CHAPTER 53: 53: A WORLD OF OPPORTUNISTS

Winter’s knuckles throbbed, a dull ache radiating through his hand as he tightened his grip on the man’s torn collar. Blood—warm and sticky—ran down his bruised fist, painting the edges of his sleeve and the snow below his feet.

The man dangling from his grasp barely resembled a person anymore. His face was swollen, one eye completely shut, lips split and smeared with blood, and his nose bent at an unnatural angle.

"Did you think this was smart?" Winter growled, shaking the man roughly. His voice was low and filled with frustration. "Attacking a lone traveler? Hmm? What part of that seemed like a good idea to you?"

The man groaned, a wet sound that barely passed for a response. His head lolled, and when he tried to form words, they came out as unintelligible slurs.

Winter scoffed, disgusted. "Pathetic." With a swift motion, he threw the man to the side, like tossing a rag doll into the dirt.

The man landed with a grunt, his body colliding painfully with another one of his beaten comrades, both of them groaning in unison. Winter stood still for a moment, flexing his hand, his knuckles cracking audibly as he ignored the burning sting of his injuries.

He let out a slow exhale, his sharp gray eyes scanning the carnage around him. Four bodies lay strewn across the cracked pavement, moaning, beaten senseless. Their weapons—makeshift blades and crude pipes—lay discarded, useless now.

Idiots. Winter shook his head. He’d come across dozens of scum like them in City B—desperate and opportunistic, but too stupid to realize that not every traveler was helpless prey. His blood boiled at the thought.

His lips pressed into a tight line as he crouched down, rifling through one of the men’s bags. The stench of unwashed bodies and stale alcohol hit his nose, and he grimaced. The bag contained nothing but a few empty cans, some crumpled paper, and a broken flashlight.

"Useless," Winter muttered under his breath, tossing it aside and moving to the next.

Who the hell kept empty cans in his bag?

As he continued searching, his mind wandered. He’d been in City B too long—long enough to know it offered nothing but decay. No supplies. No decent people.

A face flashed in his mind, making him shake his head.

Just gangs, filth, and endless dead ends. Maybe it was time to leave. Maybe this wasteland wasn’t worth the effort anymore.

But as he reached for the third bag, the sound of hurried footsteps pulled him from his thoughts.

Winter froze, his hand still on the strap of the bag. He lowered himself quickly, slipping behind a chunk of concrete that jutted out from the ruins of a nearby wall.

The footsteps grew louder—multiple sets, rushing across the cracked pavement. Winter crouched lower, peering through a jagged gap in the concrete.

A group of men ran past, their voices raised in hurried conversation. They carried weapons—shotguns, bats, knives—and their movements were urgent, almost frantic.

"...the cache is real! I told you!" one of them said, his voice hoarse with excitement.

"I’m telling you, someone’s already found it. We need to move now id we want a piece of it," another argued.

"Shut up and keep moving. If Raphael gets there first, we’re screwed."

Winter’s brow furrowed as he listened, his sharp mind piecing together fragments of their conversation.

Cache?

The word caught his attention. He’d thought so initially—a supposed stash of supplies of that magnitude would be hidden somewhere in the higher class part of the city. It was the reason he’d come to City B in the first place. But after spending so long here, he’d assumed it was nothing more than wishful thinking, a myth created by desperate scavengers.

The men were long gone now, their footsteps fading into the distance. Winter remained crouched behind the concrete, his thoughts racing.

Could it be true? Could they actually have found the cache?

He glanced down at the beaten bodies nearby, at the insignias they bore. The familiar emblem—a crude, hastily drawn fox’s head—marked them as part of Raphael’s gang.

Winter’s jaw tightened. He hadn’t crossed paths with Raphael yet, but the name carried weight around here, whispered in fear and anger by those unlucky enough to fall under his influence. Winter had already decided he didn’t like the guy.

"Figures," he muttered, rising to his feet.

The bags at his feet were a lost cause—empty and worthless. The gang members he’d beaten were no better. But the men running past... they seemed convinced. They believed the cache was real.

Winter ran a hand through his dark, sweat-dampened hair, his thoughts churning. He hated chasing rumors, hated relying on the words of desperate men. But what other choice did he have?

He’d spent months searching for something—anything—to make this hellhole worth his time, and he’d found nothing.

"Fine," he muttered to himself, his voice resigned. "Let’s see what this is about."

With one last glance at the groaning bodies behind him, Winter adjusted his jacket, checked the knife at his belt, and set off in the direction the men had gone.

After all, he thought bitterly, it’s not like I’ve got anything to lose.

*****

Suddenly, a tremor shook the room, followed by a deafening explosion. Dust rained down from the ceiling as a section of the wall caved in, sunlight pouring through the gap.

Zara turned, shielding Leo and Mia as debris rained down. When she looked up again, her heart sank.

A new group of scavengers swarmed through the opening, their weapons drawn and their faces wild.

"Oh, great," Zara muttered under her breath.

The room erupted into chaos again as the scavengers opened fire, bullets tearing through the shelves. Raphael’s men scrambled for cover, and Raphael himself cursed loudly.

In the chaos, Zara grabbed Mia’s arm, her grip firm but not unkind.

"We’re getting out of here," she said firmly.

Mia’s eyes filled with tears, but she nodded. "I’m sorry," she whispered.

Zara didn’t answer. She didn’t have the time—or the energy—to deal with apologies. All she knew was that they had to survive.

She pulled Mia closer, her other arm wrapped protectively around Leo and darted toward the nearest opening caused by the explosion.

The bunker was a war zone.

The stale, musty air was thick with dust and smoke, shaken by the deafening cracks of gunfire and the sharp, metallic clash of blades. Shouts filled the cavernous space—commands, curses, cries of pain—and the chaos swelled with every moment. Supplies were scattered across the floor, trampled underfoot as scavengers and gang members fought for whatever they could grab.

Zara clutched Leo tightly against her chest. The three-year-old’s small arms were wrapped around her neck, his face buried in her shoulder, his quiet sniffles drowned out by the mayhem around them. He was terrified, but he was quiet—bless him for that. Zara didn’t have room for one more distraction.

Mia was at her side, pale and trembling, her eyes darting around as if searching for something—or someone. Zara pulled her closer, keeping her voice low and firm.

"Mia, where’s Kit?"

The teenager’s face crumpled. Her lip quivered as she stuttered out a reply, her words barely audible over the chaos. "H-he was following me," she stammered, her eyes darting nervously around the room. "But then... then Raphael’s men came, and we got separated—" Her voice broke. "I think... I think they have him."

Zara’s stomach dropped, a wave of fury and despair washing over her. She shouldn’t have expected anything less from scum like Raphael. Kit was just a child, and Raphael—she didn’t want to think about what he might do to him.

She tightened her grip on Leo and grabbed Mia’s wrist. "We’ll find him. But you have to stay close. Do not let go of me, do you understand?"

Mia nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I’m sorry," she whispered again, her voice trembling.

Zara didn’t answer. It hurt but now was not the time.

Gunfire erupted again, closer this time, forcing Zara to duck behind an overturned metal shelf. Raphael’s men were shouting orders, their voices cutting through the chaos. Another group of scavengers—desperate, wild-eyed—had joined the fray, and the two factions were tearing into each other with reckless abandon.

One man let out a roar, his fists glowing with a fiery red aura as he slammed them into the ground. The concrete cracked beneath him, sending a shockwave rippling outward. Several men were thrown off their feet, crashing into walls and shelves.

Nearby, a woman with frost-coated arms hurled shards of ice at anyone who got too close while the people behind her rushed to gather supplies. One shard caught a scavenger in the leg, and he collapsed with a scream, clutching at the wound as it froze over.

Of course, there were ability users here! Her luck couldn’t be worse!

Zara ducked lower, shielding Leo’s head with her hand. She needed a way out, fast.

"Zara!" Mia’s panicked voice pulled her attention back.

She looked up just in time to see a gang member lunging toward them, a jagged blade in his hand. Zara moved instinctively, twisting to protect Leo as she lashed out with her boot. The kick landed squarely on the man’s knee, sending him sprawling to the ground with a pained grunt.

"Keep moving!" Zara barked, dragging Mia forward as she darted through the chaos.

But the crowd was growing thicker, the fighting more frenzied. Supplies were being ripped from the shelves, fought over like scraps in a starving crowd. Zara could feel Mia’s grip slipping, and then—

"Mia!"

She spun around, but Mia was gone, swallowed by the chaos.

Zara’s heart leapt into her throat as she called out, "Mia! Where are you?"

Her voice was drowned out by the cacophony, but then she heard it—a voice, low and steady, calling her name.

"Zara?!"

She froze, her breath catching as she turned her head, searching the sea of faces for him.

"Winter?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

But there was no sign of him, only the writhing chaos of the bunker. She cursed herself, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat. Now wasn’t the time for distractions.

She forced herself to focus, her priority clear. Find Mia. Find Kit. Get out.

Zara dodged a man who swung a crowbar wildly in her direction. Leo whimpered softly against her shoulder.

"Shh, baby," Zara murmured, stroking his back. "I’ve got you."

"Mia!" she called again, pushing forward.

And then, suddenly, there they were.

Mia stood a few feet away, her arms wrapped protectively around a small boy. Kit’s wide, tear-streaked eyes lit up when he saw Zara.

"Zara!" he cried, breaking free from Mia and running toward her.

She crouched instinctively, one arm still holding Leo as Kit collided with her, wrapping his small arms around her waist.

"Kit," she breathed, pulling him close. Relief flooded her as she hugged him tightly, his small frame trembling against hers. He didn’t know. He didn’t know what Mia had done.

Mia stood a few steps back, guilt written all over her face.

"Let’s get you out of here baby," she cooed softly.

"We’re not out of this yet," Zara said, pulling both of them closer.

Before they could move, a deafening explosion rocked the bunker. The floor shook beneath them, and a wave of heat and dust surged through the air.

Zara turned, shielding Leo and Kit with her body as debris rained down around them. When the dust cleared, she saw Raphael’s men scattering, their formation broken by the sudden blast.

Mia was panting, her eyes wild as she clutched a small device in her hand. Zara stared at her in disbelief.

"You—what did you do?" Zara demanded.

Mia’s voice cracked as she answered. "I set a trap. I... I had to."

Zara frowned, when had she gotten the time to do so?

The sound of gunfire grew louder, and Zara realized more men were flooding into the bunker. The fighting was intensifying, and they were running out of time.

"We need to go," she said firmly, looking at Mia.

"I’m staying," she said, her voice steady despite the tears.

"What?" Zara froze, her mind reeling.

"I can’t leave Kit," Mia said firmly. "And if we go with you, they’ll come after us. You have to take Leo and go."

"Mia, don’t be stupid—"

"I’m not!" Mia snapped, her voice breaking. "I betrayed you, Zara. I sold you out, and I’ll never forgive myself. But I can make this right. I can protect him." She looked down at Kit, her hand brushing his hair. "I have to."

Zara’s chest tightened as anger, sadness, and guilt swirled inside her. "No! You need to leave with me now," she grabbed her hand.

"We have been with Raphael since the start of this. He basically owns us. Please..." Mia snapped her hand back.

The ground shook and they stumbled, more of the roof opened up.

She wanted to scream at Mia, to force her to come with her, but she knew it wouldn’t work.

"Please," Mia whispered, her eyes pleading. "Go."

Zara hesitated, her gaze flicking between Mia and the exit.

"Zara..." Kit’s small voice pulled her back. She looked down at him, his tear-streaked face a mirror of Mia’s.

"There you are, fox!" they flinched as they heard Raphael’s voice through the chaos.

Her throat tightened. "I’ll come back," she said finally, her voice shaking. "I’ll find you both."

Mia nodded, tears spilling over as she pulled Kit closer.

Zara turned, clutching Leo as she forced herself to leave. Her legs felt like lead, her heart breaking with every step.

As she reached the edge of the bunker, she looked back one last time. Mia and Kit were already running into the dust.

Zara fled into the night, Leo clinging to her as tears streamed down her face. She didn’t stop running, but the ache in her chest was a wound that she wasn’t sure could heal.