"It's done!" one of them shouted, way louder than necessary.
I pushed myself up, stretching out the stiffness in my legs, and took a look at what everyone managed to pack.
Most of them could only carry a bag or two—barely anything, really—but it was the best their trembling arms and half-shattered nerves could manage.
As for me, I carried even more, stacking the packs side by side along my make shift shadow pole, letting the base bear the weight.
"Let's move. Stick close and don't wander off too far."
We kept a steady pace, and the man who just lost his wife didn't come with us out of resentment—a big mistake. I flick a coin secretly and struck him on the head once we were far enough.
He punched me. I killed him—fair exchange.
Along the way, we came across more people—stray survivors clutching backpacks, improvised weapons, or nothing at all. Some were hiding behind overturned cars, others peeking from shattered shop doors like startled alley cats.
