Chapter 2: Temporary Refuge

Owen drove the last nail into place, the sound sharp and final. He stepped back, running a hand over the boarded-up window, testing its strength. It would hold—for now.

The grocery store was as fortified as they could make it. Every door was barricaded, every window covered. There were no open spaces for Ghouls to crawl through, no easy entry points. It was as secure as they could get with the limited supplies they had.

Mark let out a tired sigh beside him, rolling his shoulders. “Well… that’s about as good as it’s gonna get.”

Owen glanced at him. He could sense the doubt hidden beneath his words. Mark was trying to stay optimistic, but he knew just as well as Owen did—nothing lasted forever. A place like this could only hold for so long.

Still, Owen nodded. “It’s solid. Should keep them out.”

Mark snorted. “Yeah, until some dumbass trips over a can again.” He shook his head, rubbing his beard. “This place is good for now, but we’ll have to be careful. Can’t stay in one spot too long.”

Owen knew that. Ghouls were relentless, drawn to sound and movement. Even if they didn’t come now, they would eventually.

But there was another truth Owen understood—one he had learned from experience.

Ghouls were nocturnal.

They weren’t like humans, wandering freely during the day. They preferred the shadows, the darkness. They hunted when the sun set, emerging from abandoned buildings, from sewer tunnels, from places drenched in pitch-black night.

That wasn’t to say they never moved in the daytime. Some did—mostly the ones whose hunger had driven them mad. They would stumble through the streets, searching for anything to devour, even their own kind.

Owen had seen it before. He had felt it.

The way hunger clawed at the mind, the way it twisted reason into a single, maddening urge: Feed.

He had fought against it every day. He had managed to control himself. But other Ghouls… they weren’t as lucky.

Mark chuckled beside him, snapping Owen out of his thoughts. “Hell of a job, kid. Didn’t think we’d get it all done this quick.”

Owen nodded. “I’ve had some practice.”

Mark raised an eyebrow at that but didn’t push for details. Instead, he wiped sweat from his forehead and leaned against the barricaded window. “We should be good for the night. Long as nobody makes too much noise.”

Owen crossed his arms, watching the fading light outside. “When are we getting everyone else?”

Mark smirked. “Alyssa’s already working on that.”

Owen tilted his head slightly. “The woman with the bat?”

“The one and only,” Mark confirmed. “She’s leading a group to bring everyone over. Shouldn’t take too long. The hardest part will be getting them across without drawing attention.”

Owen remained quiet, thinking. Moving that many people—especially children—was going to be risky. But it wasn’t impossible.

For now, all he could do was wait.

And hope the night stayed quiet.

Owen leaned against the boarded-up counter, his fingers drumming idly against the wood. His golden eyes flickered to Mark, who was double-checking the barricades, testing each plank of wood to make sure they were secure.

Something twisted in Owen’s gut—anxiety, anticipation, hunger.

It had been almost half an hour since Alyssa had left to retrieve the others. The sun was slipping lower behind the city skyline, stretching long shadows across the streets. The later it got, the more dangerous their situation became.

The night belonged to the Ghouls.

Owen knew that better than anyone.

Mark hadn’t said much, but Owen could tell he was worried too. The older man was calm on the surface, but there was a tension in his shoulders, a flicker of unease in his eyes whenever he glanced toward the darkening streets outside.

Owen exhaled sharply, trying to shake the feeling off. Stay calm. Act normal. Don’t let them suspect anything.

But he couldn’t just sit here and wait.

“I should go help them.”

Mark turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow. “They’ll be fine. Alyssa knows what she’s doing.”

Owen nodded but didn’t move from where he stood. Every instinct in his body told him otherwise.

“It’s getting dark,” he said simply. “They don’t have much time.”

Mark frowned, clearly weighing his options. Eventually, he sighed. “Alright, fine. Just don’t do anything stupid. Keep quiet, stay low, and don’t draw any attention.”

Owen gave a small nod and turned toward the door. He could already feel his pulse quickening—not with fear, but with something else. Anticipation.

The hunt.

---

The moment he stepped outside, the city’s scent hit him like a wave.

The air was thick with the stench of decay, of old blood baked into the pavement, of rotting corpses hidden in the alleyways. But beneath it, there was something else.

Something fresh.

Human flesh.

Owen inhaled deeply, his golden eyes narrowing as he picked up the faintest traces of Alyssa and the others. The scent was intoxicating. Sweet. Warm. Alive.

His stomach clenched, and his nails dug into his palms.

He needed to move—fast.

Owen darted through the streets, his movements unnaturally smooth, his body a blur as he traced the scent. His feet barely made a sound as he maneuvered through the wreckage of the city, dodging overturned cars and debris with practiced ease.

Then, another scent hit him.

Ghoul.

It was close.

And it was heading straight for them.

Owen’s muscles tensed. He moved faster, rounding a corner just in time to see Alyssa leading the survivors through a narrow street between two collapsed buildings. They were moving quickly but cautiously, their weapons gripped tightly as they made their way toward the grocery store.

Alyssa was at the front, scanning the area with sharp eyes, her baseball bat held in a firm grip. She had no idea what was coming.

Owen’s gaze snapped to the right, locking onto a shadow moving between the cars.

The Ghoul was fast.

It lunged from the darkness, its milky-white eyes locked onto the nearest survivor.

Owen reacted before it could reach them.

He moved in a blur, crossing the distance in seconds. His hands shot out, fingers curling like claws as he grabbed the Ghoul by the throat and slammed it against a rusted car. The creature let out a strangled screech, its limbs flailing violently.

Owen didn’t give it a chance to fight back.

With a single, fluid motion, he drove his claws into its chest, gripping its heart and ripping it free in one swift movement. The Ghoul gurgled, then went limp, collapsing into a heap at his feet.

Silence.

Owen inhaled sharply, the scent of fresh blood overwhelming his senses. His body burned with hunger, the gnawing emptiness returning with full force.

He looked down at the corpse.

He shouldn’t.

But he needed to.

His body moved on its own as he crouched down, his fingers tearing into the cooling flesh. His jaw ached as he bit into the Ghoul’s remains, the taste of raw meat sending a shudder through him.

It was sickening.

It was necessary.

Owen ate quickly, efficiently, tearing through the Ghoul’s body with practiced ease. He could feel his strength returning, the hunger fading—but the guilt remained.

When it was done, he stood up, wiping the blood from his mouth. His body was clean—no stains, no signs of what he had just done. He wiped the blood away with the clothes of the ghoul, leaving no evidence behind.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself.

Then, he moved toward Alyssa and the others.

---

By the time Owen reached them, the survivors were already on edge.

Alyssa turned sharply, raising her bat as she heard his footsteps. When she recognized him, she lowered it, frowning.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” she demanded.

Owen shrugged. “Mark sent me to help.”

She narrowed her eyes but didn’t argue. “We’re almost there. Just keep quiet and watch our backs.”

Owen nodded and fell into step beside them.

The group was smaller than he had expected. Children clung to the arms of the few remaining adults, their faces pale and hollow. The older survivors carried makeshift weapons, their eyes darting around nervously.

They were weak. Scared. Vulnerable.

Owen clenched his fists.

They wouldn’t last long in a world like this.

But that wasn’t his problem.

His focus was getting them to safety.

The walk back to the grocery store was slow, careful. Every noise made the group flinch, every shadow a potential threat. But Owen could hear everything. His heightened senses picked up the distant shuffling of Ghouls, but none were close enough to be a danger.

They made it to the store without incident.

Mark was already waiting by the barricaded entrance, his arms crossed as he watched them approach. When he saw the group, he let out a breath of relief.

“Damn,” he muttered. “Didn’t think we’d actually pull it off.”

Alyssa smirked. “You should have more faith.”

Mark rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Just get inside before something finds us.”

One by one, the survivors slipped into the grocery store, their expressions weary but relieved.

Owen was the last to enter.

As he stepped inside, Mark clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Good job, kid.”

Owen forced a smile. “Just doing my part.”

But deep down, he knew the truth.

He wasn’t one of them.

And he never would be.

Owen scanned the room, taking in the sight of the survivors as they settled into their new refuge. The place felt cramped with so many people inside, but no one complained. They were exhausted—dirty, hungry, and barely holding onto hope.

The children clung to whatever family they had left, some crying softly into their guardians' shoulders. Others sat in silence, too scared or too numb to react to their surroundings. The adults weren’t much better. Their faces were hollow, their bodies tense with exhaustion and uncertainty. Some whispered to one another, glancing at the barricaded doors as if expecting them to be torn down at any moment.

Owen exhaled, stepping away from the crowd. The stench of sweat, fear, and unwashed bodies was thick, but it wasn’t what caught his attention.

A little girl sat alone in the corner.

Her dark brown hair was tangled, her skin smeared with dried blood. She clutched a crumpled piece of paper in her small hands, her hazel eyes dull and lifeless. She looked no older than twelve.

Owen approached slowly, kneeling beside her. She turned her head toward him, tilting it slightly, her expression unreadable.

He gave her a weak smile and sat down next to her.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

She didn’t respond.

Owen didn’t expect her to.

Owen studied the girl for a moment, noting the way she kept her arms wrapped around herself as if trying to disappear. The crumpled paper in her hands looked worn, the edges torn and smudged with dirt. Her small fingers clenched it tightly, as if letting go would mean losing something important.

“You got a name?” Owen asked gently.

She didn’t answer. Her hazel eyes remained empty, distant, like she wasn’t really there. It wasn’t the same as fear—he had seen fear in the eyes of the other kids. This was something else.

Emptiness.

Like she had nothing left to lose.

Owen leaned back against the wall, resting his arms on his knees. “I’ve got a little sister,” he said after a moment. “She’s probably about your age. Always worrying about me. Always checking to make sure I’m safe.” He let out a soft chuckle, though it felt strange coming from him. “Honestly, it got a little annoying sometimes.”

The girl’s fingers twitched slightly around the paper, but she still said nothing.

Owen hesitated before continuing. “I don’t know where she is now. I’d like to think she made it out, that she’s with some other survivors, maybe even giving them hell about keeping their shoes tied or drinking enough water.” He smiled faintly. “That’s the kind of person she is.”

The girl’s gaze flickered toward him for the first time, just for a second, before she looked away again.

Owen let out a quiet breath. “It’s hard, isn’t it?”

She said nothing, but the way her fingers clenched the paper a little tighter told him she understood.

She was alone.

Just like him.

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