Basement

Next day, 7:00 AM

Morgan finished making the grilled chicken. "Elara, it's ready."

Elara moved quickly to him, taking a plate. She took her first bite; it was deliciously real. "It's so good."

Morgan took some for himself. "Thanks. It's the best I can do out here."

Elara nodded, savoring the taste. "It's really good."

"Do you know where the water bottles are kept?"

Morgan pointed sharply to a corner. "That's where they're all stacked."

Elara went to the corner to get a water bottle from the crate. She grabbed the bottle and started drinking when she heard a voice from beneath the heavy crate.

"Morgan, come here!"

Morgan spun from the stove and came to her side. "What is it?"

Elara set the water bottle down. "I heard some noises from underneath the bottle crate."

Morgan seized the heavy crate of bottles and shoved it aside. A basement door.

Morgan raised his gun. "Elara, stay behind me."

Elara nodded, gripping her knife tight in her right hand.

Morgan grabbed the handle, his hand steadying, and opened it. Stairs disappeared into darkness. They both started their descent.

The metal stairs groaned under their weight as they descended into the oppressive darkness of the basement. Morgan kept his pistol raised, beam cutting through the gloom, ready for anything. Elara moved silently behind him, gripping her knife tightly, her eyes scanning the shadows.

"Morgan," Elara whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of unseen machinery, "I definitely heard something down here."

Morgan glanced back, giving a curt nod. "I know. Strange... I swear this wasn't on any layout I checked when we first got here last night."

Creak!

The sudden, sharp sound of splintering wood echoed nearby. Both Morgan and Elara froze, weapons snapping towards the noise.

"Who's there?" Morgan demanded, his voice hard. "Show yourselves!"

A panicked whisper came from behind a stack of large wooden crates. "Please, don't shoot! We haven't done anything!"

Slowly, two figures emerged, hands raised hesitantly. A boy and a girl, looking barely out of their teens, faces pale with terror under Morgan's flashlight beam.

Morgan kept the gun level. "Who are you? Why are you hiding down here?"

The girl flinched, her voice trembling. "M-my name is Amelia... and this is Victor. We work— worked— here, at the supermarket. When those... creatures... started killing people outside, we got terrified and hid down here."

Morgan studied them for a tense moment, his gaze sharp, assessing the genuine fear in their eyes before slowly lowering his weapon, though he didn't holster it. "You better not be lying to us."

"No, no, we swear!" Amelia insisted, desperation colouring her tone.

"I'm Morgan," he said, his voice still cautious. "And her name is Elara."

Elara offered a brief, assessing nod, carefully sheathing her knife. Her injured arm throbbed beneath its bandages.

"We came here looking for food," Morgan explained briefly. "She got injured when we ran into those... Darkness Monsters."

Amelia gasped, and Victor's eyes widened. "You fought them? Those... void-looking creatures?"

Morgan nodded grimly. "Fought them, yes. We weren't able to kill them, but we figured out how to hurt them. Enough to get away. Now, let's get out of this basement."

Back upstairs, in the relative safety of the supermarket's main floor, the air still felt heavy with unspoken dread. Morgan gestured towards a pot sitting on a portable camping stove he'd set up earlier. "Made some chicken soup. Help yourselves if you're hungry."

Amelia and Victor exchanged relieved glances. "Yes, thank you! We're starving," Victor admitted. They practically lunged for the pot, quickly scooping soup into scavenged bowls and eating hungrily.

While they ate, Morgan moved closer to Elara. "What do you think?" he murmured, keeping his voice low. Elara watched them, her expression thoughtful. "I think they're okay. Just scared kids. I don't sense any malice."

Morgan let out a slow breath, though his eyes remained watchful. He turned back to the newcomers. "Did either of you see anything? How those Darkness Monsters appeared? Where they came from?"

Amelia and Victor both shook their heads, pausing mid-bite. "No," Amelia whispered, her eyes clouding over with a painful memory. "We just... we saw one of them get Mark, one of our co-workers, right at the front doors. That's when the screaming started... when the Apocalypse happened."

Morgan nodded, absorbing the information. "Okay. What are you going to do now?"

Amelia and Victor looked at each other, helplessness washing over their faces. "We don't know," Victor admitted quietly. "We don't even know how we're still alive." He looked pleadingly at Morgan. "Sir, what about you? What if those things get in here?"

"They can't," Morgan replied with surprising confidence.

Amelia looked up sharply. "What?"

"We don't know why," Morgan elaborated, "but they don't seem able or willing to enter closed buildings. As long as all the windows and doors are shut tight, they stay out. Found that out the hard way. Haven't risked opening anything since."

"Is that why... it's safe in here?" Amelia asked, a flicker of hope in her eyes.

For now," Morgan confirmed, glancing at his watch. "9:00 AM. You two can help us organize. We need to take inventory." He sat down heavily on a nearby chair, mapping out the plan. "Separate the food – anything that will last six months or more over here, shorter shelf-life stuff over there. We'll eat the short-life items first to conserve resources. And count every single water bottle."

Amelia and Victor nodded quickly, eager to be useful. "Okay."

Morgan pushed himself up. "Then let's get started."

The next several hours passed in a focused, almost silent rhythm of work. Morgan efficiently sorted through canned goods and stacked cases of water bottles near their temporary camp. Amelia and Victor moved through the aisles, organizing packets, boxes, and jars onto designated pallets. The shared task seemed to ground them, pushing back the immediate terror, replacing it with the practicalities of survival.

Morgan checked his watch again. "6:00 PM." He surveyed their progress. "We've organized most of it. Should hold us for a while, provided we're careful." He walked over to where Elara was resting against a shelf, her eyes closed, and gently placed a couple of packets—biscuits and chips—beside her.