The rhythmic, structural groan of the concrete bunker hummed deep beneath the foundation of the commercial district, a stark contrast to the absolute, suffocating silence that had settled over Apex City's surface.
Inside a dimly lit storefront turned temporary barricade, three miles south of the city center, a completely different kind of silence reigned. The air smelled of stale rain, rust, and the metallic tang of dried blood.
Marcus sat on an overturned plastic crate, his fingers tightly wrapped around a rusted iron rebar he had sharpened against the floorboards over the course of three agonizing days.
His clothes were stiff with grime, his lips chapped to the point of bleeding, and his eyes hollowed out by the relentless, gnawing hunger that had reduced his small group from nine people to just four.
