Leo parked the SUV in the shadow of trees whose branches scraped the roof and began watching the supermarket entrance. The rain still drummed on the roofs of wrecked cars and on the asphalt, slowly cooling after the suffocating July heat. It created an illusion of life, but there was still not a soul around—only darkness.
Suddenly, a shadow slipped from the store doors. Its movements were cautious, like an animal's.
A person—a Person, not a mad one, but someone alive, aware—was moving across the supermarket parking lot with tense grace, carrying bundles that were clearly food. The paper rustled in the rain.
Leo held his breath, watching as the figure made its way to a car at the edge of the lot, threw the bundles into the trunk, and quickly got behind the wheel. Its silhouette trembled in the half-light. The car's headlights flashed but immediately went out, as if the person had noticed danger; their light faded like a sigh.
Leo squinted, trying to make out more details through the heavily tinted glass of his SUV. His heart beat faster—this was the first survivor he had seen since leaving the shelter. Hope flickered like lightning.
Suddenly, an armored police van roared onto the highway leading to the supermarket. It was massive, with grilles on the windows—the kind once meant for dispersing demonstrations—its light cutting through the darkness. It stopped sharply, blocking the exit from the lot. Metal clanged, and Leo froze, feeling sweat trickle down his back.
The person in the car ducked, hiding behind the dashboard. Leo understood that he was afraid, and his fear was contagious. Something told Leo he should also remain in the shadows for now. His hand clenched the revolver in his pocket, his fingers trembling involuntarily.
Two figures emerged from the van, dressed in dark special forces uniforms, their silhouettes dark and menacing. Army gas masks hid their faces.
The van's headlights flooded the parking lot with bright light, illuminating every crack in the asphalt; their beams trembled on the wet concrete. Leo pressed himself against the seat, trying not to move. The air caught in his lungs. His hand clenched the revolver, but he didn't dare even breathe loudly; each inhalation was cautious.
The figures moved confidently, flashlights in hand. Their light pulled shadows from the darkness as they inspected the cars, their footsteps echoing hollowly in the silence of the dead lot.
"Probably a mistake," said one—a young voice, female. Her voice, unpleasantly distorted by the gas mask, cut the silence. "The drone picked up headlights, but there doesn't seem to be anyone here."
"Better check," replied the second, his low voice also distorted by the mask. The words sounded like an order.
They split up, walking around and inspecting the empty interiors of cars; their shadows danced on the walls in the light of the van's headlights.
Leo watched the figure—a woman, judging by her voice. She moved quickly, confidently, her flashlight pulling wreckage from the gloom. He couldn't see her face, hidden by the heavy gas mask, but her voice sounded young, almost carefree. And that was the most frightening thing, like a mockery of the chaos. A swarm of questions raced through his head: Who were these people? Why had the survivor hidden from them? His mind feverishly sought answers.
The woman passed very close to the car where the survivor was hiding; her steps were heavy on the wet asphalt. Leo noticed her abruptly stop, directing her flashlight at the fugitive's car. The light hit the tinted glass.
"Hey!" she shouted, her voice sharp as a whip crack.
"Yeah?" her partner responded; his shadow froze.
"Come here. Someone's in this car."
"Get out of the vehicle and approach the van!" she barked, her tone cold as steel.
The car door swung open sharply. Metal clanged as the person jumped out, shoving the woman aside. His footsteps echoed hollowly across the lot. The fugitive dashed toward the supermarket, hoping to disappear among the dark corridors of shelves. His silhouette flickered in the headlights' glare.
But at the same instant, a burst of automatic fire rang out. Its roar shattered the silence, the echo reflecting off the walls. The survivor collapsed, not reaching the entrance. Blood spread over the asphalt, its smell mixing with the rain.
Leo squeezed his eyes shut, feeling blood pound in his temples. His own shot hours ago now seemed trivial—he had killed a mad one to save his life. But this person had been alive, aware, like himself, and those who shot knew it perfectly well.
The two figures approached the body. The woman crouched, inspecting it; her movements were mechanical. Then she straightened up.
"It's amazing how people don't want to do what they're told," she said. Her voice was calm, almost indifferent, like a judge pronouncing a sentence.
"Need to take him to the Crematorium," replied her partner; his shadow leaned over the body.
"Of course. Get him from that side."
"You can manage? Maybe I should call more guys?"
"Don't bother. I'm stronger than I look."
They lifted the body, their steps heavy, and carried it to the van. They threw it into the back; metal clanged like a coffin lid. The woman removed her gloves, stained with blood, and tossed them away. She slowly looked around.
Leo held his breath, afraid his noticeable police SUV might attract her attention. His heart beat louder than the rain. But she only adjusted her gas mask and turned to her partner.
"When's the next raid?" she asked.
"Tomorrow, eleven a.m."
"Good. I'll have time to sleep."
"By the way, I never heard, what's your name?"
"It doesn't matter. Let's go."
They got into the van, the doors slammed, and the vehicle sped off. Its headlights swept across the supermarket walls, vanishing into the night. In their light, Leo noticed three more identical vans emerging from the darkness from the opposite exit of the lot. They moved silently, without headlights, like predators hunting. They had already cut off all escape routes for the unfortunate man now lying in the back.
The vehicles quickly disappeared into the night, and soon the roar of a siren was heard, quickly fading, leaving only the noise of the rain and the echo of solitude.