The group had been walking with torches in their hands for two hours without a break which is a lot when you have a pregnant lady and an old man who does not give your ears a damn rest. Victor was a minute away from detouring to get some tape or adhesive to use on the old man so his mind could get a moment's respite.

Victor was at the head of the group, guiding them through the eerie darkness, the fire torch in his hand only lighting up a few meters in front of him, the rest drowned in darkness. They had mutually agreed that Luna would hold the second electronic torch right in front of Jerry who was bringing in the rear.

The reason for their lack of breaks was the visibility of a tiny bulb glowing faintly at what looked like the top bit of a train station aka the very safehouse that was their destination. After a show of hands where everyone except Mr. Simmons voted to go on until they reached, Victor decided they would continue walking, which brought them to the current complicated scenario.

Luna at the back of the group suddenly called out. "Uh...Mr Military man. There's...something on the ground. Looks red but I don't want to assume."

The bickering Mr Simmons went silent. Stacy reached out to grab Luna's hand from ahead, silently comforting her while Jerry and Lawrence watched in apprehension as Victor approached the area Luna was standing nearby. She didn't dare move, in fear that if she did, she'd lose sight of the red drops, and they wouldn't be able to find them again.

Victor approached the overgrown plants and bushes, shining his torch down to the source of the scattered blood before inhaling sharply.

A body. 

It was male but any more than that was indistinguishable. It looked like someone had tried to bury it under soil, shrubs and overgrown grass and they would have succeeded too if not for Luna's observation.

A soft gasp was heard from behind victor, coming from Jerry by the sound of it. "Did...did he pass from the cold? Hypothermia, perhaps?" Jerry asked, burying his chin in the collar of his jacket. 

Victor stared at the body for a minute and shook his head. "He probably threw up due to nausea and there is discoloration around his nostrils and corners of his mouth."  His brows furrowed as if something was bothering him. "Looks like he inhaled some kind of fatal toxic gas."

Lawrence's eyes widened. "Toxic gas? Here?" He whipped his head around as if he would naturally be able to visually point out what part of air was the toxic part.

Stacy sighed and tapped Lawrence on the shoulder. "It's no use, you can't spot it through the naked eye. We probably won't be able to tell it apart anyway. All we can do is believe in our luck." She then turned to Jerry. "You too, sweetie. Stop shuddering, you will delude yourself into getting the chill. It will all be fine, don't-"

Luna suddenly pointed and yelped. "Look!"

Victor spared a second glance, focusing on the area Luna pointed out, and his expression immediately grew somber. "Everyone, stay close. I don't want a single person straying away from the group from now on."

Mr Simmons scoffed, rubbing his hands together with a huff. "This boy really has a stick up his-" He stopped short when he followed Victor's gaze. 

Because when examined closely, there were unmistakable blood marks on the ground, suggesting that someone had dragged the body aside.

-------------------------

As soon as they entered the train coach which was the only fully covered and barred up place, they heard what sounded like wrapper crinkling. All six of them paused midway as did the crinkling sound. Victor held his breath and his hand creeped to the semi-automatic handgun he hadn't had to use since the start of the blackout. He bought a finger up to his lips and signaled at the other to remain still and silent before stepping into the clearing, swinging the gun to aim at the source of the noise.

He heard a silent intake of breath and mentally noted the need to teach the group what being silent means. 

What he saw however, had him questioning reality for a second. When Victor had seen traces of human interference near the dead body, he had inferred there had been some kind of human involvement. He was even ready to face off with a group of desperate survivors who had probably not even realised the gravity of their actions. Additionally, use of toxic gas pointed towards a human being at the bottom of the poor male's death.

The lone man sitting on the ground however, stabbing a switchblade in a can of peaches and then feeding himself, was far from what he expected. As soon as his eyes settled on the young man, who seemed unnervingly calm given the fact that he was probably eating expired food in the middle of a global crisis, Victor's eyes were assaulted by the bright blue in his hair and the glint of silver distracting him. 

Layers of baggy clothing, clearly big on him, hinted that he had gone scavenging and the worn-out state of it led him to believe it had been some time since then. Their oversized nature almost hid the fanny pack around his waist, but Victor caught note of it and guessed that the valuables on him were all probably stored in there.

He sat relaxed and languid, leaning on storage boxes behind him with what looked like he had not a care in the world. and yet, his ring adorned fingers drummed the can they were wrapped around, his lips fidgeting with a raw scar on the lip, still healing. Those were clear signs of impatience, nervous energy, adrenaline, possibly all in one. Not as calm as he looked, then. 

All these details ran through his head in seconds as his gun was still aimed. One thing however stuck with him. Made him pause. Almost too subtle to notice, the faint smell of bleach.

Not sweat, not blood — bleach. A sterile, stinging scent that didn't belong to someone hiding away from the world. 

Victor's grip tightened on his pistol.

It belonged to someone who'd been cleaning something up. Covering something.

Silas paused, his hand hovering midair, a slice of peach balanced on the edge of a knife — the blade still slick with juice. His eyes flicked up — too quick, too sharp. For a beat too long, he didn't move.  Then, slowly, his lips curled into a grin.