CHAPTER 53: LIZZY’S PLAZA

The next morning, as the sun’s early rays spilled across the desolate street, they cast long shadows of three men walking in silence.

Merek’s hands were tucked deep into his coat pockets, his ruby pendant swaying gently with each step. Beside him, Tevin paced steadily, gripping his double-bladed spear loosely in one hand. The weapon’s bone-forged, triangular tip gleamed in the morning light.

Tevin glanced at Merek, then cast a look over his shoulder at Fred, who followed a few steps behind. Fred’s dented metal bat rested across his shoulder, a casual threat in his grasp.

The tension between Merek and Fred hung in the air like humidity before a storm, thick and hard to ignore.

Tevin had noticed it grow worse with each passing day. It didn’t surprise him; Merek had every reason to keep Fred at arm’s length. Yet, ever since Professor David had intervened and bestowed a valuable skill upon Fred, the man’s swagger had increased tenfold.

His voice cut through the silence like a blade.

"What are you staring at?" Fred spat, his eyes narrowing.

Tevin turned away without a word, swinging his spear over his shoulder. The movement drew attention to the jagged sheen of the spear’s bone tip. Fred’s jaw clenched slightly, his gaze lingering on the weapon.

Suddenly, Merek halted.

He tilted his head upward, his eyes fixed on a lone figure standing atop a nearby rooftop. Her crimson plume danced in the wind like a flag of war. She stood still, poised like a guardian knight drawn from the pages of a forgotten tale. The sight was striking, almost otherworldly.

With a fluid motion, she leapt from the rooftop.

She plummeted like a comet, landing with a powerful crash that sent a wave of dust spiraling outward. Then she straightened and strode toward Merek, her steps punctuated by the subtle clinks of armor.

Fred spun around at the sound of more footsteps, soft, metallic, deliberate.

The Vultures had returned.

They hadn’t been there moments ago, yet now they emerged from behind. They must have come back from the mission Merek had sent them on just before they all stepped out.

"Did you find anywhere we can scavenge food?" Merek asked, voice calm.

Yuki gave a small nod, turned, and led the group down the street. Minutes later, they stood before a modest plaza. The sign above the entrance read: Lizzy’s Plaza.

But the door told another story.

The glass was strangely clean, and thick chains looped around its handles, fastened tightly with a padlock. More disturbing was what greeted them on the wall beside the entrance.

Written in bold, dripping streaks of dried blood, were the words:

DO NOT APPROACH!

"Zombies can’t write," Merek said flatly, his eyes scanning the eerily empty parking lot before the plaza. His boots crunched against broken glass, a proof that vehicles were once here. "So there must be survivors nearby."

Yuki said nothing. She stepped ahead, her sword gleaming briefly in the morning sun before slicing clean through the chains wrapped around the door. The lock clattered to the ground with a sharp clink followed by the soft rattle of metal links unraveling.

Merek reached for the handle, pushed the door open, then did the same to the inner shutters. His hand rested on the grip of his revolver as he stepped inside, but what met him was not what he had expected.

The plaza was clean. Immaculately so.

Clothes still hung neatly on racks. Jewelry glittered under the dusty skylights. Shelves of deodorants, shoes, toothbrushes, untouched. But all of that faded into the background as he turned toward the back.

The food section was still stocked.

"This is strange," Tevin muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "If someone found this place... why didn’t they take anything?"

"I don’t know," Merek replied without turning. His tone was brisk now, commanding. "Open your bags. Take what you can, and be quick. We leave the moment I say so."

Without wasting a second, he made his way to the shelves, grabbing cans by the handful, beans, sardines, pudding, pickles, peanut butter, tossing them into his pendant space without a second glance. The cans vanished one after the other in a shimmer of light.

A single can of pudding could feed two people for half a day, and Merek knew the value of that. By the time he’d tossed ten into his pendant, a rare smile had crept onto his face. He moved toward a vending machine next.

Behind the glass sat dozens of drinks, fruit juice, energy drinks, sodas, all lined up in gleaming rows, untouched and perfect.

A single jagged line spread across the vending machine’s glass.

The crack widened, branching like a web of lightning, as if something inside was pushing its way out.

Boom!

The glass exploded outward in a spray of shards and he breathed out in relief. He was a bit afraid he wouldn’t be able to break it telekinetically.

Without blinking, Merek resumed moving, hurling drink after drink into the pendant as quickly as his hands could manage.

Fizzing soda cans. Bright red energy bottles. Cool blue fruit pouches. They vanished one by one, swallowed by the pendant’s seemingly bottomless space.

Through it all, Merek grinned like a thief in a dragon’s hoard.

If he could fall in love with the pendant, he would. Screw all the other treasures they’d found, nothing came close to this.

Absolutely nothing.

While the group scavenged inside, hoarding supplies with swift efficiency, a lone figure watched them from the window of a building across the street.

The young man’s jaw was clenched tight, his expression shadowed with unease.

He brought a walkie-talkie to his lips, pressing the button with a gloved thumb.

"A group just broke into the Boss’s plaza," he said quietly.

Crackle.

"What?!" the voice on the other end snapped. "How many?"

"Six," the scout answered, eyes never leaving the glass front of the plaza. "Three of them look young, maybe survivors or drifters. But the other three... they’re wearing full-body plate armor."

He shifted his grip on the M16 assault rifle slung across his chest. It gave him some comfort, but only just. Against the mutant beasts, especially Stage-1 mutations, it was practically useless. But against humans? Guns were still king.

"We’re on our way. Hold position. Don’t let them leave," came the curt reply.

The scout nodded and tucked the walkie-talkie back into his coat pocket.

But as he raised his head again, he froze.

Yuki was staring straight at him.

From across the street, through the dusty window, her helmet’s pale white eye-glow locked onto his soul with eerie precision. Behind her, the other two armoured figures, taller, broader, and far more menacing, began moving.

Toward him.

All the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. His grip on the rifle tightened until his knuckles turned white. The scout saw himself as lord over this area as long as he was under his boss. Everyone, everything belonged to them.

But this was different.

Yuki’s ghastly white orbs never blinked. Never flinched. They simply watched, as if she were measuring his fear.

Trembling, he fumbled for the walkie-talkie again and hissed into it.

"Lieutenant Rick... the ones in armor... they’re not human."

A second later, the glass of his building’s window shattered.

The armoured wraiths burst through like silent meteors, landing with metallic clinks that echoed like the tolling of death bells. Their crimson plumes swayed in the dusty air, catching the light, almost as if anticipating the splatter of blood.