Carver was carefully spearing a piece of canned pineapple with his knife. Hearing that, he glanced up, his tone calm but touched with a trace of pride. "I've been playing with this stuff since I was a kid."
He did not say much more, but the slight straightening of his back gave away how pleased he was by the compliment.
"Awesome!" Shane said sincerely. Then he turned to Turner and Jenson, who were checking their magazines. "Your gear is seriously good. Better than what I had back at the police station!"
Turner immediately perked up and patted the light machine gun in his arms. "Of course it is! This is all thanks to Calista and Leah..."
Before he could finish, Bossie lightly nudged him with an elbow. Turner shut up at once and lowered his head awkwardly to nibble on a cracker.
Mike took over. "In the apocalypse, good gear is a second life."
He handed Shane a small bottle of whiskey. "Want a sip? Warm yourself up."
It was almost December now, and the nights carried a chill.
Shane's eyes lit up. He took the bottle and had a small swig. The burning liquor went down, and he let out a long breath, his face relaxing a little.
Before long, he was chatting with the more outgoing members of the team, Carver, Mike, Turner, and Wells. They talked about training, weapon maintenance, and what they had been through after the world fell apart. The atmosphere quickly grew lively.
Even Danny and Ethan chimed in now and then.
Shane fit in at an astonishing speed.
When he wanted to, he seemed to know instinctively how to find his place in a new group and quickly make himself steady there.
Daryl, by contrast, stayed quiet.
He sat alone on a stair a little farther away, his back to most of the group, shoulders hunched. His crossbow and a simple plate of canned meat sat in front of him.
He ate quickly, his eyes constantly sweeping over the doors, windows, and other possible entry points.
Merle carried his can over and ambled down beside Daryl. In that uniquely mocking tone of his, he said, "Hey, little brother, what're you brooding for? There's booze over there. Not having any?"
Daryl did not even look up. He prodded the chunks of meat in the can with his fork and said in a low voice, "Better to stay sober for night watch, isn't it?"
He paused, then added, "This place... it's too quiet."
Merle snorted and patted Daryl's shoulder with his left hand. "Relax, baby brother. With these professional killers around, the sky ain't falling."
Despite saying that, he still instinctively brushed his hand over the pistol tucked at his waist.
Merle was used to dealing with Daryl like this. One loud and brash, the other silent and wary, the two of them always sniping back and forth.
Daryl did not answer. He only ate faster.
He knew very well that Calista's team was strong. More professional and more disciplined than any survivor group he had ever come across.
Strong enough that it felt like there was a wall between them.
Daryl could not fit in as quickly as Shane did.
Fortunately, Merle was here, and from the look of things, he had already blended in with them.
In the center of the living room, Calista and Leah sat together.
Calista was eating canned fruit in small bites. A little juice clung to the corner of her mouth, and she casually wiped it away with the back of her hand before wiping her hand on the other one.
Leah sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. She had taken off her dust covered jacket and wore only a fitted black tactical vest.
Her sleeves were rolled up, revealing smooth, toned forearms. Several faint old scars marked her wheat colored skin.
Leah did not talk much. Most of the time, she simply listened in silence as Calista spoke softly.
"Tomorrow we'll have to cross that river valley area. It looks a little complicated on the map," Calista said.
"Mm." Leah's gaze swept over her sister's slightly tired face. "You should get more rest."
"I'm fine." Calista shook her head and looked up at the heavy darkness outside the window. "The Sentinel Station... the sooner we get the equipment, the better."
Her voice was calm, but Leah could hear the urgency hidden beneath it.
Leah did not try to persuade her again. She only quietly poured some clean water from her own canteen into Calista's cup.
After dinner, Calista stood. Her voice was not loud, but it made everyone fall silent.
"All right. From now on, we take turns resting. Stay alert. Carver, come with me for a sweep around the perimeter. Leah, you stay inside. The rest of you, check the nearby area too."
She gave no further explanation and began assigning tasks directly.
Soon, apart from Leah, Mike, Bossie, Danny, and Ethan, who stayed behind to watch Lorenzo and guard the inside and outside of the house, the others split into four groups.
Turner and Jenson formed one group, responsible for the villa's front and back yards and the houses directly to the left and right.
Merle and Daryl went together, responsible for scouting toward the small woods.
Shane and Wells formed another group and headed toward the houses on the left side of the street.
Calista and Carver paired up to check the houses on the right side of the street.
The night was thick. Clouds blocked the moonlight, leaving only a few scattered stars barely piercing the darkness.
The air was damp and cold, carrying the smell of rotting plants and some indescribable sweet, fishy odor.
Far away, there seemed to be the faint rustling of nocturnal creatures.
Calista and Carver moved one behind the other, dressed in dark combat gear, their steps light as they avoided broken glass and dead branches on the ground.
Carver carried a carbine fitted with a suppressor. Calista held a Glock pistol, a high powered flashlight hanging from her tactical vest but left switched off.
The two checked every corner where danger might be hiding with practiced coordination.
Several nearby houses were badly damaged. Doors and windows hung open, and the interiors were a mess, with obvious signs of walker activity and human looting.
Then they reached a detached house several buildings away.
This house looked more intact than the others. The windows were dirty, but most of the glass was still whole, and the porch was relatively clean.
Yet in this kind of environment, that very "cleanliness" felt especially out of place.
Carver stopped first and raised a hand in signal.
Calista immediately crouched and raised her gun, watching the surroundings.
"Calista, look there," Carver said under his breath, almost voiceless, pointing toward a corner of the porch.
By the faint starlight, they could see several blurry marks on the wooden porch floor, as if something heavy had been dragged across it. The marks were fresh, contrasting sharply with the thick dust gathered around them.
Calista narrowed her eyes, a quiet alarm stirring in her mind.
Too quiet. There was not even a single wandering walker around the house.
Carver signaled that he would approach from the front while Calista covered him.
Calista nodded and moved behind a broken fence, aiming her gun at the door.
Carver bent low and quickly approached the door, his footsteps so light they were almost soundless.
He did not push it open right away. Instead, he listened for a moment. Dead silence inside.
Carver carefully gave the door a light push. It was ajar and let out the faintest creak.
He took a deep breath, then suddenly braced his foot against the bottom of the door to keep it from making a louder noise. At the same time, he sidestepped, raised his gun toward the interior, and swiftly switched on the high powered flashlight with his other hand.
...
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