The first rays of dawn cut through the clouds, banishing the night. Peachtree City revealed itself in the growing light — its true face, quiet and crumbling.
Inside the golf course compound, the QZ civilians had slept well and were now moving with renewed energy, packing the remaining supplies onto the vehicles. Every item was divided — half loaded, half left behind.
Bryan stood nearby, watching the organized bustle, and turned as Andrea approached. "What's the verdict? Staying or going?"
She'd agonized over it all night. Even now, with the decision upon her, she hesitated — but only for a moment. "We've decided to stay."
"Good call."
Bryan wasn't surprised. Compared to a QZ rife with corruption, insurgency, and mandatory combat rotations — a compound with solid defenses, established agriculture, and no enemies left standing was an obvious choice.
"And the prisoners?"
Andrea's jaw tightened. She looked away. "Corbin said he'd handle it. Told us not to worry about it."
Bryan's eyes found Corbin across the compound — face dark as a thunderhead. "Don't feel guilty about it. They brought this on themselves."
He'd learned the full story from Kim during the night. The people in those cells had been treated as slave labor — worked to the bone, fed scraps. The captured members of Andrea's group had been subjected to savage torture, partly for information extraction and partly for... entertainment. The women especially had endured horrors that didn't need spelling out.
Ford, the man on the cross, had been tortured to death. The rest had been on the verge. A few more days, and there'd have been nothing left to rescue.
With that kind of history, handing the perpetrators over to their victims was practically poetic justice.
Bryan shifted his attention to the small figure who'd been orbiting him all morning like a satellite. Cleaned up, Chen Shi looked surprisingly presentable — even kind of cute.
He pinched the boy's soft cheek. "What about you? Staying here, or coming with me?"
"I'll go with you."
Chen Shi answered instantly, his voice pitched high in practiced childishness. Are you kidding? I don't know anyone here, and I can't speak the language. I'm sticking with the one person who speaks Mandarin.
The baby-voice act made him cringe internally, but survival trumped dignity. Besides, Detective Conan had made it work. And he actually was a four-year-old, physically speaking. Nothing to be embarrassed about.
"Ha."
Bryan ruffled his hair with a quiet laugh. "Alright. You're with me."
He'd already done his homework that morning — questioning both the freed prisoners and the captured survivors about the boy. Chen Shi had been brought here roughly two months ago with another child and two adults. The adults had been tortured to death. The other child had died of fever brought on by shock. Chen Shi was the sole survivor.
The story checked out. Probably nothing unusual. Still — Bryan intended to keep watching.
Norman's voice called him over. Bryan told Chen Shi to go play, then headed for the convoy.
"Squad Leader — my supplies are packed separately, on the outside of the truck. Easy to offload when we get there." Norman stood beside the military truck, gesturing at the neatly organized cargo.
"Perfect. Same as always."
Bryan checked the loading progress. "How much longer?"
"One more run. Ten minutes, tops. You can go ahead — we'll catch up."
"Got it. This place is yours."
Bryan clapped Norman's shoulder and left. He found Mia — the woman who'd first looked after Chen Shi — and asked her to keep an eye on the boy.
Then he gathered Kim and Wade, climbed into the military truck's driver seat, and fired up the engine. Under the watchful eyes of everyone in the compound, they rolled out through the smashed gates.
...
Two hours later.
The military truck cleared Peachtree City limits and crossed back into the Atlanta metro area. The QZ's towering perimeter walls were already visible on the horizon.
But Bryan didn't drive toward the main gate. Instead, he steered east, skirting the QZ's outer wall.
The truck wound through urban ruins until it entered a desolate block. At the entrance stood a small sign marked with a red X — easy to miss if you weren't looking. They glanced at it and drove on.
Unlike the surrounding areas, where Infected howls and animal cries punctuated the air, this block was eerily silent. The buildings on both sides looked deliberately maintained — sunlight glinting off intact glass windows.
Bryan kept scanning outside as he drove. He could see figures moving rapidly through the buildings, tracking the truck's progress.
The truck reached the mouth of an underground parking garage. Bryan hit the brakes without hesitation, stopping at the barrier.
The instant the vehicle stopped, armed men and women emerged from buildings and brush on both sides, silently encircling the truck — but keeping their distance.
Click.
Bryan opened the driver's door and stepped out. Sunlight hit his face, making him squint.
He surveyed the ring of armed figures with casual indifference, then leaned against the truck to wait. Almost reflexively, he fished a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, shook out two, and tossed one to Kim through the window. The other went between his own lips. Wade didn't smoke.
His lighter flared. He took a long, satisfying drag.
The surrounding people watched with open envy — Adam's apples bobbing, mouths watering — but not one dared approach.
Until a large man with a short axe shouldered through the crowd, planted himself in front of Bryan, and eyed the cigarette with undisguised greed. "Hey, kid — how about sharing one of those?"
The axe rose slightly. The implication was clear: give it up, or I'll take it.
The onlookers smirked — but their amusement was directed at the big man, not Bryan.
Bryan glanced at him, wrinkled his nose at the smell, and said flatly, "New here?"
"Huh?" The man blinked, then flushed with embarrassment that quickly curdled into anger. He reached for the cigarette—
Bryan caught his wrist, twisted it backward in one fluid motion, and kicked both his knees out from under him.
Thud.
The man hit the ground with a howl, his arm pinned behind him in a lock that intensified with every struggle. Within seconds, he went limp, afraid to move.
...
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