Salvage Station 23

Chapter 3, Part 12

~~~

The bus was a mess. The raiders had done a number on it, and while everyone managed to fight them off, the damage was too severe. Aiden knelt beside the shredded tire, his flashlight casting long shadows on the road.

"It's worse than I thought," he muttered, inspecting the deep gashes and punctures in the rubber. "We're not getting this fixed out here."

Olivia stood nearby, her hands on her hips, staring at the wreckage. "Damn it," she muttered under her breath. They were still far from Salvage Station 23, and now they were stranded with no way to get back before nightfall.

"We're on foot from here," Aiden continued, standing up and wiping his hands on his pants. "The bus isn't going anywhere."

Mia's face fell. "But it's still a long walk, and we've barely recovered from the fight."

Eli looked around uneasily. "The raiders could come back, and there's still the Jacks. We can't stay out in the open like this."

Olivia knew they didn't have much of a choice. "We'll need to find shelter-somewhere we can stay the night and regroup. We can figure out the next steps in the morning."

Rosie, who had been quiet since the fight, nodded in agreement. "There's bound to be something nearby. An old house, a barn, anything."

Max grimaced, his back still aching from the earlier injuries. "I'll manage, but we better move soon. The light won't last forever."

Olivia glanced at the sky. It was late afternoon, the sun hanging low, casting an orange glow over the horizon. They had a few hours before it got dark, but she didn't want to push it. "Alright, everyone. Gear up and let's move."

The group gathered their weapons and supplies, leaving the bus behind as they set off down the road. The mood was somber, the earlier adrenaline crash leaving them all tired and worn. But they pressed on, knowing they couldn't afford to stay vulnerable.

---

They had been walking for about an hour when they spotted something up ahead. Olivia raised her hand, signaling the group to stop.

"There," she whispered, pointing.

In the distance, they saw movement-a group of people, about five or six, moving cautiously through the remains of an old neighborhood. Olivia's instincts kicked in. They didn't appear to be raiders; their posture was too tense, too wary. They looked like survivors.

"They're not attacking," Max said quietly, his eyes scanning the group. "Should we approach?"

"We don't have many options," Rosie said, her hand resting on the hilt of her katana. "If they're friendly, maybe they can help us."

Olivia nodded. "We approach cautiously. No sudden moves."

With that, the group began walking toward the strangers, making sure to keep their weapons visible but not threatening. As they got closer, one of the strangers-a tall man in his 30s with short brown hair-noticed them and held up a hand to his group, signaling them to stop.

The man stepped forward, his hands raised in a gesture of peace. "We're not looking for trouble," he called out.

"Neither are we," Olivia replied, stepping up. "We're just passing through. Had a bit of bad luck with our vehicle."

The man studied them for a moment, then nodded. "Same here. We're from a nearby camp. My name's Brandon." He pointed behind him to the group of five. "This is my team. We were out scouting for supplies when we came across these three."