– When you’re deep in enemy territory, skipping a room is how you end up a cautionary tale.
– Could be a trap. Could be treasure. Could be a raccoon with a machete.
– Maybe less talky, more stabby.
---
It all started with a blackout.
Not the "I drank too much and woke up in a fountain" kind, the literal kind—Alex pulled the plug on the entire compound from a hidden junction box three blocks away. Pretty sure she did it with a paperclip and spite.
“Power’s down,” she whispered over the walkie. “This place has more wiring violations than a mad scientist’s wet dream.”
“Copy that, Sparky,” I whispered back. “Operation: Loud Idiot is a go.”
“Don’t die,” she replied. “I’m still using your back as a loot mule.”
---
I took my position on the street just outside the main gate of the repurposed cop-and-fire-station combo building. The bandits had half-assed a wall together using barbed wire, wooden pallets, and what might have once been someone's IKEA bed frame. Not exactly a fortress. But it looked scary enough for the average looter to walk the other way.
Not me though. I walked right up to the front gate, kicked it twice, and screamed, “HELLOOOO?! Did someone lose a bald patch and a sense of fashion in here?!”
Immediately, I heard footsteps. Bandits. Four of them.
“Gail,” I muttered, pressing the walkie. “Got company.”
“Three on your left. One rooftop. I’ll take high ground.”
There was a thwip sound. Then a body fell from the roof like a sack of meat and regrets.
The other three turned toward the sound. That’s when I moved. Fast.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Crowbar to the knee of the closest one. Wrench to the ribs of the second. The third got a metal trash can lid frisbee'd to the face—thank you, Jackie Chan instincts.
I caught my breath. “Three down. I’m surprisingly not dead.”
“You’re surprisingly loud,” Gail deadpanned. “Move north. Next patrol coming.” I take out my sawed off, and got ready.
Alex chimed in. “Hey, Gail? Quick question. If you saw a video of a cat pushing another cat off a table, would you understand why that’s funny?”
“…Is the table on fire?”
“What? No.”
“Then no.”
"Why would the table be on fire be funny?"
"Why would a cat pushed off by another cay be funny?"
"... Cuz it's cute?"
---
We kept it up for the next ten minutes. Gail would call out positions like a Call of Duty narrator. I’d bait, dodge, and drop bandits like bad plotlines in a TV finale. And Alex would pop in occasionally to make jokes and loot like the place was a post-apocalypse Costco.
“Found seven unopened cans of peaches,” she reported. “And a car key. This is the best day of my life.”
“Did you find any enemies?” I asked.
“Just one. He’s asleep in a beanbag chair. I tied his shoelaces together and took his radio.”
“…I’m both proud and concerned.”
“Oh, and I stole someone’s PS5.”
“Alex.”
“It was in a duffel bag labeled ‘DO NOT TOUCH, THIS IS TIM’S.’ So I touched it. He seems like a jerk.”
---
Alex chimes in again. "Do you think Gail would explode if we exposed him to the internet? The same way a child from the 1800s was given McDonald's sprite?"
I snorted, I was hiding behind a car when my snort alerted some bandits. "Alex, not a good time! But maybe?"
Three bandits show up in front of me.
Bang!
Chk, chk.
Bang!
"Jesus Christ!" I shout, I blew one of their arms off, and the pellets pierced through their gear. I feel like I'm gonna puke. "Ugh, I feel like I'm gonna puke."
"El, I swear to God, If you puke, I'll puke. Turn your damn walkie talkie before you do."
---
When the dust settled, the yard and the entrance was clear. Bandits down. Power off. Sirens silent. Chaos managed.
Gail was the first to enter the building.
“I’m heading inside,” he said. “Looking for their leader. Do not follow.”
Alex’s voice popped in. “Do you even know how to use a smartphone, Gail?”
“No,” he said. “But I do know how to use a flamethrower. Are they similar?”
“…Sort of.”
---
I took the opportunity to break from formation.
“Where are you going?” Gail asked.
“Side mission,” I answered, and muted my radio.
I crept through a hallway—cleaner than expected—past offices, supply rooms, and something labeled “Motivational Corner,” which had a flipped-over chair and a bullet hole through a framed kitten poster.
I found her upstairs. Door unlocked. Lights out.
Jules.
She was curled up on a cot, wrapped in a blanket, eyes closed. A duffel bag sat by the wall, half-zipped. Her boots were neatly lined up, her jacket folded.
For a second, I thought about turning around. About not doing this.
Then I opened the door.
She sat up immediately. No weapon. Just surprise.
“…Elliot,” she said, her voice small.
“Yeah,” I said, stepping inside. “It’s me. You remember the guy you shot a gun next to and left to get eaten by the living dead?”
She didn’t respond. She just looked at me. Tired. Hollow.
“I’m taking you out of here,” I said. “You’ve got a lot to answer for.”
Silence.
Then slowly, quietly, she got up. Grabbed her jacket. Her bag.
“I know,” she said.
And just like that, she followed me out.
No fight. No argument. Just… surrender.
---
Alex pulled up outside in a battered SUV that looked like it belonged in a Mad Max spinoff.
“I filled every backpack I could find,” she said. “Also, meet our new car. I call her ‘Peachmobile.’”
Jules stared.
Alex waved. “Hi. I don’t bite. Unless there’s food.”
Gail met us at
the parking lot entrance.
“Leader’s dead,” he said simply. “You got her?”
I nodded. “She came willingly.”
He nodded back.
“Let’s go before more show up.”
