Night Raid on Ethan’s Safehouse

After Ray returned home with Lisa May and her child, he closed the door with a dark expression.

"That thing you said back there—what the hell was that?" Ray's voice was sharp. "How could you ask a man to take your kid into his house in the middle of all this chaos?"

"This world's gone mad. You can't tell who's still human and who's lost it. The fact that Ethan gave you medicine? That means he's a decent man—someone we can still trust."

Lisa, sitting on the bed while cradling the baby, didn't argue. She loosened her coat, dosed the baby, and gently nursed her to help the medicine go down.

Her tone was soft, pitiful. "I only did it for the baby. She's all I have now, the only reason I keep fighting to live. If something happens to her... what's the point?"

Tears welled up in her eyes again.

Ray glanced over—just in time to catch a glimpse of her pale chest. He sighed, his frustration softening under a wave of male instinct.

Still, he tried to hold firm. "Look, I get it. I really do. But we've gotta have some damn decency left in us. Ethan didn't have to help us—hell, without him, I wouldn't have even thought to stock up early. I owe him my life. And I intend to repay it someday."

Lisa's voice came from behind him, soft as a whisper and laced with poison.

"But are you sure he even trusts you?"

Ray froze.

Lisa leaned in, still holding the baby, her tone syrupy. "Think about it. If he really trusted you, wouldn't he have let us in? Just to sit for a bit, maybe warm the baby up?"

"But no. He tossed the medicine out a hole in the door. Didn't even show his face. That doesn't scream 'trust' to me."

Ray's jaw clenched. "Don't twist things. That man had every right to be cautious. You don't know what he's been through."

Lisa smiled faintly. "I'm just saying... it's not like he really lost anything giving you those pills. Maybe he's just tossing breadcrumbs—keeping you around as a future bodyguard."

"And come on—how 'good' can he be? You saw the footage. He's killed dozens of people."

"Unless he's ready to let us move in, I don't see how you can keep calling him some kind of saint. That house of his is big, warm... you're telling me three more people is too much?"

"Enough!"

Ray exploded. His face was red with fury as he stared at her.

The baby in Lisa's arms started crying from the shock. Lisa quickly hugged her close, feigning innocence.

"I'm sorry... I just... I didn't mean it like that. I just want us to be careful. That's all."

Ray gritted his teeth. "Don't say stuff like that again. You think I don't know people have agendas? But even so—if I start doubting the only guy who's helped me, what kind of man am I?"

He wasn't naive. Ray had seen plenty in his 40+ years as a security guard. He knew full well that no help came without strings.

But he also understood the rare value of someone who would help when it counted.

Lisa May fell silent, sensing that she had pushed too far—for now.

But her heart hadn't given up. Not even close.

That warm house of Ethan's… it was her only real dream left in this world.

She looked down at her sick baby and clenched her jaw.

Whatever it takes, Sugar. Mama will make sure we survive. Even if it means crawling over corpses.

The moon cast a pale, ghostly light across the snow-covered Summit Glen Complex. The blizzard had gone on for nearly a month now, piling snow up past the fourth floor in places.

By now, most survivors had gotten used to sleeping through the howling winds and eerie silence.

The front entrance to Building 25 was completely sealed shut by tons of packed snow and ice.

Until—

Something shifted.

A faint rumble… then a small chunk of ice crumbled to the floor. A beat later, a wedge of snow bulged outward. A steel shovel jabbed through from the other side.

Moments later, a full-blown tunnel had formed. From it crawled over a dozen people, all bundled tight in winter gear, carrying crowbars, rebar, shovels—and axes.

The man leading them was wiry and short, with sunken cheeks and razor-sharp eyes that glinted like a predator's.

Once inside the building, he turned and barked, "Move."

The team followed in tight formation, the front line holding makeshift shields—wooden planks, metal pans—while the rest crept up the stairs.

They hit the 10th floor just as a lone resident was heading down to collect snow.

One of the men stepped forward and whack—buried a shovel into the man's skull.

Crack!

Blood splattered the wall.

"Uncle Rocco," the man asked calmly. "What do we do?"

"Leave him. We'll grab the body on our way down."

The others nodded without a word.

These weren't starving amateurs. They were organized, disciplined, and deadly.

And their target was Apartment 2401.

Ethan's home.

On the 24th floor, Ethan was fast asleep. Chloe was locked in the adjacent guest room, for safety. Neither had any clue what was about to hit them.

The raiding party crept up to Ethan's floor. Not a sound. Not a single wasted breath.

When they reached the door of 2401, no one moved to strike.

Uncle Rocco raised a hand, signaling everyone to stop. Then he whispered, "Donkey, you're up."

A stocky man in a grey beanie stepped forward. On his back: a gray military backpack.

Without a word, Donkey dropped the bag and started unpacking.

Crowbars. Wire cutters. Drills. Detonators.

And four yellow bricks of tightly wrapped homemade C4.

After several tense minutes of prep, Rocco ordered everyone to take cover.

Donkey set the charges, rigged the trigger, and hit the switch.

BOOM!!!

The explosion ripped through the floor like a thunderclap.

The entire building shook.

Every resident was jolted awake.

Including Ethan.

But for him—who had been sleeping just ten feet from the blast—it felt like his eardrums were about to explode.