Mark - 108
Michael - 60
Martin - 13
Mario - 13
With the three corrupted dead, I finally exhale. My hands tremble slightly as I stare at the broken door at the back of the church, its splintered wood hanging loosely from rusted hinges. I wonder if there are more inside. I'm sore. Tired. The fight, brief as it was, nearly ended me. If I hadn't gotten lucky… well, I wouldn't be here to think about it.
The pipe I used is still jammed into the second monkey's torso. I pull it free with a wet crunch, flinching at the sound, then begin my slow, cautious walk toward the back of the church. The pipe feels heavier now, like it's soaked up some of the weight of what just happened.
I reach the broken door and peer inside.
It's... calm.
Empty, aside from two beds and a table that, strangely enough, is still intact. In this kind of place, you'd expect everything to be shattered, broken down to firewood or dust. I find the untouched room unsettling, like it was waiting for us. But I don't dwell on it. No movement. No sounds. I step inside to be sure. Nothing. It's clear.
Turning back, I head toward where I left Mark and the kids. My shirt is soaked in blood—fresh, sticky, and not mine. I can already see their faces from a distance—fearful, confused. Probably thinking I got hurt.
I crouch down and gently lift Mark, careful not to jostle him. "The church is clear now," I tell him. "I even found a bed for you to rest. Let's hurry and get inside."
"What happened in there?" he asks, his eyes narrowing at the blood smeared across my chest and arms. There's real concern in his voice. "You didn't get hurt, did you?"
"No," I lie, though technically it's the truth. "Just got lucky. They practically killed themselves." I try to smile, to reassure him, but I can see in his eyes he doesn't believe me.
It's not just the blood. It's me. I don't talk much—never did. And right now, I don't have much left to say. I should be asking if he's okay. I know he's not. He can barely breathe, and I saw the way he limped before. His ribs are probably cracked, maybe even broken, and his left leg's not in much better shape. That happened when he fought off that corrupted tree back at the old safehouse. I saw it throw him like he weighed nothing.
We step into the church, and the stench hits first. The fresh corpses on the floor haven't been there long, but long enough to foul the air. I look away from them.
"I'll get the cores once you're in bed," I say, shifting his weight. "We also need to get rid of them. Fast. They'll attract more corrupted if we leave them here."
"We can't bury them," Mark says through gritted teeth. "Take them out. Put them in the road. Scavengers will come and eat them."
"Okay. I'll do that once you're settled in," I nod.
We head to the back. The beds are dusty but stable. I lower Mark onto one, as gently as I can. The kids follow behind silently, dropping the backpack on the table. They're too young for this. Martin and Mario. Just kids, trapped in a world that keeps getting darker.
"Stay here while I move the bodies," I say, glancing at them. "I don't want you getting more blood on you."
Mark watches me with tired eyes. "Just be careful. You're dripping. You'll attract more of those things."
I nod again and turn to the corpses. The knife I have isn't sharp anymore, but it does the job. Removing the cores isn't difficult—just disgusting. Still, we need them. I carry them to the back room and give one to each of them. I can feel the faint pulse as they absorb the cores—small, invisible surges of strength we desperately need.
Then I get to work on the bodies.
I start with the big one—the evolved corrupted. I drag it to the front door, check outside, then haul it to the road. No movement. No sounds. It's strangely quiet.
As I drop the body onto the road, I notice something odd—its guts are missing. "No wonder it felt so light," I mutter.
I strip off my blood-soaked top, scoop up the entrails as best I can into the fabric, and carry the rest of the bodies out one by one. The monkeys are lighter, easier to manage. One goes under my arm, the other dangles awkwardly as I make the trip again.
The whole time, I keep looking over my shoulder.
Once it's done, I return to the church. I lean against the wall, suddenly aware of just how exhausted I am. My legs nearly give out. But I can't sleep. Not yet. I'm the only one who can fight right now, and we're too exposed.
Killing isn't natural for me. But the more I do it, the easier it gets. I don't like that.
Two hours pass.
Then I hear it—a crunching sound. Slow, deliberate.
I creep to the doorway and peer out. There, feeding on the corpses, are two dog-like creatures. Corrupted, no doubt. Their forms are warped—jagged spines, bulging eyes, skin sloughing off in patches. Basics, thankfully. But even basics are dangerous, especially in pairs.
I grip the pipe tighter, my heart picking up pace.
Then I hear something else—heavier, faster.
A horse.
It gallops into view, and just like that, the dogs vanish. Hiding? Or scared? Either way, they're gone, and the horse approaches the corpses. Then it lowers its head and starts... eating.
Raw meat. Like it's grazing.
I stare, both relieved and disturbed. The horse doesn't even look corrupted. Not at a glance. But it has to be.
Sunlight fades, painting the world in orange and purple. I shut the door and lock it best I can. Mark tells me to rest—that he'll wake me if anything happens.
I want to argue. But I know he's right. Being tired when something attacks would be worse than sleeping now. So I lie down and close my eyes.
I sleep.
When I wake, sunlight streams through the cracked windows. I feel... better. My body aches less. My head feels clearer. But I'm also irritated. Mark didn't wake me once during the night. That wasn't the plan.
I push the frustration aside. It doesn't help.
We're still alive. That's enough for now.
I stand and stretch. First thing on my list: check the perimeter.
I step out and walk around the side of the church. To my surprise, I find a water tank attached to the back. Old, a bit rusted, but still intact. It's been collecting rainwater. I consider climbing up to check the roof—maybe get a better view of the surroundings—but decide against it. Too risky. Too exposed. From what I can see, the gutters are clogged, but not broken. It's not urgent. Yet.
I check the tank. There's water, alright. But we'll need to boil it first. Can't risk drinking it straight. Who knows what died in there, or what made a home in the pipes.
I head back inside.
Mark agrees we need to boil it before using it. "The kids could get sick," he says, and he's right. I suggest I head out and search the nearby houses for supplies, while he and the kids try to get a fire going.
Fire's going to be a chore. Nothing in this place is built for comfort. But I trust Mark. Even hurt, he thinks clearly.
I empty the backpack and sling it over my shoulders. I grab the pipe and my knife. The blade's duller than I'd like, but it'll do until I find something better.
I take one last look at them—Mark resting on the bed, Martin and Mario seated nearby, watching him with worry in their eyes.
They're my family.
And I'm not going to let anything take them.
With a deep breath, I step out into the quiet morning. The world is still broken. Still dangerous.
But for now… we're alive.
And that's enough.