"Who are these people?"
Andrea's eyes narrowed as she saw that Glenn hadn't returned alone. Four unfamiliar faces followed him—heavily armed, no less. Her tone was wary and guarded.
"They're the ones from downstairs," Glenn explained, unsure how else to introduce them—he didn't even know their names.
"Oh? Not bad," Jason said, strolling forward like a gang leader with an arrogant smile. His gaze landed on Andrea. "A woman, and a blonde beauty at that. Those are rare these days."
He said it with a smirk that sent a chill down Andrea's spine, as if he meant something more sinister.
"Hey, punk, don't get ahead of yourself," Moore growled, stepping in with a dark expression. "She'll be mine sooner or later."
Jason turned slowly, amused. "Is that so?" he said, mocking the threat.
In one swift motion, he slapped Moore hard across the face. The sound echoed across the rooftop.
"I should be the one giving advice here," Jason said coldly. "Don't talk to me like that again. No one's scared of you in this world. Worst case, we all die together. So if you want to survive, learn to play nice. Or you'll end up dead in your sleep."
Moore staggered back, holding his cheek, stunned. He hadn't even seen the slap coming. And he was smart enough to realize he was no match for Jason.
Jason dusted off his hands like nothing had happened and flashed a smile at the group. "Let's not start off on the wrong foot. Name's Jason. These are my brothers—Rick, Morgan—and the kid is Duane. We're from a small town. Heard this was a refuge area… clearly, it's not."
Andrea couldn't help but stare at him. After the oppressive days under Moore's control, seeing someone put him in his place was oddly satisfying.
The group began to introduce themselves. Glenn and the others explained they had originally come to the city looking for supplies but got trapped in the supermarket when the undead surrounded them. They'd been stuck for days, unable to escape.
But now, with Jason and his crew here—and with serious firepower—hope sparked among the trapped survivors. Or perhaps, more accurately, they were eyeing the guns.
"I assume you guys have a camp?" Jason asked, lounging on a chair and twirling a knife in his hand. He looked directly at Andrea. "Tell me about it. We're not bad people. And maybe—just maybe—I'll think about helping you."
The offer caught Andrea off guard. Excited, she stepped forward and said quickly, "Our camp is on the outskirts of the city. We were trying to reach the city originally, but everything fell apart on the way. People panicked, and we took advantage of the chaos to escape and set up camp. It's safe—no zombies in the area."
"You got guns?" Rick asked bluntly. He was always focused on security. If their camp had weapons, they needed to know.
Andrea nodded. "Just two. And the camp has women, children, and elderly people. We're not much of a threat."
She left out one detail—one of those two guns belonged to another former police officer.
"We're leaving the city anyway," Jason said, running a hand through his hair. "Helping you isn't the problem. The issue is numbers. It'd be easy for the four of us to get out on our own. But dragging extra people along? That complicates things. So you'll need to follow our lead—no exceptions. Otherwise, no one makes it out."
"Fair enough," Andrea said. "As long as we get out of this hellhole, we'll do whatever it takes."
Everyone nodded. After days of being trapped and living in fear, any plan was better than no plan. The constant moans of zombies had become a lullaby of terror—they hadn't slept well in days.
"If we're going to get out," Jason said, his voice calm but firm, "someone needs to lure the zombies away while another person drives everyone to safety. And the driver…"
He paused, then looked at Rick.
"…has to be you."