They filed out through the cracked lobby doors in a tight line—Riku first, then Suzune guiding Hana, Ichika bringing up the rear. The street was as they’d left it: glass glittering in the morning light, papers skittering along the curb, a dead scooter on its side like a toppled animal. The van waited across the sidewalk where Miko sat in the passenger seat, eyes already scanning for movement.
She pushed the door open when she saw them. "You made it."
Hana perked up at the sight of her. "Miko-neesan!"
"Seatbelts," Riku said, voice firm. "Windows up. Heads down."
Miko slid out long enough to wrench the side door open. Suzune boosted Hana inside and followed; Ichika clambered in after them with a cautious glance over her shoulder. Riku didn’t let his rifle dip as he moved around the hood, scanning the alley mouth and the empty lanes beyond.
"Clear," he decided, and dropped into the driver’s seat. The engine turned over on the first twist—a rough, throaty rumble that felt too loud for the quiet street. Miko pulled the door shut and buckled in, taking up her old job without being told: eyes forward, hands braced on the dash, ready to call out what he couldn’t see in his mirrors.
"Everyone hold tight," Riku warned, throwing the van into gear.
The city unfolded in wary silence. A toppled utility pole forced them to detour through a narrow lane, weaving between stalled sedans nose-to-nose like frozen cattle. Riku kept the speed steady, low enough to react, high enough to outrun trouble. They passed a shuttered pharmacy with its front torn out and a noodle shop that had gone to mildew. A pale face appeared in a second-floor window, then vanished. Not infected—just someone too frightened to than an eye.
"Left," Miko said softly, pointing. "Avoid the main."
Riku took it, easing the van around a burned-out truck. The road opened onto a wider avenue that ran straight toward the commercial district where the supermarket squatted on the corner like a bruised giant. He exhaled slowly. Almost there.
The first zombie stepped off the divider without looking.
Riku swore and swerved, more out of habit than mercy. The thing slapped both hands against the side panel as it slid by, leaving greasy streaks. Its moan carried. Others turned.
"On your right," Miko snapped.
Three more staggered from a bus stop, then began to run—awkward, jarring strides that ate the distance faster than you’d like to think. Behind them, more shapes shouldered through the sunlight, pulled by the van’s noise like moths to a fire.
He tightened his grip and held the line. The first biter hit square on, a thump-and-bump under the bumper. The van jolted but kept its track. The second rolled onto the hood, face spiderwebbing a smear across the glass before gravity took its share. The third got clipped and spun off, a heap on the asphalt.
Hana made a small sound in the back. Suzune murmured something steady to her, voice not quite steady herself. Ichika stared at the floor, knuckles white on the seatbelt.
Two blocks. One block. The supermarket’s faded logo came into view, half its letters peeled away. Riku didn’t go for the glass front; he cut hard into the alley running along the building’s left side. The tires bumped over a curb, then thumped down into the loading yard.
"Back dock’s there," Miko answered, already unbuckling. "Roll-ups are down. Door’s on the right wall."
He braked near the ramp and threw the van into park. "Out. Move."
They spilled from the vehicle. Riku vaulted to the ground with his M4 at a low ready and gave the yard a quick sweep. The dumpsters along the fence were dark with rot but empty of movement. The roll-up doors they’d closed earlier were still shut. Good. No silhouettes in the shadows. Better.
"Miko," Riku said, jerking his chin at the steel door to the right of the roll-ups. "Take them. Straight there. I’ll cover."
"Understood." She grabbed Hana’s hand before the girl had to think about it. "Stay with me, okay?" She glanced at Suzune and Ichika. "Keep close."
Riku moved in a half-crouch, sweeping the alley mouth with the flashlight tucked against his foregrip more out of habit than need in the daylight. A dry scrape came from the street beyond the yard. He slid two steps to the side for a better angle. Shapes wobbled out of the alley mouth, turned toward the sound of feet, and began to gather speed.
"Contact," he said, more to himself than anyone else. He shouldered the M4, sight hanging just above the front sight post, and squeezed.
Three-round burst. One down.
Another burst. A jaw flew sideways and the body pinwheeled.
A third burst caught two in the chest—sloppy. He corrected, exhaled, and pressed two single taps. Both dropped clean, foreheads cratered.
Behind him, metal clanged.
"Locked!" Miko hissed.
Riku spared a glance. The handle on the steel door rattled in her hand, unmoving. She slammed the heel of her palm into it. It didn’t budge.
Suzune pressed Hana behind her, putting her body between the girl and the yard. Ichika hovered beside them, eyes wide. Miko hammered the door again with her fist.
"Murata! It’s Miko! Riku’s here!"
More heads turned at the far end of the alley. The noise was a magnet. Five infected became nine, then twelve, their shuffling run growing into a trampling stutter that kicked paper and dust into the air.
Riku dropped the empty mag and slapped a fresh one home. He racked, stepped forward to put himself between the door and the approaching tide, and braced his shoulder against the van’s side to firm his stance.
"Door!" he snapped over his shoulder without looking. "Keep calling!" ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ 𝓷𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓵※𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮※𝓷𝓮𝓽
"Murata!" Miko banged again, voice fraying with urgency. "Open the door! Now!"
He fired in clean rhythm. Head. Head. Head. The nearest three folded like puppets with strings cut. The fourth stumbled as a round took the cheek off, then went face-first when the second shot drilled its temple.
The yard carried the sound in a reverberating hush that only made the echo worse. Too many shots would pull more from farther out. He knew it. Had to pick the ones that mattered and keep the line tight.
Behind the first wave, heavier bodies pushed through—one with a broken arm limp at its side, one in a delivery apron that flapped red-brown with old blood, one in a summer dress mottled with stains. They were close enough for smell now: rot and iron and something sweet undercutting it all.
"Locked, locked, locked," Miko stammered, more to herself than anyone. "Why is it locked?"