The shattered front door of the apartment building swung on its hinges like a dying creature. The air reeked of mold, rot, and something metallic — blood, probably.
Daniel tightened his grip on the pipe he carried, its end wrapped in cloth and soaked with kerosene. Behind him, Jax and Luis stood ready — one with a makeshift spear, the other clutching a metal baseball bat that had seen better days.
Sasha, their mother and the unofficial commander of this impromptu operation, looked far too calm for someone about to charge into a building swarming with undead.
"Alright," Daniel began, his tone firm but weary. "Mom, you stay behind us. We'll clear the way and cover your blind spots."
Sasha raised an eyebrow, smirking faintly. "Sweetheart, are you giving me orders?"
"Yes," Daniel said flatly. "And for once in your life, please — just listen."
Luis leaned over to Jax, whispering, "Place your bets. How long before she ignores that?"
"Five minutes," Jax replied.
