Unspoken truths [V]

Unspoken truths [V]

Chapter 5(v) – Exodus (continued)

POV: Scarlett:

By noon, the air inside the carrier had grown stale—sweat, grime, nerves thickening it until it felt like you could slice it with a knife.

People got restless. We'd been sitting shoulder to shoulder for hours, legs numb, weapons pressing into thighs. The buzz of motion had dulled, and idleness was a dangerous thing.

It started like a joke. A laugh in the wrong direction.

"Oi, you laughin' at me, mate?" the guy with the scar above his eye said in a jagged accent.

"Nah, chill, he wasn't talkin' to you," someone else muttered.

But that didn't stop the first shove. Or the second.

"Fuck your mother!"

A boot swung. Someone ducked. Then chaos.

Grey was next to me, unmoving at first. Jane was gripping her spear like she might use it. Luke muttered a curse, trying to shield her.

Fists flew. Someone caught a broken nose. Blair kneed a guy in the ribs who'd gotten too close. Jonah swung his crowbar into someone's shoulder.

I caught an elbow across the jaw. Returned a punch.

The carrier became a pressure cooker.

And the soldiers?

They watched. Unblinking.

Like it was sport.

Like we were dogs in a cage.

POV: Grey

It got loud. Loud enough to drown out thought.

I stayed seated until someone stumbled into me.

Then I threw them off. Quick jab to the ribs. Boot to the gut. No flair. No anger. Just efficiency.

The fight wasn't about pride. It was boredom turned rotten. A preview of what humanity looks like without direction.

And when the carrier jerked to a halt, the silence returned. Just like that.

Everyone froze.

The rear doors creaked open, light flooding in. Dusty, golden, hot.

Soldiers marched in like reapers. No words at first. Just presence. Then:

"DOWN. ALL OF YOU. NOW!"

They weren't bluffing.

One guy didn't move fast enough. Got a rifle butt to the temple. Another kept mouthing off—his neck snapped before the sentence finished.

We didn't flinch.

Didn't care.

Didn't know them.

Didn't want to.

Outside, the town looked abandoned. A forgotten cluster of squat buildings, cracked windows and crooked rooftops. The sign read "Welcome to Lowridge."

Never heard of it.

Didn't trust it.

The lieutenant barked orders, pointing to groups, assigning paths. "Sweep the west wing. Clear every room. Supplies. Hostiles. Bring back anything that breathes."

We were Group 8.

Assigned the furthest building. Something that looked like a school.

Blair tied her hair back. Jane adjusted her grip. Jonah cracked his neck. Luke looked calm, but I saw the twitch in his fingers.

I went first.

The smell hit before the door opened—rot, mildew, metal.

And then—shuffling.

They came out from the halls like rats. Fast. Twitchy. Unstable.

Not the slow ones. Not anymore.

These were leaner. Quicker.

Something in their eyes—like a shimmer. Like they remembered they used to be human.

I drove my hatchet into the first skull. Felt the crunch.

Luke followed with an axe. Blair ducked low and carved with her blades like she was dancing.

Jonah yelled—rammed his hatchet through one's throat.

Jane screamed when one lunged—but Scarlett drove a knife clean through its eye.

It was brutal. Quick.

But then we saw it.

On one of the undead—tattooed across its bloated wrist.

A symbol.

A triangle over a circle. Lines cutting through like a ritual mark.

Scarlett whispered, "You seeing that?"

I was.

I'd seen it once before.

In a book Eva wasn't supposed to read.

And suddenly this town didn't feel random at all.

We keep moving.

The hallway reeked of wet concrete and old blood, our boots smearing trails through half-dried pools. But it was the silence after the fight that made it worse.

Until it stepped forward.

An undead. Taller than most. Lean, but not rotten. Its skin wasn't peeling—it was pale, tight, almost preserved. Its eyes weren't blank. They watched.

It stood still, just a few feet ahead, gaze locked onto us. Not a lunge. Not a groan. Just... observation.

Its mouth opened.

No sound came out.

But I felt it. Like static crawling across my skin.

Then came the growl. Deeper in the building. One… two…

Crack. A shot rang out.

The thing jerked, shoulder blown back.

Another shot—center mass.

It dropped, twitching as blood pooled beneath it.

We turned.

A soldier lowered his rifle. "Back to work," he barked. Voice flat, like this was routine.

I nodded once. Moved forward. Blair was behind me.

She muttered something. Inaudible.

"What?" I asked without turning.

"I said—" she began again.

That's when I felt it.

The flicker of movement just behind her shoulder.

Without thinking, I shoved her sideways, hard enough to make her stumble against the wall.

Then I stepped forward and drove my combat knife into the undead's throat.

It had been inches from taking her. Quiet. Smart. Almost calculated.

I twisted the blade, then yanked it out as the thing collapsed.

Blair coughed and pushed herself up, eyes wide.

She looked at me. "I didn't even hear it…"

"Exactly," I muttered.

We weren't fighting the same things anymore.

These weren't just corpses.

Something had changed.

And that symbol on the previous one? It wasn't coincidence.

was it a message?