Struggle

Mallory popped open the last of the beer, pouring a little into each of the ten or so men's cups. At the same time, they all passed around cigarettes, as if performing a final farewell ritual.

"Listen up, boys. As long as we get our hands on Cole's supplies, we'll have food, booze, and even trade for the women in the nearby buildings." Mallory's gaze swept across the group. These promises were their motivation—without a big enough carrot, who would be willing to risk their necks?

"Hell yeah! Stick with Mallory, and we'll have endless feasts and all the women we want! Cheers!"

"Cheers."

"Cheers."

As the alcohol burned down their throats, it almost felt like old times—back when they were gathered around a roadside barbecue stand.

Old times?

It was ridiculous. Normal life was only a month ago, yet it felt like another lifetime.

"Mallory, I got a friend in Building One. He messaged me today—said things are falling apart over there."

Mallory let out a cold chuckle, exhaling a thick puff of smoke. "That idiot Garrick really thought he could keep things under control? Without enough food, it was only a matter of time before chaos set in. And with his bleeding-heart bullshit? He's gonna regret it soon enough."

"No kidding. Handing out food to those old geezers like that—what a waste."

"Mallory, we took Building Three today. When are we taking the rest?"

Mallory narrowed his eyes slightly, lazily crossing one leg over the other as he turned to watch the downpour outside. "Franklin and Bobby have a lot of men, and they stick together. If we go after them, we'll lose too many people. But Building One… now that's different. They've got no real leadership right now. We hit them while they're scattered—kill all the men, keep the women."

The others nodded in agreement. It was a solid plan.

Just then, Mallory's phone buzzed. He glanced at the message, and his brow furrowed deep, cigarette nearly burning down to his fingers.

"Mallory, what's wrong?"

"Franklin and Bobby just said they're hitting Building One tonight."

Mallory cursed under his breath. Just as he had settled on his plan, it had already been thrown into chaos.

The men exchanged uneasy glances. One of them finally spoke up, "So… are we still hitting Building Three tonight?"

Mallory's eyes turned sharp. The man instinctively shrank back.

He knew exactly what was happening. If he didn't show up for the raid on Building One, and instead, his crew took Building Three alone, Franklin and Bobby would see it as a power move. They'd join forces to take him out, split the spoils from Building Three, and then, when the dust settled, they'd turn on each other. The last man standing would walk away with everything.

But there was no way in hell Mallory was letting them gang up on him.

Without hesitation, he barked, "Forget Building Three. We're all hitting Building One tonight. We move in thirty minutes!"

His word was final. The men nodded in agreement, though a few looked relieved. Building Three had guns. Not many bullets left, sure, but every shot meant one of them could go down—and medical supplies were nearly nonexistent.

Apartment 2801, Building One

"Where are you going?"

Shana stepped out of the kitchen, grabbing Garrick's arm just as he was about to head out. From the bedroom doorway, Maggie stood watching, confusion in her tired eyes.

Garrick forced a smile—one so strained it looked more like a grimace. "Just going to talk with Elliot."

Shana's eyes narrowed. Without a word, she yanked up his shirt, revealing a single bottle of water tucked under his arm.

"You need water to talk?" Her voice was low, cracked from dehydration. From the bedroom, Maggie looked just as parched. The whole family had been rationing for days—barely drinking enough to keep their mouths from going completely dry.

Garrick swallowed hard at his wife's accusing gaze, then forced another weak smile. "Back in the day, you brought cash, cigarettes, or tea when you talked business. Now, it's water."

Shana's grip tightened. Her voice shook with anger. "That's our last bottle, Garrick. What the hell are we supposed to drink after this?!"

Garrick didn't answer. His face darkened, but he said nothing.

"Elliot is your friend, isn't he? You two are so close—why the hell do you need to bring water?! Answer me!!!"

Shana's voice cracked as she screamed, her emotions spiraling out of control. She grabbed Garrick by the shoulders and shook him violently, as if trying to rattle the truth out of him.

Something inside Garrick snapped. In a sudden burst of frustration, he shoved his wife to the ground.

Maggie gasped and rushed over, eyes wide with shock. "Garrick! What the hell are you doing?! She was just asking you a question!"

Garrick let out a short, bitter laugh—then, just as suddenly, the laughter turned to tears.

"For this family… I worked myself to the bone at the company. I had to provide—I had to take care of you, our daughter. Mortgage, car payments—every damn thing was a weight on my shoulders."

His voice grew rough, hoarse, trembling with exhaustion.

"And then this disaster happened. For a moment, I thought—finally, I'm free. No more deadlines, no more bills. But I was wrong." His hands clenched into fists. "I still have to protect you. I still have to fight like hell to keep us alive!"

His voice rose, raw with desperation. "And what do I get? Back then, it was my paycheck. Now, it's a damn bottle of water! Do you have any idea what kind of pressure I'm under? Do you know what's happening out there? People are losing their minds!"

His voice cracked into a ragged shout, teetering on the edge of a breakdown.

The two women stared at him, stunned into silence.

Then, Shana broke. Her sobs filled the room, her body trembling as Maggie wrapped her arms around her, trying to comfort her sister.

Garrick didn't say another word. He simply grabbed the bottle of water and walked out the door. Before closing it behind him, he muttered, "Don't open this door for anyone. Not even me."

Then, with a heavy click, the door shut.

Garrick descended one floor and pressed the doorbell.

Footsteps echoed from inside. A few seconds later, the door swung open, revealing a broad-shouldered, muscular man.

Elliot smirked. "Garrick, finally came to your senses?"

Garrick stepped inside without hesitation. He pulled the bottle of water from his bag and placed it on the table.

"Elliot," he said, his voice steady. "As long as you back me up, Building One won't fall apart. We hold the line, wait for this storm to pass. Then, when the time is right, I'll lead us out to find food."

Elliot ran a hand over his face, pacing back and forth. Then, suddenly, he slammed both hands onto the table and barked, "Garrick! I know you're a good man. You want to keep everyone safe—but that's impossible! You've done more than enough. These past few days, those people have turned into animals. The only reason we're still standing is because we're not like them."

Garrick grabbed Elliot by the shoulders, shaking him slightly, desperation in his eyes. "Then we hold on even tighter, Elliot! We search for food, we wait for rescue! We can't turn into animals like them!"

Elliot chuckled, shaking his head. "Garrick… good guys don't make it in times like these. You've done your part. Now let me be the bad guy."

Hearing Elliot's unwavering stance, Garrick's frustration boiled over. "Elliot, wake the hell up! If we fall apart now, they'll tear us to pieces!"

Elliot's expression twisted with anger. "So you do understand! Then why the hell are you fighting me on this?! Why aren't you standing with me?! I thought we had each other's backs!"

Garrick's voice was raw as he shouted back, "I do have your back! Who was the one who lent you money when you couldn't afford a place?!"

Elliot let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, you lent me money. But let's not pretend it was out of the kindness of your heart. You just wanted me living downstairs from you. Sure, you helped me get this place—but that mortgage crushed me, Garrick. I wanted a cheaper apartment, but you talked me into moving here. And like an idiot, I listened to you!"

"Because I wanted to look out for you!" Garrick shot back, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

Elliot scoffed. "No. You wanted to look out for those old bastards."

The moment he said it, his face contorted with fury.

His voice rose into a furious snarl. "Those old people are useless, Garrick! They're dead weight! They drain our resources and then have the nerve to lecture us! What good are they? Look at Building Two—do you see any old folks left over there? No! Because they did what needed to be done. Wiped them out. They weren't gonna last long anyway."

Garrick stared at him, utterly stunned. His voice was barely above a whisper. "Elliot… you've been brainwashed."