ZAK
Craig didn't come all the way inside. He stood half in the doorway of the container, one boot on the asphalt outside, his shoulders blocking some of the light. This made the space feel smaller, as if his presence alone was keeping the world beyond the steel walls at bay.
"You scared us," Craig said.
Zak swallowed. His throat felt dry and tight. "You moved me."
"We had to," Craig replied. "You went down hard. Your chest was bleeding too fast to leave you out there."
Zak's fingers flexed against the metal floor. He tried to remember the moment when the pain faded, when his body had given up. There was a blank space in his memory, like someone had cut a strip of film out.
"John?" Zak asked.
Craig glanced over his shoulder. "Still outside."
Zak nodded once. That explained the voices—calm yet controlled. It felt reassuring, like nothing had gone wrong while he was unconscious.
Craig stepped fully into the container now, ducking slightly to avoid hitting his head. The light shifted as he moved, casting long shadows along the walls. His eyes returned to Zak's chest.
"Did you try sitting up again?" Craig asked.
Zak hesitated. "Yeah."
Craig's mouth tightened. "Don't."
Zak didn't argue. He leaned his head back against the wall, breathing shallowly. The pain wasn't getting worse, but it was still there. Every breath reminded him that his body was keeping score.
Craig turned his attention to the others.
"Thanks," he said simply.
Rachel nodded slightly. Marco didn't respond at all. The bald girl stayed where she was, her gaze fixed somewhere near the door, as if she was watching something Zak couldn't see.
Craig didn't push them. Instead, he crouched next to Zak, resting his forearms on his knees. Up close, Zak saw the strain in his face—the faint tremor in his jaw, and how his eyes kept flicking to the bandage and then away again.
"You took the hit meant for Hassan," Craig said.
Zak frowned. "I didn't—"
"You did," Craig interrupted, not harshly but factually. "The guy went for the middle. You were the closest."
Zak absorbed that in silence.
"The bullet grazed you," Craig continued. "It didn't lodge, but it didn't pass clean either. It tore you up on the way through."
Zak exhaled slowly. "Lucky."
Craig let out a short breath that might have been a laugh if it didn't sound so tired. "Yeah."
Outside, a voice carried faintly—John's. Zak couldn't make out the words, but the tone was steady, almost detached, like he was reporting the weather.
Zak shifted his gaze back to the ceiling of the container. The rust patterns blurred slightly as his vision swam, then steadied again.
"How long can I stay like this?" he asked.
Craig didn't answer right away.
"That depends," he said eventually, "on whether you're stubborn or foolish."
Zak's lips twitched despite himself. "Probably both."
Craig nodded once. "Thought so."
Silence settled again.
The container felt heavier now, the air thicker with the presence of people who didn't know each other but were trapped in the same shrinking space. Zak became acutely aware of every sound—the scrape of boots outside, the distant creak of webbing overhead, the faint hum of something electrical still running nearby.
Rachel shifted her weight. "He needs water," she said.
Craig looked up at her. "We're rationing."
"I know," she replied, "but still."
Craig held her gaze for a second, then nodded. "Alright."
He stood and stepped back out of the container. A moment later, he returned with a small half-full bottle. He knelt again and held it out to Zak.
"Slow," he warned.
Zak took it carefully and drank in small sips. The water tasted stale but refreshing. He handed it back without complaint.
Marco watched the exchange without a word.
Zak's eyes drifted back to the bald girl. She hadn't moved since he woke up. The hospital band seemed too clean, too untouched by everything else.
She noticed him looking. For a split second, their eyes met. Hers were sharp, alert—definitely not empty. Then she looked away again, curling her shoulders inward.
Zak didn't ask.
Outside, footsteps approached again—heavier this time. The container door creaked as someone leaned against it from the outside.
"We're clear for now," John's voice said.
Craig straightened. "How many?"
"None close," John replied. "But there are signs."
Craig's expression darkened. "Of what?"
John didn't answer right away. Zak strained to listen, his heart picking up speed.
"People," John finally said. "Or what's left of them."
The word hung in the air.
Craig nodded slowly. "We move when Zak can."
There was a pause.
"He can't move far," Rachel said quietly.
Craig glanced at Zak. "Can you stand?"
Zak hesitated. His chest throbbed. His limbs felt heavy, as if they belonged to someone else. But the thought of staying put—being left behind in a steel box while the world pressed closer—made his stomach knot.
"I can try," Zak said.
Craig studied him for a long moment. Then he nodded.
"Alright," he said. "We try."
The container creaked again as the door opened wider, sunlight spilling across the floor. Zak blinked against it, bracing himself.