Riku didn't lower his guard. He stepped closer, keeping his rifle loose but ready, eyes never leaving the man who called himself Sato. The two women behind him carried carbines held low, not pointing but not relaxed either. Their faces were hard, weathered by hunger and months of survival, yet not twisted with the feral greed raiders wore.

Still, Riku didn't trust anything in this city.

"You say food, water, walls," he said. His voice carried the same sharp edge as always. "I want to see them before I believe."

Sato gave a short nod. "Understandable. Come inside. Careful. You'll see we're not raiders."

He stepped back, gesturing toward the double doors of the burned school.

Suzune slid out of the Rezvani next, rifle shouldered. She gave Riku the barest flick of a nod—ready. Ichika stayed in the back with Hana and Yui, jaw set tight as she muttered, "This is a bad idea."

Kenji's face was pale with hope. He clutched his daughter closer, whispering in her ear. Miko's hand hovered on Hana's shoulder, torn between caution and relief.

Riku motioned. "Miko, Suzune—come. Kenji stays in the truck with the girls. If this smells wrong, we're gone."

Kenji looked like he wanted to argue but didn't. He only held Yui tighter.

Riku and Suzune flanked Sato while Miko followed close, eyes wide. They crossed the charred yard, boots crunching over ash and shattered glass. The smell of old fire hung thick.

Inside the school, the first thing Riku noticed was the barricades. Desks stacked waist-high blocked every hallway, with narrow lanes cut through the middle. Metal rods, nailed wood, improvised choke points. Someone here knew how to funnel a fight.

The second thing he noticed was the people.

Maybe twenty in total. Thin, ragged, but alive. They looked up from their tasks as the group entered—boiling pots over a propane burner, sorting through salvaged cans, patching cloth into blankets. Their eyes followed Riku, some suspicious, some desperate, some quietly hopeful.

"We hold this block," Sato said, voice calm, measured. "Been here six months. The school's solid. Thick walls, easy to defend. Shamblers don't get through unless we let them. Raiders tried twice. They're bones out on the road now."

Suzune's eyes scanned every corner. "How do you feed twenty people in a dead city?"

Sato gestured toward a row of crates stacked against the wall. MRE pouches, dented cans, bags of rice sealed in plastic. Not much, but more than Riku's group had seen in weeks. "Scavenged. We run teams every week. Quiet, careful. The depot two districts north still had stock last month. We ration strict. No one goes hungry, but no one eats full either."

Miko's breath caught at the sight of the food. "Real supplies…"

Riku stayed silent, studying the setup. The walls were scorched but intact. Windows barred with scrap iron. The smell of bleach faint under the smoke—someone had tried to keep it clean. He hated to admit it, but this wasn't bait. It was real.

Sato caught his silence and nodded. "I know what you're thinking. Too good to be true. But you've seen the streets. Nobody lasts this long by accident. We've built something here. Not perfect, but safer than running blind every night."

Riku's jaw clenched. He thought of Hana's tired eyes, of Yui's feverish skin, of Kenji's desperate whisper: just don't leave her.

Safety. Even the word was dangerous.

Suzune glanced at him, waiting. She wouldn't say it, but her eyes asked the question.

Riku turned back to Sato. "We'll stay the night. Nothing more, yet."

Sato smiled faintly, though his eyes stayed sharp. "Fair. One night, then you decide."

They brought the others in after Riku's signal. Hana clung to Miko's hand as she stepped from the Rezvani, eyes wide at the sight of so many strangers. Yui stirred weakly in Kenji's arms, drawing sympathetic looks from some of the school's survivors.

One of the women, younger than the rest, hurried forward with a blanket. "Here, put her on this cot," she said, guiding Kenji toward a corner. "We'll boil water. We've got clean rags."

Kenji's throat worked. "Thank you. Thank you."

Ichika muttered under her breath, but even she couldn't hide the relief in her shoulders when she saw Yui laid down on something better than concrete.

Miko busied herself at once, helping to dampen cloths for the girl's forehead. Hana sat cross-legged at Yui's side, whispering stories about how Onii-chan always won.

For the first time in weeks, the tension in the air shifted. It wasn't gone. But it wasn't crushing.

That night, they ate hot food.

Sato's people ladled out thin stew—potatoes, carrots, beans. Nothing fancy, but warm. The smell alone nearly broke them. Hana's eyes went wide when she tasted it. Kenji whispered another round of thanks. Even Ichika slurped silently, not daring to complain.

Riku ate slow, mechanical, eyes never leaving the room. He didn't trust the walls, the food, or the people. But he admitted one thing to himself: for the first time in weeks, the group looked human again.

After the meal, Sato sat across from him. "You've kept moving a long time. I can see it. The truck, the weapons, the discipline. You could keep running, but you'll burn out. Everyone does. Stay here. You'd make us stronger."

Riku met his gaze, flat. "Or weaker. More mouths. More risk."

"Or more fighters. More eyes on watch. A truck that can push through what our legs can't." Sato leaned in. "You don't have to decide tonight. But you know as well as I do—alone, even strong groups fade. Together, we might last."

Riku didn't answer. He only stood and walked the perimeter, checking exits, measuring sightlines, memorizing routes.

Safety was a lie. But a useful one.

Morning came with clearer skies. The smoke from the burned wing still curled, but the yard was quiet.

Yui's fever had broken a little. She opened her eyes longer this time, smiling faintly at Hana's chatter. Miko nearly cried with relief. Kenji gripped Riku's hands in both of his, whispering thanks until his voice shook.

Suzune moved to Riku's side. "The kid's better. This place has food. Strong walls. If we keep moving, she dies."

"I know," Riku said.

"You're thinking of leaving anyway."

"Yes."

"Because you don't trust them."

"I don't trust anyone."

She studied him a moment, then said, "That's why I do."

Later that day, Sato gathered them near the barricade at the east hallway. "You should see how we keep the block clear," he said. "If you're going to decide, you need to know."

He led them up to the rooftop. From there, the city stretched in every direction—broken towers, ash streets, smoke on the horizon. The school sat in the center of a barricaded block, cars and wire forming a jagged square perimeter. Beyond it, the city's silence pulsed heavy.

"Our scouts spotted a swarm three days ago," Sato said, pointing east. "It veered north, but it'll circle back. They always do. That's why we stay behind walls."

Riku scanned the perimeter. The defenses were solid but finite. A big swarm would break them. A raider crew with rifles would burn them out. This place was safe—for now. Nothing more.

Ichika leaned against the rail. "So what, we play house here until the next wave hits?"

Sato gave her a look that was neither angry nor amused. "We build until we can't. That's survival."

That evening, Riku sat alone in one of the classrooms. Desks pushed aside, chalk still on the board, the smell of dust and age heavy in the air. He traced the map in his head, westward lines burned deep. Always west. But now there was another mark—this school, this fragile pocket of survival.

Miko entered quietly, hands clasped. "Yui's sleeping better. Her fever's down."

Riku gave a short nod.

She hesitated. "I know you don't trust them. But… Hana smiled today. Really smiled. She hasn't in weeks."

Riku's jaw tightened.

"Just think about it," Miko whispered, then left.

He sat in silence until the dark deepened.

That night, the alarm came.

A bell clanged from the north barricade. Shouts echoed down the halls.

Riku was on his feet before anyone else. He grabbed his rifle and sprinted to the yard. Suzune was already there, scope up, scanning the shadows.

Figures moved beyond the barricade—shamblers. Dozens. Drawn by smoke, by noise, by the scent of food and people.

Sato barked orders, his people taking positions. "Hold the line! Keep them off the wire!"

The first bodies hit the barricade, clawing, pushing. Nails scraped metal. Teeth snapped. The survivors stabbed down with spears, fired short bursts from rifles. The air filled with the wet sound of impacts.

Riku vaulted to the line without hesitation. He drove his rifle butt into a skull, shoved a body back off the wire, shot another clean through the eye. Suzune fired precise shots beside him, each round a kill.

Miko herded Hana and Yui deeper into the halls, Kenji with them, panic sharp in his eyes. Ichika stood near the truck, hands white on the walkie.

The swarm pressed harder, bodies piling. The barricade groaned.

Sato shouted, "Hold!"

Riku's voice cut over his. "If it breaks, fall back to the yard interior. Funnel them. Don't scatter."

The survivors listened. Not because he commanded them—but because his voice carried certainty.

Minutes stretched brutal. Then, slowly, the pressure eased. The swarm wasn't endless. The last few bodies clawed and fell. The wire held.

The yard fell silent again, broken only by harsh breathing and the stench of rot.

Later, when the corpses had been dragged out and burned, Sato clapped Riku's shoulder. "You kept them steady. We needed that."

Riku shook him off. His eyes swept the yard, the survivors, the truck, his people.

The school was strong. The people were capable. But the swarm had proven his point—no place lasted forever.

Inside, Hana slept curled beside Yui, both girls breathing steady. For the first time in weeks, there was laughter—weak, tired, but real—from Miko and even Ichika.

Riku stood in the doorway, rifle in hand, watching.

Safety was still a lie. But here, inside these walls, it was a lie they could use.

And maybe, just maybe, it was worth the risk.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.