Ethan gripped the shovel's handle, its dull blade scraping the dirt as he led the group around the sinkhole's jagged rim. Mia stayed close, axe tucked into her belt, her backpack thudding softly with each step. Cal followed, pole tapping the ground, while Tara and Ben brought up the rear, bat and wrench in hand. The gym's blocky shape loomed ahead, less than a hundred yards west, its walls pocked with cracks but standing. Faint light flickered through its high windows—candles, maybe, or a fire. Survivors.
The air hung heavy, thick with dust from the collapsed plaza and a sharp, briny scent that didn't fit Chicago's urban sprawl. [Predator Sense] hummed, picking up distant skitters and a low rumble from the sinkhole, but nothing immediate. The campus lay quiet, its pathways twisted with uprooted trees and scattered debris—textbooks, a skateboard, a lone sneaker caked in mud.
They approached the gym's east entrance, a double door reinforced with steel plates and wooden planks nailed across it. A makeshift barricade stretched outward—overturned tables, gym mats, and a rusted bike rack piled into a chest-high wall. Voices murmured behind it, low and tense, cut by the clatter of metal on metal.
Cal stepped forward, raising his pole to knock, but Ethan grabbed his arm. "Wait. They don't know us."
"Got a better idea?" Cal asked, pulling free but holding off.
Ethan scanned the barricade. A gap near the door showed movement—someone shifting behind a table, a glint of steel in their hand. [Perception] caught the details: a crowbar, gripped tight, and a pair of boots pacing the dirt. He raised his voice, keeping it steady. "We're survivors, not threats. Coming from the dorms and library. You got room?"
The murmurs stopped. A woman's voice barked back, clipped and hard. "Names. Now."
"Ethan," he said, gesturing to the group. "Mia, Cal, Tara, Ben. We've been running all night."
A pause, then the scrape of wood as a plank shifted. A face appeared above the barricade—mid-forties, short-cropped hair, a scar running down her cheek. She held a machete, its blade nicked but sharp, and studied them with a squint. "Weapons down. Slow."
Ethan set the shovel on the ground, motioning for the others to follow. Mia placed her axe beside it, Cal his pole, Tara her bat, Ben his wrench. The woman nodded, and two others emerged—a lanky man with a spear made from a broomstick and a teenage girl clutching a tire iron. They dragged a table aside, opening a narrow path.
"Inside," the woman said, stepping back. "Move quick."
Ethan grabbed the shovel and led the way, the group filing through. The gym's interior hit him with a wave of warmth and the smell of sweat and smoke. Bleachers lined the walls, piled with blankets and bags. A dozen survivors huddled around a fire pit in the center, its flames licking at a pile of broken chairs. Water bottles and canned food sat stacked near a scoreboard, guarded by a burly man with a sledgehammer. The high windows were boarded, letting only slivers of light through.
The woman with the machete shut the door, barking orders to reseal the gap. "I'm Riley," she said, turning to Ethan. "Run this place. You pull your weight, you stay. Slack off, you're out."
"Fair," Ethan said, resting the shovel against a bleacher. "What's the setup?"
Riley jerked her chin toward the fire. "Twenty of us, scavenged what we could. Food's tight, water's tighter. Monsters hit hard last night—lost five. Been quiet since, but it won't last."
Cal crossed his arms. "You got a plan, or just hiding?"
"Surviving," Riley shot back. "Scouts say the city's overrun—north's a no-go, south's flooded. West might have a way out, but we need bodies to check."
Tara snorted, dropping her bat on a blanket. "Great. Cannon fodder."
"Volunteers eat first," Riley said, unfazed. "Your call."
Ethan glanced at Mia, who was already unpacking her water bottle to share. Ben hovered near the fire, warming his hands, while Tara muttered to Cal. The gym felt solid—walls thick, barricade strong—but [Predator Sense] picked up a faint tremor, a skitter beyond the walls. Quiet didn't mean safe.
"Rest up," Ethan said to the group, keeping his voice low. "We'll figure it out."
Riley handed him a dented can of beans. "Eat. You look like hell."
He took it, prying it open with the shovel's edge, and passed half to Mia. The cold beans tasted like ash, but they settled his stomach. The gym buzzed with low chatter, the fire crackling, and for the first time since the breach, Ethan felt a sliver of calm. It wouldn't last—he knew that—but it was enough to breathe.
[Objective completed: Reach a safe zone]
[Attributes Gained: +1 Endurance]
[Rewards Gained: None]
The stamina boost hit, easing the ache in his ribs. He flexed his shoulders, shovel close, and watched the flames dance.