Ethan hauled himself out of the canal's exit, the shovel clanging against the concrete lip as he climbed onto dry ground. Mia followed, axe dripping with tunnel water, shaking muck from her boots. Cal emerged next, crowbar in hand, rope coiled over his shoulder, with Tara close behind, bat resting on her arm. Riley led the rest of the survivors up—Pete with his spear, the burly man with his sledgehammer, and the others clutching bags and makeshift weapons. The red-streaked sky burned overhead, casting a crimson haze over the open terrain—a mile southwest of the campus, a stretch of cracked asphalt and skeletal trees, wrecked cars dotting the landscape like tombstones.
[Predator Sense] hummed, picking up faint growls in the distance, but the immediate area was still, the air sharp with rust and gasoline. The canal's mouth gaped behind them, water trickling out, the tunnel's damp chill fading as they stepped into the warmth of the breached world. Riley wiped her machete on her sleeve, scanning the horizon. "City's edge," she said, pointing to a line of low buildings a half-mile west. "We're out."
"Not alone," Cal said, nodding north. Shapes moved along the asphalt—a dozen figures, armed with pipes and blades, stepping from behind a overturned bus. Their clothes were patched with leather and duct tape, faces smudged with dirt, a mix of men and women moving in a loose, practiced line.
Ethan gripped the shovel, stepping forward with Mia at his side. Riley raised her machete, signaling the group to fan out, weapons up. The strangers stopped twenty yards away, a tall man in a torn jacket stepping ahead, a steel pipe slung over his shoulder. A scar ran across his nose, his voice rough as gravel. "You're on our turf," he said. "Drop the bags, walk away."
"Not happening," Riley replied, machete steady. "We're passing through. No trouble."
The man smirked, tapping the pipe against his palm. "Road's ours. Supplies too. Hand 'em over, or we take 'em."
Tara snorted, bat swinging lightly. "Try it. See how that goes."
Ethan shifted the duffel on his shoulder, shovel ready. [Perception] caught the details: the strangers' weapons were scavenged—rebar, a kitchen cleaver, a chain wrapped around one woman's fist. Their stance was tight, not panicked—used to this. "We've got twenty," he said, voice firm. "You've got twelve. Walk away."
The man's smirk faded, eyes flicking over the group. "Numbers don't mean much if you're soft," he said, nodding to a woman with a crossbow—a real one, bolts notched, aimed at Riley.
Cal stepped up, crowbar raised. "Soft's not our problem. Back off."
The woman adjusted her aim, bolt glinting, but Riley held her ground, machete pointing forward. "Shoot, and you're dead before she reloads," she said, voice cold. "We've fought worse than you."
A tense silence stretched, the wind whistling through the wrecked cars. [Predator Sense] pinged—a low growl, closer now, from the east. The man heard it too, his head twitching. "Wolves," he muttered, lowering the pipe slightly. "Big ones."
"Then we've got bigger problems," Ethan said, gesturing east. "Fight us, and they pick off what's left."
The man hesitated, glancing at his crew. The woman with the crossbow shifted her aim toward the sound, the chain-fist woman stepping back. A howl split the air—deep, guttural, too close. Riley lowered her machete halfway. "Truce," she said. "We move west together, deal with them, then talk."
"Fine," the man said, pipe dropping to his side. "Name's Vance. Keep up."
The groups merged uneasily, weapons still gripped, bags hoisted. Ethan stayed near Mia, shovel in hand, as they turned west toward the buildings. The howls grew—three dire wolves burst from the trees, fur bristling, teeth bared, charging across the asphalt.
Ethan swung the shovel, cracking one's jaw as it leapt, sending it sprawling. Mia's axe slashed another's flank, blood spraying, while Riley's machete carved into its neck. Vance smashed the third with his pipe, the crossbow woman firing a bolt into its chest. Cal and Tara bashed its legs, crowbar and bat working in sync, until it collapsed.
[Monster slain: Dire Wolf]
[Attributes Gained: +1 Endurance]
[Rewards Gained: None]
The wolves lay dead, the asphalt slick with blood. Vance wiped his pipe, nodding to Riley. "You're not soft," he said. "West's yours—for now."
Riley sheathed her machete, gesturing the group forward. "Move. We'll sort it later."
Ethan shouldered the duffel, shovel stained red, and kept pace with Mia. The buildings loomed closer, a new edge to cross.