Chapter 5 Nicole’s POV
769 Words
The first sign something was changing wasn’t the gunfire.
It was the smoke.
Not the wild, choking kind from a town gone wrong. This was controlled—thin columns rising steady into the gray sky, spaced too evenly to be random. Signals. Or industry.
I watched from the tree line for most of the afternoon, crouched in the undergrowth while wind tugged at my bandanna. Through the scope of an old pair of binoculars I’d scavenged years back, I saw it clearly.
Walls.
Not scrap thrown together in panic—actual reinforced barricades. Layered vehicles packed with earth. Guard towers at each corner. And movement. Organized. Rotations. People on patrol with purpose instead of fear.
A settlement.
Big enough to matter.
They’d chosen their ground well—an old distribution center just off the highway. Flat sightlines. Limited entry points. The parking lot had been cleared of bodies and debris. Beyond the walls I could see rows of something green.
Crops.
They weren’t just surviving.
They were building.
I shifted my weight, feeling that familiar tension coil in my spine. Places like that came with rules. And rules meant leaders. Leaders meant power.
Power meant someone eventually got greedy.
Still… this wasn’t some ragtag warehouse crew. There was discipline in the way they moved. No unnecessary shouting. No chaotic scrambling. Even the walkers that drifted too close were handled quietly—two guards slipping out, blades quick and efficient, bodies dragged away before the herd could notice.
They knew what they were doing.
A horn echoed in the distance—low, deliberate. Not a panicked blast. A signal.
The outer patrol shifted formation instantly.
My grip tightened around the katana’s handle.
From the north treeline, a herd began to emerge. Not massive, but thick enough to cause trouble. Fifty, maybe more. Rotting figures stumbling forward in that awful, unified sway.
The settlement didn’t open fire.
They funneled them.
Metal gates along the perimeter shifted, redirecting the herd toward a narrow corridor lined with makeshift barriers. A choke point. I watched as defenders took elevated positions, long blades and spears instead of guns.
Smart.
Noise attracts more noise.
The slaughter was methodical. Controlled. No wasted movement. No panic.
And when it was over, teams moved in to clear the bodies like it was just another task on a f*****g checklist.
Seven years in and they’d turned death into routine logistics.
I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time.
Not hope.
Curiosity.
A flicker of something that wasn’t just survival instinct.
Behind me, a branch snapped.
I didn’t think—I moved.
Pivot. Draw. The katana flashed in a clean arc and stopped an inch from a throat.
Not a walker.
A kid.
Maybe sixteen. Dirt-smudged face. Rifle trembling in his hands. Eyes wide but not stupid.
“Easy,” he breathed. “Easy—I’m not here to fight.”
I didn’t lower the blade.
He swallowed. “They saw you. In the trees. You’ve been watching since morning.”
Of course they had.
“They sent me,” he added quickly. “Said you move like you know what you’re doing. We don’t shoot first unless we have to.”
I studied him. No visible brandings. No twitchy aggression. His rifle was held wrong—trained, but not seasoned.
“You alone?” I asked, voice rough from disuse.
He nodded once. “Yeah. It’s an invite. Not a trap.”
Everyone says that.
“What’s the catch?” I asked.
“No catch. Just… talk. Food if you want it. Water that doesn’t taste like shit.” He hesitated, then added, “We’re trying to build something that lasts.”
I almost laughed.
Trying.
Dad used to say the same thing.
Trust no one.
But trust your instincts.
My instincts weren’t screaming.
That was new.
The wind shifted, carrying the faint scent of earth instead of rot. I glanced back toward the walls in the distance. Saw figures on the towers. Watching. Waiting.
They knew I was lethal. Probably heard the stories. Death in a bandanna. A ghost with a blade.
If they wanted me dead, they would’ve taken the shot already.
I lowered the katana slowly.
The kid exhaled like he’d been holding that breath for years.
“If this is bullshit,” I said quietly, “you won’t get a second chance.”
He nodded fast. “Fair.”
I sheathed the blade.
For seven years, I’d walked alone.
Now I was walking toward walls instead of away from them.
North had always been a direction.
Maybe it was about to become something else.
- Writer
