Riku stepped outside, M4 slung across his chest, and let the shutter fall back into place behind him. The street was still pale and washed out, dawn turning the ruins into shapes without color. He scanned left, then right. Nothing moved.

The Rezvani sat where he'd left it, nose pointed toward the main road. Dust clung to the hood, and flecks of dried blood were still on the bumper. The vehicle looked like it had fought a war alongside him—which, in a way, it had.

Riku crouched by the front tire first, fingers brushing the tread. Still good. No punctures. He moved around to the back, scanning the wheel wells, making sure nothing had been tampered with during the night. Zombies weren't clever, but men were. And men had already proved themselves worse.

He popped the rear door halfway, rifle steady in his other hand. Inside, the gear was still where he'd left it: a blanket, a spare mag pouch, a half-empty water jug strapped down. Nothing disturbed. He closed it again, softly.

Only then did he circle back, slip into the driver's seat, and turn the key halfway. The Rezvani's console flickered to life. Fuel gauge: just under half. Riku exhaled through his nose. Not bad, but not enough for long. He let the engine rumble for a moment, listening. The low growl was steady, no coughs or strange ticks.

He tapped the horn once—three short taps, the signal.

A pause. Then nothing else. Good. The girls had heard, and they were following orders.

He shut the engine back off, slipped out, and gave the street one more slow scan before heading back inside.

The convenience store smelled faintly of rice and dust when he reentered. Suzune was by the shutter, sitting on the stool he'd left her. She didn't flinch when he came back; she'd been watching that door too closely. Ichika sat cross-legged with her arms folded, and Miko was still trying to coax Hana back under her blanket, though the little girl's eyes were wide awake now.

"All clear," Riku said. "Rezvani's fine. Fuel's at half. We can run a few more days if we don't waste it."

"Half?" Ichika frowned. "That doesn't sound like much."

"It's more than nothing," he replied, moving behind the counter to set down the lighter and heat packs he'd pocketed earlier. "But it means fuel is priority soon."

Suzune straightened. "So… we'll have to go out again?"

Riku nodded once. "Not yet. First we get our strength back."

The morning routine came next, as if routine could hold the world together.

Hana carried the empty rice pot to the back and tried washing it with bottled water, humming quietly while she worked. Miko hovered behind her, making sure she didn't waste too much. Suzune went through the shelves again, this time carefully opening every box and drawer. Most of it was junk—plastic spoons, broken pens, old receipts—but she found a few things that mattered: rubber bands, a pack of batteries, and a roll of duct tape.

Ichika was less subtle. She kicked open every cabinet she could reach, muttering under her breath when she found nothing useful. Eventually she returned with a pack of instant noodles, crushed but still sealed, and tossed it onto the counter.

"Treasure," she said dryly.

"Treasure," Riku echoed, checking his rifle.

They ate again—just a few spoonfuls of rice left in the pot, stretched thin, plus water. No one complained. Hana offered her share to Riku once, but he shook his head firmly.

"You eat," he told her. "That's an order."

She pouted but obeyed.

After food came cleaning. Riku insisted. He passed out more wet wipes and pointed them toward the aisles.

"Dust it down. Clear wrappers off the floor. Keep trash in one bag. We leave this place better than we found it."

Ichika groaned but did it anyway, dragging her feet as she picked up candy wrappers. Suzune wiped the counter clean, neat and methodical. Miko kept Hana busy with a "game," pointing out little messes and letting the girl collect them like prizes.

By the time they finished, the store looked less like a ruin and more like a camp. The floor was still cracked tile, the shelves still half-empty, but it felt like theirs for now.

When they finally settled, the conversation started. Not planning, not survival orders—just talk.

Suzune sat cross-legged near the shutter, twirling the salt shaker in her hands. "Feels strange," she said softly. "Brushing teeth, cleaning floors. Like it's a normal day."

"It's not," Ichika muttered.

"That's why it feels strange," Suzune said.

Riku leaned against the counter, checking his pistol slide. "Strange isn't bad. Strange keeps us human."

Hana tilted her head, confused. "But aren't we human already?"

Miko smoothed her hair. "He means… if we forget little things, we'll end up like—" She stopped herself, biting her lip.

"Like them," Ichika finished for her. "Dead things walking around."

Hana went quiet after that.

The hours stretched. Riku rotated the watches as he'd promised. Suzune stayed sharp on the shutter, while Ichika kept half an eye on the back door. Miko dozed with Hana curled against her, the girl's small breaths steady against her arm.

Riku walked the aisles again, counting every item worth carrying. A bag of rice. Two packs of noodles. A handful of candy. Four water bottles left, plus a few in the coolers. He thought about weight, storage, what they could carry in the Rezvani, what they should leave behind.

It wasn't enough. Not for long. But for today, it would do.

By noon, the light leaking through the towels was stronger, almost golden. The world outside sounded different—distant shouts, the faint crack of gunfire somewhere far off. The warband, maybe. Or just another group killing each other.

Riku didn't mention it.

Instead, he lit the butane stove again, low and quiet. Suzune measured another small portion of rice, and together they cooked a second pot.

This time, Hana tried stirring, her small hands holding the ladle like it was too heavy. Miko guided her gently, smiling despite the exhaustion in her eyes.

"Like this," Miko whispered.

Hana beamed at her success. "I'm cooking!"

For a few seconds, it almost felt like they were back in another world.

After lunch, they cleaned up again. Riku sat back against the wall, rifle across his lap, and finally spoke.

"Tomorrow, we move. We can't stay here longer than one night. Stores like this draw people, and people are worse than dead."

Ichika scowled. "Back to running, huh?"

"Running keeps us alive," Riku said flatly.

Suzune hesitated. "Where do we go?"

"Somewhere with fuel. Somewhere with cover." He didn't have a perfect answer yet, and he hated that.

The girls noticed but didn't press.

The afternoon dragged slower. Hana napped again. Miko braided her hair with the cartoon tie Ichika had given her, fingers gentle and patient. Suzune tried reading the labels on dusty magazines she'd found, though her eyes kept drifting to the shutter. Ichika practiced with the walkie, turning it on and off, learning the feel of it in her hands.

Riku cleaned his rifle piece by piece, laying each part on a towel, wiping it down, reassembling without hurry. The simple act calmed him more than anything else.

When he was done, he looked at the girls and spoke quietly. "We made it through the night. That's more than most."

No one argued.

As evening shadows began to stretch, they cooked one final small portion of rice. This time, Riku added a pinch of sugar he'd found in a torn packet, making the taste just slightly different. Hana giggled at the sweetness. Even Ichika smirked.

It wasn't much, but it felt like a small victory.

When the light outside faded again and the city began to breathe its night sounds, Riku checked the shutter one last time, set the watches, and spoke the words he always did.

"Stay sharp. Stay alive."

The girls nodded, each in their own way.

And for that night, in the shell of a broken convenience store, they held onto something like peace.

The city answered with its own small threats.

Near midnight, something scraped along the shutter—light at first, then a steady drag, metal on metal. All four girls went still. Hana's fingers found Miko's sleeve and clenched. Ichika eased the walkie to her lap and mouthed, "One?" Suzune already had her hand on the makeshift latch.

Riku raised a palm: wait.

The scrape paused. A wet snuffle pressed at the floor gap, followed by a slow, stupid moan. Not a hunter. Shambler. It bumped the shutter twice, puzzled, then started that restless pacing he knew so well—three steps left, three steps right, bump, breathe, repeat.

He knelt, brought his mouth close to the metal, and tapped the barrel once with his knuckle—soft, off-beat, the kind of sound that slid away into the alley instead of through it. The pacing drifted. The snuffle moved toward the side lane, following an easier echo. A minute later, the steps faded.

No one spoke for a long time.

Miko exhaled first, soundless. Ichika's shoulders loosened. Suzune kept her eyes on the bolts until the silence felt real again. Hana's grip eased by inches.

Riku checked them each in turn, then the shutter, then the back door. Same routine, same calm movements. "We hold till morning," he whispered. "Then we move."

He sat with his back to the counter and the rifle across his knees. The store settled around them—dust, rice, tired breathing, the thin hum of a world that hadn't ended so much as changed shape. Outside, somewhere far off, a siren wailed and died.

"Stay sharp," he said again, softer this time.

They did.

And the night, thin and fragile, held.

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.