The bank smelled like disinfectant and old carpet and the faint sweetness of printer toner—normal smells that felt unreal now, like props from a life they'd already lost.
No one sat comfortably.
They leaned against desks, perched on armrests, crouched near walls. People chose positions that let them see doors, windows, each other. Every movement carried a question with it: Are you safe? Are you a risk? Are you staying?
Barbie was the only one who didn't understand the weight in the room.
She wagged and wiggled and accepted the attention of the children like it was her job, tail thumping against the floor as Sofia braided imaginary ribbons into her fur and Lucas laughed too loudly at nothing at all. Barbie soaked it up, tongue out, eyes bright—happy to be useful, happy to be loved.
Kenzie sat cross-legged on the floor near them, her back against the side of a desk, watching like it was something fragile she didn't trust to last.
Lila sat close. Close enough that their knees touched. Close enough that Kenzie could feel the warmth through denim.
Caleb paced.
He didn't sit. Couldn't. Every few steps he rubbed his hands together, then dragged them through his hair, then stopped and stared at the front doors like he expected them to open on their own. Grief sat on him differently now—not loud, not collapsing. It had hardened into something restless and sharp.
The conversations didn't start all at once.
They spread out in fragments.
"I think we should barricade better—""We don't have enough food for that many days—""The vault—what about the vault—""I'm not leaving my kids—"
Eventually, Daniel Cruz cleared his throat.
He was standing with his arm around Rebecca's shoulders, his hand gripping her upper arm like he was afraid she might drift apart if he loosened his hold. Daniel was mid-thirties, dark circles under his eyes, jaw tight with responsibility. The kind of man who'd probably been calm in emergencies before—flat tires, broken bones, bad storms—but not this.
Rebecca stared at the floor.
Her eyes were red, her mouth pressed into a thin line that kept trembling anyway.
"We're staying," Daniel said.
The room quieted.
Rebecca's head snapped up, eyes flashing with panic for half a second before she smoothed it away and looked toward Sofia and Lucas instead.
"For a little while," Daniel added quickly. "Not forever. But for now."
Rebecca nodded too fast. "The kids—" Her voice broke, and she stopped, swallowing hard. "They're tired. They're scared. I can't—I can't take them back out there yet."
Sofia giggled at something Barbie did, completely oblivious.
Lucas fell over laughing.
Rebecca smiled at them, wide and brittle, then turned away so they wouldn't see her cry.
"We're not risking one of us getting hurt," Daniel continued, softer now. "Or worse. Not if it means leaving them alone. Or—" He stopped himself. "We'll help however we can. We'll pull watch. We'll share what we have. But we're not moving tonight."
No one argued.
Not really.
Some nodded in understanding. Others looked relieved—like Daniel had just said what they were too afraid to admit themselves.
Marissa spoke next.
She leaned against the counter near the teller windows, arms crossed, posture sharp. Early thirties. Blazer shed on the floor. Practical haircut, practical voice.
"I'm not staying," she said. "Not long-term. This place is good for now, but it's not defensible if things get bad. Too many windows. Too many access points."
Tanya snorted quietly. "You say that like anywhere's defensible."
Tanya sat on the floor with her back against a pillar, knees pulled up, chewing on the edge of a granola bar she'd been rationing. She was wiry, alert, eyes constantly moving.
June stood beside her, calmer, older, hands folded in front of her like she was still on the job. "We're trying to hold this together," June said. "At least overnight."
Rochelle, one of the tellers, nodded vigorously. "We've got some supplies. Snacks, bottled water, first aid. The break room fridge still works."
"For now," Marissa said.
Kevin leaned back against a desk, arms muscular, face unreadable. He'd barely spoken since Kenzie arrived. "I'm with Marissa. Short stay. Then we move."
"Where?" Lou asked.
Lou was older—fifties, maybe. Balding. Wore a bank vest like armor. He clutched a clipboard even now, like numbers might still save him.
Kevin shrugged. "Somewhere with fewer people."
Priya spoke up softly. "I don't think splitting too fast is smart either."
She stood near the manager's office, hands tucked into the sleeves of her sweater, expression thoughtful. "Groups survive better. Statistically."
"Statistically," Harold muttered, rubbing his temples. "We're already dead."
"Don't say that," Eleanor snapped.
Eleanor sat beside Frank, her hand gripping his knee like a lifeline. She was sharp-eyed, silver-haired, still fierce despite the tremor in her fingers. Frank hadn't said much—just nodded along, his gaze fixed somewhere far away.
"We survived yesterday," Eleanor said. "We survived the night. That counts."
Monica shifted closer to Jade, their shoulders touching.
"We're trying to get to our brother," Monica said. Her voice was firm, practiced, like she'd repeated it all day. "He's on base."
Jade nodded quickly. "Hunter. He's military. If anyone's organized… if anyone has supplies—"
Kenzie's head snapped up.
Base.
Her heart gave a painful, hopeful jolt.
That's where they were going.
That's where Justin had been driving them.
Where Ethan said they might be safe.
Kenzie swallowed hard, the realization sinking in slowly and then all at once.
I could catch up.
She didn't say it out loud—but the thought lodged itself deep, stubborn and dangerous.
Raul cleared his throat.
Everyone turned.
He stood with Mateo perched on his hip, the little boy's head resting against his shoulder. Mateo was quiet—too quiet. His arm hung stiffly at his side, sleeve pulled down farther than necessary. Raul kept his hand firmly over the boy's ribs, palm splayed protectively, like he was holding something in place.
"I need to get him to a hospital," Raul said. "He's hurt."
Kenzie noticed the way Raul adjusted Mateo—turning him subtly away from the room, angling his body so no one could see his side clearly.
Noticed the way his voice tightened.
Noticed the way he didn't elaborate.
"If anyone's still helping people," Raul continued, "it'll be there."
Hospital.
The word hit Kenzie like a second collision.
Mrs. Leesburg.
Dr. Sharon Leesburg.
The hospital and the base—two anchors pulling in opposite directions.
Lila noticed her expression shift. "Kenzie?"
Kenzie hesitated. "Someone I know works there. A doctor."
The room hummed with interest.
"A hospital's a risk," Kevin said immediately. "That's where everyone goes."
"That's where resources are," Priya countered. "Doctors. Equipment."
"And infections," Tanya added darkly.
Raul tightened his grip on Mateo.
Mateo whimpered softly.
Raul rocked him once, quick and automatic, murmuring something in Spanish too quiet to hear.
Kenzie saw the dark stain at the edge of the boy's shirt then—just a shadow, barely visible, pressed flat beneath Raul's hand.
Too dark.
Too deliberate.
Her stomach turned.
Caleb stopped pacing.
"My wife's family," he said suddenly. "They're south. Near where you're talking about heading." He swallowed. "If… if anyone's going that way, I might come."
Lila reached for his arm without thinking. "You don't have to decide now."
He nodded. "I know. I just—I don't want to be alone either."
Alyssa shifted beside Aaron.
Alyssa looked like she hadn't slept in days—mascara smudged, hoodie pulled tight around her. Aaron stood slightly in front of her, protective, eyes constantly scanning.
"I know this city," Aaron said. "There are places we can hole up. Warehouses. Old buildings. My uncle has a place outside Savannah—fenced, generator, well water."
"That's not a plan," Kevin said. "That's a hope."
Aaron met his gaze. "Hope's better than waiting."
Rebecca finally spoke again, voice shaking but firm. "We're not judging anyone for leaving."
She looked at each face in turn. "We just… can't. Not yet."
Sofia tugged at her leg. "Mama, Barbie's sleepy."
Rebecca smiled, crouching to kiss her forehead. "She's just resting, baby."
Kenzie watched the way Rebecca turned her face away again, shoulders shaking once before she steadied.
This was where it happened.
This was where people decided who they were going to be.
Stay.Go.Wait.Run.
Kenzie felt it pressing in on her chest.
Lila leaned closer. "What are you thinking?"
Kenzie hesitated. Then, quietly, "That everything keeps breaking apart."
Lila nodded. "Yeah."
Barbie trotted over and plopped down between them, curling into Kenzie's lap like she'd chosen her side. Kenzie buried her fingers in the dog's fur, breathing in warmth and life and something grounding.
"I don't want to lose anyone else," Kenzie said.
Lila didn't answer right away. When she did, her voice was just as quiet. "Me neither."
Across the room, Raul shifted Mateo again, turning him further inward, whispering urgently.
The boy's fingers twitched.
Raul pressed his palm harder against his side.
Around them, plans continued to fracture and form—some staying, some leaving, some waiting until morning to decide.
Kenzie looked around the bank at all these strangers with names now, with stories, with fear written into their bodies.
She wondered who would still be here tomorrow.
She wondered who wouldn't.
And somewhere deep in her chest, beneath the exhaustion and terror, one thought kept pulsing:
If the hospital is still standing…If the base is still standing…
Maybe not everything is lost.
The doors stayed shut.
The lights stayed on.
And for one fragile night, the world narrowed to a bank, a dog, a room full of people choosing—each in their own way—how to survive.