The next morning broke gray and heavy. Clouds pressed low, smothering the sun, turning the city into a world of shadows and ash. The smell of last night's stew still lingered faintly in the cafeteria, but it mixed with the stink of burnt corpses that never seemed to leave the school grounds.
Riku woke before the others. He always did. The floor was hard under his back, the faint draft of broken windows creeping in. Rifle across his chest, he pushed himself upright without a sound. For a moment, he listened—no footsteps outside the walls, no moans, no gunfire. Only the distant creak of a ruined city settling into itself.
He slipped out into the yard. Survivors were already moving: two men hauling water buckets, a woman sweeping ash into piles, another checking the barricade's wire. They nodded at him but didn't speak. Riku liked it better that way.
