Silent Blades, Silent Death

The road was narrow, flanked by brittle grass and the skeletal remains of trees stripped bare by wind and decay. The dead lingered ahead, their bodies swaying like reeds in a foul wind, their guttural moans bleeding into the air. The scent of rot clung to the damp earth, thick and pungent.

Étienne raised a fist, signaling the group to halt. Their breath was shallow, controlled. The undead had not yet noticed them, but that could change with the smallest misstep.

"Six of them," Heinrich murmured beside him, his Prussian discipline keeping his voice low. "Not a large group."

"No," Étienne agreed, eyes scanning the road. "But enough to ruin us if we're careless."

Jean-Luc exhaled through his nose, shifting the grip on his dagger. "We could try slipping past."

Étienne frowned. The dead were unpredictable. If one turned at the wrong moment, if a branch snapped beneath their boots… they would be caught in a fight anyway, but with fewer options. No, it was better to be the hunters rather than the hunted.

"We take them quietly," he decided. "Blades only. No gunfire."

Jean-Luc sighed. "Always the hard way."

Marie pressed her lips together but said nothing. Mathieu, the newest shadow in their group, stood tense, his hands flexing uselessly at his sides. He carried no weapon. He had survived this long by running.

Étienne unsheathed his saber in a slow, controlled motion. The steel whispered against the scabbard, a thin note of cold certainty. Heinrich followed suit, drawing his bayonet like a surgeon selecting his scalpel. Jean-Luc rolled his shoulders, his dagger already in his grip.

"Stay behind us," Étienne murmured to Marie and Mathieu.

Marie nodded. Mathieu hesitated but obeyed, stepping back into the thicket of overgrown brush along the roadside.

Étienne moved first, his boots making no sound against the damp soil. The nearest Shambler was an old soldier, the remains of a tattered blue coat still clinging to its decayed frame. A musket was slung uselessly across its back, the wood rotted, the barrel rusted. Its head lolled slightly, its mouth open in an eternal groan.

Étienne stepped behind it and, in one swift movement, drove his saber through the base of its skull. The blade sliced through rotted sinew and brittle bone, and the thing shuddered before collapsing into the mud.

One down.

Heinrich dispatched another with the efficiency of a man who had done this before. His bayonet plunged into the eye socket of a corpse in a ruined peasant's frock, its face half-eaten away. He held it for a moment, letting it slump lifelessly before pulling his blade free.

Jean-Luc took the more theatrical approach. He ducked low, circling behind a staggering corpse in a stained cavalryman's coat, and drove his dagger upward into the base of its skull. He let it fall against him before easing it to the ground, his expression almost smug.

The remaining three stirred at the disturbance. One let out a wet, garbled moan and turned toward Étienne, its empty sockets staring blindly. He moved before it could make another sound, his saber slicing through its neck in a single, practiced motion.

Heinrich made quick work of the next one, stabbing deep and twisting the bayonet before shoving the corpse aside.

The final Shambler lurched toward Jean-Luc, its ruined hands clawing at the air. Jean-Luc dodged the sluggish grab, spinning behind it in a dancer's grace before driving his blade into the back of its skull. The corpse shuddered and collapsed, twitching once before going still.

Silence.

The only sounds were their own breathing, measured and steady.

Jean-Luc wiped his dagger against his sleeve. "That went well."

Étienne exhaled, scanning the road. No more of them. Not yet.

"Come on," he said, motioning to Marie and Mathieu. "We move."

They traveled in tense silence, the fading light casting long shadows across the ruined countryside. Every step felt precarious, as though the earth itself might betray them with some unseen noise.

Mathieu walked beside Marie, his expression still hollow. Étienne had seen that look before the look of a man who had lost everything. He wondered if there was anything left inside him beyond sorrow and exhaustion.

They pressed on until they reached a small, crumbling farmhouse at the edge of a barren field. Its roof had partially collapsed, and the wooden fence surrounding it had been broken in several places. But it was shelter, and for the night, that was enough.

Jean-Luc was the first to enter, pushing open the warped door with his boot. The interior was dark, filled with the scent of damp wood and old ash. A hearth sat cold and abandoned at the far end, and a wooden table lay overturned in the center of the room.

Étienne motioned for everyone to enter before closing the door behind them.

"We'll rest here for a few hours," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "We move again before dawn."

Marie settled near the hearth, rummaging through her satchel for supplies. Heinrich checked the windows, ensuring they were secure.

Mathieu lingered near the doorway, his shoulders tense.

Étienne sat beside him, setting his saber across his lap. "You did well today," he said after a moment.

Mathieu let out a bitter breath. "I didn't do anything."

"You didn't panic. You followed orders." Étienne's tone was even. "That's more than most can manage."

Mathieu scoffed, shaking his head. "I watched my sister die, and I did nothing. What kind of man is that?"

Étienne considered him for a long moment before answering. "A man who's still alive."

Mathieu looked away, his fingers tightening into fists. Étienne knew that guilt well it was an old companion. It would not leave Mathieu soon, but perhaps, in time, he would learn how to bear it.

Jean-Luc flopped onto the floor near the hearth, stretching out with a lazy grin. "Well, if we're not dead yet, I'd say that's cause for celebration. Who wants to tell a story?"

Marie gave him a dry look. "You're insufferable."

Jean-Luc winked. "And yet, you'd all miss me if I were gone."

Heinrich grunted from across the room. "That is debatable."

The laughter was quiet, but it was real, and for a moment, it was enough to push back the weight of the world outside.

Étienne allowed himself the briefest of smiles before turning his gaze to the window. The night stretched beyond, vast and empty. They were still alive.

For now, that was enough.