Zero Day: Days Left

Chapter 5

Cliff crouched in the shadows, his breath steady despite the chill gnawing at his bones. The abandoned factory loomed ahead, a crumbling giant in the twilight. Rusting metal and shattered windows gave it the appearance of a long-dead beast, but the faint glow of lanterns inside hinted at the very live danger within. The Reapers had made this place their den, and Cliff was about to step straight into it.

He adjusted the grip on his knife, feeling the worn handle fit perfectly into his palm. The blade was a silent killer, its edge honed to perfection. It wasn't much against a whole gang of raiders, but it was quiet, and that was what mattered most right now. Stealth was his ally, and tonight, it would be his only companion.

The thought of Aubrey, somewhere inside this grim fortress, sharpened his focus into a lethal point. The Reapers had taken her, dragged her into this hellhole, and if they had harmed her—if they had touched her—Cliff felt the rage swell within him, threatening to consume the careful control he was trying so hard to maintain. But he couldn't afford to lose it. Not yet.

Sliding along the side of the building, Cliff spotted a lone guard pacing near a side entrance. The man was young, maybe late teens, with a scrappy build and a distracted look in his eyes. Cliff could see a rifle slung over the guard's shoulder, but the kid wasn't paying attention. His movements were lazy, his mind elsewhere. The boy was probably new to the Reapers, not yet hardened by the brutality that came with the territory. Cliff almost pitied him. Almost.

Cliff waited for the right moment, his breath calm and measured. The wind shifted, rustling the nearby weeds, and the guard turned his head slightly to listen. That was the opening Cliff needed. He moved quickly, a shadow darting through the dark. One hand clamped over the guard's mouth, the other drove the knife into his side, angled upward between the ribs. The boy stiffened, eyes wide in shock, and then went limp in Cliff's arms. Cliff eased the body down to the ground, retrieving his knife and wiping it clean on the guard's jacket.

There was no time for hesitation, no time to mourn the life he had just taken. In another time, under different circumstances, maybe Cliff would have felt a pang of guilt for ending such a young life. But not now. Not with Aubrey's life hanging in the balance. This boy was just another obstacle, another barrier between him and the only thing that mattered anymore—saving her.

He took the rifle from the dead guard, checking the magazine and chamber. It was loaded and ready. Cliff slung it over his shoulder, tucking his knife back into its sheath. The factory loomed closer now, its oppressive presence pressing down on him. But the thought of Aubrey, held somewhere inside, pushed him forward. Every step was driven by a single, unrelenting purpose: vengeance.

As he approached the factory, Cliff's mind flickered with images of the things he'd seen the Reapers do. He had crossed paths with them before, witnessed their cruelty firsthand. They were animals, preying on the weak, taking what they wanted through fear and violence. And now they had taken Aubrey. The thought was like gasoline on the fire of his rage. The Reapers didn't deserve mercy, and Cliff had no intention of offering any.

He slipped into the factory through a side door, the rusted hinges creaking softly as he nudged it open. The air inside was thick with the smell of oil, metal, and something sour that made his stomach turn. It was the stench of decay, of lives destroyed and left to rot in the dark. Cliff's grip tightened on the rifle as he moved silently through the factory's labyrinthine corridors, his senses heightened, every nerve on edge.

He could hear distant voices—men laughing, the scrape of chairs against concrete, the clink of glass bottles. The Reapers were relaxed, thinking themselves safe in their lair. They had no idea that death was creeping toward them, inch by inch, with every step Cliff took.