The pale morning light crept slowly into the ruined living room, seeping through the cracks in the boarded windows like hesitant fingers. Dust hung suspended in the still air, disturbed only by the occasional creak of wood or distant moan of wind outside.
Sanaa sat slouched against the far wall, her knees drawn up to her chest. She hadn't changed from the previous night — not that it mattered. Her sleeves were rolled over her palms, her fingers absentmindedly pulling at a frayed thread. A cold, untouched cup of tea sat beside her. She didn't notice.
The house was quiet. Too quiet.
Behind one of the doors, Mrs. Khan had locked herself in hours ago. Her sobbing had stopped sometime before sunrise. Now there was nothing — not even movement. Just silence.
The others moved about with hushed steps and heavy eyes. No one raised their voice. No one dared to.
In the makeshift kitchen, a pot of lentils simmered gently on the stove. Ananya stood over it, stirring slowly, the rhythm mechanical. Her hair was a tangled mess tied back with a scarf, dark circles under her eyes betraying the night she hadn't slept.
Ayush entered, shoulders tense.
"They won't eat on their own," Ananya murmured, not looking up.
"We should make them," he said quietly.
She nodded. There was no argument. Only the exhaustion of someone who'd chosen survival over collapse.
Above, the rooftop buzzed faintly with wind. Shivam knelt near the edge, a torn piece of tire rubber between his hands. He worked to patch a leaky pipe, fingers trembling slightly from fatigue or fear — he couldn't tell which anymore.
He paused, glancing out toward the distant road.
A walker shambled past far below, dragging one leg behind it like a ragdoll puppet. Shivam's breath hitched but stayed silent. Just one. For now.
He went back to patching the pipe. There was work to do.
In the basement, the air was cold and stale. Kartik hauled aside a broken shelf with Ayush beside him, both of them clearing space near the wall.
Behind the shelf, something caught the light.
"Hold up," Kartik muttered.
Half-buried in dust and rust, a metal trunk sat wedged against the concrete. Kartik pried it out and dropped it with a grunt.
It was military-grade — dented, aged, but locked.
Ayush glanced at the seal. "Crack it open."
Kartik didn't hesitate. One clean strike with the back of his hatchet and the lock snapped free. They lifted the lid slowly.
Inside: a rusted wrench, a damaged solar charger, and a worn-out ID card, edges warped, face barely legible.
But the faded insignia still shone — Indian Army.
"Someone from the army was here," Kartik said softly.
Ayush picked up the busted charger, eyes narrowing. "If we fix this... maybe we can charge our flashlights again."
It wasn't much.
But it was something.
Upstairs, Ananya moved from room to room, placing metal plates into people's hands without a word. Her movements were efficient. Gentle. Relentless.
Sanaa didn't react when her plate was placed beside her. She just stared ahead.
Kartik approached quietly.
"Can you help me lift the water drums?"
Sanaa didn't respond.
Kartik tried again, a little softer this time.
"You don't have to talk. Just… help me. Please."
She blinked slowly. Her body moved before her mind did. She stood. Walked. Followed.
Out back, the two of them reached the heavy drums. Kartik tightened the rope harness around the top, pulling it into place.
"He was the only reason I kept going," Sanaa said suddenly, her voice barely a whisper.
Kartik paused, rope still in his hand. "Then keep going for him now."
She said nothing. But her hands moved, grabbing the other end of the drum.
Together, they lifted.
As the sun began to descend, the rooftop turned amber under its gaze. Tanya sat cross-legged, her sketchbook balanced on her lap, charcoal smudging her fingers as she carefully outlined a funeral pyre. Every line was deliberate. Her expression—solemn, locked in memory.
Behind her, Shivam climbed up, stretching his arms as he scanned the horizon.
"Something's burning," he muttered.
He pointed northwest. A faint plume of smoke curled upward in the distance — not a wildfire, not chaotic. Straight. Thin. Controlled.
Tanya looked up from her sketch.
"Could be survivors," she said.
"Or trouble," he replied.
Neither answered after that. They just watched.
Downstairs, Bhargav sat on the floor near the hallway window, a kitchen knife in hand. He moved the blade slowly along a whetstone, back and forth, back and forth. Divya sat nearby, chewing a dry roti.
"You always do that when you're mad," she said.
He didn't stop sharpening.
"Because it gives me something to fix… when I can't fix what I want to."
Divya didn't respond. She just sat beside him, the silence between them surprisingly warm.
Later that night, Shivam stood in the rooftop guard station, bow in hand, posture still. The cold breeze tugged at his sleeves, but he didn't flinch.
Then he heard it — a growl. Sharp. Close.
From the shadows below, a dog sprinted into view, limping, blood trailing behind it. It leapt over rubble, terrified, fleeing something unseen.
Then the blur came into view.
Twitching limbs. Hunched back. Limbs too fast. Too jerky.
A Runner.
Shivam's eyes widened.
"Brother! Ayush bhai! Something's coming!!"
His shout echoed like a warning bell.
Ayush was already halfway down the stairs before Shivam finished the sentence. Kartik and Bhargav followed close behind, weapons drawn, urgency vibrating in their footsteps.
Inside the building, everyone moved fast — windows barricaded, doors bolted.
"It's a Runner, isn't it?" Sanaa asked, breath short.
Ayush's voice was sharp. "Maybe more."
Outside, on the cracked pavement of the ground floor, the Runner charged.
Its movements were unnatural — erratic, fast, unpredictable. It lunged without rhythm, eyes wild, mouth open in a soundless snarl.
Kartik was first to strike. He dropped low, sliding under a clawed swing, grabbed its leg mid-dash, and slammed it hard into a crumbling pillar. The stone split with the impact.
Ayush ran off the wall — a practiced vault — then flipped, landing a spinning kick to the creature's jaw, sending it reeling. He followed up with a baton jab beneath its chin — the skull cracked, and the Runner collapsed, twitching.
A screech pierced the air.
Another Runner burst from behind a nearby dumpster.
Bhargav crouched low, parried a swipe, then slashed across its knee, toppling it. In one smooth move, he twisted its wrist and snapped the bone — fast, clean.
Ishaan froze.
Ayush saw it.
"Ishaan! Elbow to neck — now!"
Ishaan lunged. It wasn't clean. But it was enough. The Runner hit the ground hard.
Silence returned — ragged, breathless silence.
Blood soaked their clothes. Hands trembled.
"That wasn't a Walker," Kartik said, panting.
Ayush nodded slowly. "Runners… we'll be seeing more."
Back inside, they washed off the blood in silence.
Ayush stood at the kitchen sink, watching water mix with red.
Ananya approached quietly.
"You okay?"
He didn't answer.
She didn't ask again.
Instead, she wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly.
He leaned in.
No words. Just warmth. Just silence.
Far from their shelter, in the dead of night, a battered police van sat buried under a mound of collapsed concrete.
Its rear doors hung open.
Inside: abandoned gear, rifles, torn duffel bags… and blood.
Outside, crouched in the shadows — five Runners.
Silent.
Watching.
Waiting.
[End of Episode 10]