. Zara’s finger traced a line along the edge of the paper, brushing his knuckle accidentally. Neither of them acknowledged it, but the air between them grew heavier.