"Let's go, people."
The road through the town was eerily silent as Ren, Lilith, Valen, Halwen, and the rest of the fighters continued toward the granaries.
Dust swirled lazily through the air as they moved cautiously, eyes peeled for anything out of the ordinary. Their weapons remained drawn but lowered, everyone vigilant for any sign of movement.
When they finally arrived at the granary—a large, two-story stone structure with slatted wooden vents and a wide entrance—they slowed. The massive doors were already slightly ajar.
Halwen held up a hand, signaling the group to halt. He peered through the narrow opening.
Ren came to his side and looked in.
Inside, the granary shelves were stacked with burlap sacks and wooden crates filled with grains, dried meats, and smoked fish. Everything was still intact, preserved by luck. Or the fact that the infected don't really need food.
Ren frowned. Something was… off.
On a whim, he crouched, peered under the raised granary, and froze.
