The ten men stood just beyond the mall's shattered front lot, their eyes sweeping over the barricaded entrance like wolves circling a weakened prey. One of them, a lanky thug with scars crisscrossing his arms, stepped forward, kicking a stray can out of his path.
"Someone's been here before us, boss," he muttered, eyes narrowing.
The leader—tall, broad, and carrying a thick mustache that curled slightly at the ends—lifted his rifle with one hand and sneered. "Then we shoot him down. If there are some chicks…" He let the word drag out, crude glee flashing in his eyes. "Then we all have some fun."
Their laughter was foul, echoing like smoke through broken glass.
