CHAPTER 74: AN UNEXPECTED TURN OF EVENTS

The Rezvani surged forward, devouring the cracked asphalt. The gutted skeletons of buildings blurred past, sunlight glaring off jagged glass. Riku’s pulse hammered in rhythm with the engine, every breath syncing with the growl of the V8. Hana’s voice still echoed in his head, breaking through the static, panic, fear, gunfire. He tightened his grip on the wheel. Faster. He had to be faster.

Then it happened.

As he tore through an open intersection, a shadow burst into view. A truck. Massive, rusted, barreling from his left side at full speed. Its horn bellowed, deafening.

BOOOOOOM!

The impact was catastrophic.

The truck slammed broadside into the Rezvani’s left flank with a force that thundered through the entire block. Metal screamed against metal, armor buckling inward. Riku’s head snapped hard against the window, his vision exploding with white light before darkness clawed at the edges.

The Rezvani spun violently, tires screeching, glass shattering into a storm of shards. Once, twice, three times the SUV rotated before skidding across the asphalt. Sparks spat out in showers as the beast scraped along the road, finally slamming sideways into the husk of a collapsed storefront.

Silence followed, broken only by the hiss of the Rezvani’s engine struggling in protest.

Inside, Riku hung against the seatbelt, unconscious. Blood trickled down his temple, streaking across his cheek. His chest rose and fell shallowly—alive, but barely.

The truck that hit him rumbled to a stop, coughing smoke. Behind it, the bald leader’s pickup swung into place, followed by the armored sedan. Their engines idled like predators circling a wounded prey.

Doors slammed. Boots hit asphalt.

"There," one of the men growled, pointing at the wreck.

The bald leader stepped out, AR braced across his chest. His eyes were cold, detached, scanning the crumpled Rezvani with the clinical ease of a man stripping meat from a carcass. He smirked.

"Told you. He’s tied to the supermarket. No one else runs like that."

The men fanned out, weapons up, ready to pry open the SUV and drag out whoever was inside.

But then, a sound.

Low at first. Then louder.

Groans.

From the alleys, from shattered storefronts, from the shadows of broken windows—they emerged. Dozens. Maybe more. Zombies poured out into the intersection, drawn by the noise, the crash, the smell of blood. Their skin sagged, their eyes wild, their jaws snapping as they stumbled and sprinted toward the commotion.

"Shit—!" one of the men cursed, spinning his rifle around. "We’ve got company!"

Gunfire cracked instantly, muzzle flashes biting daylight. Undead toppled in bursts of gore, but more replaced them, surging forward in a flood.

The bald leader fired short, controlled bursts, dropping three in a row. His jaw clenched. He looked back at the Rezvani once, then at the oncoming tide.

"Leave him!" he barked. "The supermarket is priority!"

"But boss—"

"He’s as good as dead! Have the truck turn as well. It’s perfect timing!"

The men hesitated only a second before pulling back, pivoting their fire toward the street leading to the supermarket. The pickup revved, tires spitting smoke as it forced a path through the swarm. The armored sedan followed, mowing down corpses under its grille. The truck followed suit.

The zombies closed in, devouring the intersection, their bodies pressing like a tide against abandoned cars and the toppled Rezvani.

Inside the SUV, Riku didn’t stir. Blood dripped slowly down his temple, his body limp, breaths shallow. He was knocked out unconscious.

***

Meanwhile, in the supermarket, chaos had already taken root.

The basement door, reinforced with scavenged shelving and padlocks, shuddered under the weight of sledgehammer blows. Metal groaned. Bolts snapped. Then, with a final crash, the barricade gave way, the door blasting inward off its hinges.

Armed men stormed through the opening like a tide of steel and fury. Their rifles barked in the enclosed space, deafening booms echoing against concrete walls. Bullets tore through the makeshift defenses, through men who had once stood shoulder to shoulder as guards. Blood splattered across stacked boxes of supplies. Screams died in choked gasps.

One after another, the male survivors fell. Some tried to rush forward with pipes and knives, others froze in panic. None stood a chance against disciplined volleys of automatic fire. Within seconds, the basement was a slaughterhouse.

"Clear the room!" a voice barked.

The gunmen fanned out, weapons sweeping the corners.

Three girls crouched behind an overturned table—Ichika, Suzune, and Miko. Their hands trembled, but each clutched a Glock 17, the one Riku had entrusted to them.

The first man through sneered. "Kids? This’ll be easy."

But Ichika didn’t hesitate. She raised her pistol, squeezed the trigger—pop pop pop! The suppressed weapon spat back quiet, deadly barks. The first raider staggered, a bullet grazing his shoulder. Another ducked, swearing.

Suzune and Miko followed, their shots snapping across the room. For a moment, the basement lit up in strobe flashes of muzzle fire from both sides, the girls’ desperate stand against men who had lived behind rifles for years.

But desperation had limits.

Their hands shook, their aim faltered, and magazines emptied far too quickly. The Glocks clicked hollow, slides locked back. No spare rounds. Just silence.

Miko dropped hers with a gasp, backing into the wall. Ichika hissed in frustration, smacking the empty weapon as if willing more bullets to appear. Suzune stood frozen, chest heaving, the pistol limp in her hands.

"Well, well," one of the raiders chuckled, stepping forward. His Howa rifle lowered as his eyes drank in the sight. "Look at this. Three schoolgirls, trying to play soldiers."

The others followed his gaze. Smirks spread. A few laughed outright, the sound cruel and sharp.

"They’re all beauties," another said, leering. "Fresh meat."

The girls shrank back instinctively, pressing closer together.

Then the raiders noticed Hana.

She had been curled up in the corner, small hands over her ears, tears streaking her cheeks. The moment one of the men pointed her out, she whimpered, and the sound drew every predator’s gaze.

"Oi, boss! There’s a little one too."

A tall man grabbed Hana by the arm, yanking her to her feet. She kicked and screamed, but his grip was iron. He dragged her forward like a prize, shoving her into the center of the room with the three older girls.

The leader of the breach team strode in then, calm amidst the chaos, his MP5 cradled casually across his chest. He glanced at the dead strewn about, then at the four girls huddled together—Ichika defiant even in fear, Suzune pale as paper, Miko shaking but holding Hana tight.

A slow smile cut across his face.

"Take them, the boss will be pleased."