The Wolves ✓

8; bar

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It had been two weeks since Freya had last left the house and she was starting to lose count of the days. Her phone had died a long while back and without any power, she couldn't charge it.

The food supply was running low and Freya found herself having to portion meals more strictly if they were to save food for another day.

She'd thought about going for a run every morning to find new places where she could gather supplies but whenever she opened the front door, the stench from the dead would wash into the house and she would hesitate taking another step.

However, today she would have to leave the house no matter how bad she didn't want to.

"I want to come with you," Greg groaned, stomping on the tiles as Freya zipped up her hoodie.

"It's too dangerous," she mumbled, walking past him.

"We shouldn't split up!"

"You're safer in the house."

"The house is safe from the smoke, not humans. What if someone decides to come in and steal stuff, huh?"

"Tristan said there aren't any humans close by so that's very unlikely."

"You want to leave me here because a stranger said there's nobody out there? And what if there are? You'll come back to a dead body, Freya!" he yelled, dramatically.

Freya sighed.

"Put on your trainers and your coat then."

Greg left, smug with his victory.

The pair set out, keeping to the shadows of the forest. They finally arrived in town and what they saw would give them nightmares for the rest of their nights. There were bodies everywhere. In cars, on the pavement and on the road.

Greg stopped in front of a bakery, peeking through the window when he saw bodies sprawled across the floor inside.

"Freya..."

"I know," she said, her eyes fixated on the cars in the parking lot.

"Are they all dead?"

"I think so."

Freya pulled Greg along with her and entered the bakery. She immediately looked at the man behind the counter, his overweight body filled the whole shop with a distracting odour that Freya had to step outside for a moment before returning.

Greg, with his back against the wall, slid into the back and began putting bread in his backpack. Coming back outside, he hesitated before stepping over the dead man and pulling out two of the little cupcakes for himself and his sister.

"Here," he said, handing her the pink frosted cupcake outside.

Freya looked at it skeptically before taking a bite.

"Hey, look," he said, running past the bakery.

Freya ran after him and saw what he was looking at. It was a small electronics store with a cheap yellow sign hanging outside the window. "We need food, Greg."

"I know, I know, wait," he mumbled, shuffling through the store until he finally found what he wanted.

He finally came out with a childish grin, "Torches and batteries."

Freya looked at him, unable to complain. "Fine, put 'em in my bag."

He unzipped her bag and dropped them in, zipping it back up. "Do you see any food places?" she sighed, looking at the shops.

"No," Greg replied after a while.

"Alright, let's keep going," she said and they continued down the street.

It was an 8 minute walk until a restaurant came into sight that Freya decided to check it out. It was a Chinese place, with it's own parking space and everything.

They walked to the back of the building, trying the staff door into the kitchen which was locked so they tried the front instead.

"It's locked," Greg said, pulling the door.

"Damn it," Freya said.

Suddenly the pair stopped at the sound of a gun shot not too far from them. It wasn't until they heard a second one that they decided to move.

"Quick," Freya muttered, grabbing Greg's hand and running towards the bar nearby.

She opened the door and pushed her brother in, slamming the door behind her. It was dimly lit inside due to the tinted windows. "Get behind the counter," she said, taking off her bag and following Greg.

They slid down, hiding themselves from sight.

"Who do you think that was?" Greg asked, slightly out of breath.

Freya shook her head, "I have no idea. I thought there was no one around here."

"Hush," Freya whispered at the sound of men's voices outside the pub.

Freya's heart stopped when she heard the pub door swing open and footsteps file inside. She glanced at Greg who understood what they had to do. Greg slowly crawled across the floor and into the open back room with Freya close behind.

"Fuck," a gruff voice said, followed by the scratching sound of metal across the floor.

"Gimme that," he continued.

"Alright, this gon' hurt," another said before one of them started shouting.

"Son of a bitch!" he yelled.

Freya looked at the table in front of her when she saw a hand gun on it. She signaled Greg to not move and then stretched forwards, grabbing it.

Greg was beginning to hyperventilate from the stress. He was closest to the door and was terrified that one of the men might storm inside.

Freya held his hand, firmly to reassure him that she was there.

The sound of glass smashing echoed from the bar and Greg squeezed his eyes shut. "Should've killed that bastard on sight," one of them said. "Would've saved myself getting shot in the fucking leg."

"Shut up, Morrison."

"You shut up, I got shot."

"You're being a whiny bitch, y'know. The bullet didn't even enter your leg so you can stop complaining."

"Li, give me that damn bottle," the gruff voice said, annoyed.

"Both of you, shut the hell up. We need to leave before the rest of them come, now Andrew, give me your shirt. We need to stop the bleeding."

Freya listened to the sound of ripping cloth and a painful groan before the club door swung open. Bullets were shot one after the other and Greg hid his head in Freya's lap at the sound of the men screaming in pain.

She was frozen to the spot, clutching on to the gun for dear life, wondering what on earth was going on outside.

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