6

Suddenly, I heard it—a faint sound, like the scuffle of feet on concrete. I froze, my hand going to the knife at my belt. Ben heard it too. He straightened, his body tensed, his eyes scanning the store.

"Someone’s here," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Ben didn’t respond, but his eyes flicked toward the back of the store, where the sound had come from. He motioned for me to follow, and we moved together, silently, our backs pressed against the shelves as we crept down the aisle.

We reached the end of the aisle, and Ben peered around the corner, his rifle raised. I held my breath, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure whoeverr was there would hear it.

Then, without warning, Ben lunged forward, grabbing someone by the collar and slamming them into the wall. A man—a scrawny, wild-eyed survivor—gasped in surprise, his hands going up in surrender.

"Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!" he begged, his voice trembling.

Ben didn’t lower his rifle. "Were you following us?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

The man shook his head frantically. "No, no! I swear, I was just—just looking for food like you! Please, I didn’t mean any harm!"

I stepped forward, my knife still drawn, and narrowed my eyes at him. He looked harmless enough—dirty, thin, like he hadn’t eaten in days. But looks could be deceiving.

"Are you alone?" I asked, my voice cold.

The man hesitated, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting someone to appear. That was all the answer I needed.

Ben’s grip tightened on the man’s collar. "How many?"

"Three! There’s three of us!" he blurted out, his voice high-pitched with fear. "But they’re outside! I swear, they don’t know I'm in here!"

I exchanged a glance with Ben. This was bad. If there were more of them, we didn’t have much time before they came looking for their friend.

"We need to move," Ben said, his voice tense. "Now."

I didn’t argue. We left the man where he was, slipping through the aisles and heading toward the back of the store, where the storage area might still hold something useful. We couldn’t afford to waste any more time.

The storage area was a maze of broken pallets and overturned crates, most of them empty. But as we moved deeper into the back of the store, I saw something that made my heart skip a beat—a heavy metal door, partially hidden behind a stack of crates. It looked like a bunker door, thick and reinforced, with a security keypad next to it.

"Ben,"I whispered, pointing toward the door.

He followed my gaze, his eyes narrowing. "A bunker.... ?"

I nodded. "Looks like it."

Without wasting any time, we moved toward the door. Ben examined the keypad, but it was long dead, the wires frayed and useless. He stepped back, his eyes scanning the frame of the door. "We'll have to break it open."

I glanced around, spotting a crowbar lying nearby. I grabbed it and handed it to Ben, my heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and fear. If the bunker was still intact, there might be supplies inside—food, water, medicine. But there was also the possibility that it was a trap. After everything we’d been through, I wasn’t about to take anything at face value.

Ben wedged the crowbar into the door’s frame and began to pry it open. The metal groaned, resisting at first, but then the door gave way with a loud -snap-, swinging open to reveal a small, dimly lit room.

My breath caught in my throat. The bunker was stocked.

There were shelves lined with cans of food, water bottles, and medical supplies. It wasn’t a lot, but it was more than we’d seen in weeks. Enough to keep us going for a while.

But something felt off.

As I stepped inside, my foot brushed against something. I looked down and froze. A thin wire, nearly invisible, stretched across the floor, leading to a small device tucked into the corner of the room.

A trap.

"Ben!" I screamed, but it was too late.

The device beeped once, twice—and then the entire room exploded into chaos.