{Third Person POV - Elsewhere in Oakmere}
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A young woman gripped the rusted scythe tighter, her palms slick with sweat despite the cold night air seeping through the cracks in the wooden walls.
She was maybe twenty-two, with dark brown hair pulled back in a practical braid that had started to come loose hours ago.
Her face was sun-bronzed from years working the fields, with high cheekbones and honey-brown eyes that were currently locked on the closed door with absolute, unwavering focus. She wore simple clothing, a worn tunic and pants, the kind that could take abuse, and work boots that had seen better days.
The same clothes she'd been wearing when everything had gone to hell.
There were four others with her in the small house, pressed against the walls, breathing hard, weapons gripped in white-knuckled hands.
The space was cramped, barely fifteen feet across, with a single room that had been someone's home until an hour ago when they'd evacuated to the shelter.
