Cairn knew exactly how long he had been in the lightless belly of the van. He reached one hundred and thirteen seconds before the latch clicked and the door slid back.
The light flooded in with a frantic demeanor, a sharp, white intrusion that blinded him for a heartbeat. As his pupils contracted, Cairn perched on the edge of the van's doorframe, squinting at the trio waiting for him: Sam, Zach, and an elderly woman who looked like a hardened version of Gloria.
"So, Zach here tells me we can trust you," the elderly woman said.
"Tells me of your 'heroic' act."
"Actually, Ma'am, it was a team effort. But thanks, kid," Cairn said.
"Soldier?"
"Yes, Ma'am. Five years' service."
"My late husband did 10,.only to die to one of them bloody things" the old lady shed a small tear.
"Can I ask why?" Cairn lifted his bound wrists trying to steer the conversation.
"Because the last person we let in did some... terrible things," Sam whispered.
"Yes, the less said about that man, the better," the old lady added with a jagged grin.
"I hope those aliens got to him before I do."
Cairn didn't flinch. "Look, all I want to do is survive long enough to find a working vehicle and head south. That's the truth. I swear."
"South, huh?" The old woman stepped closer and unlocked the cuffs.
"Death sentence, that."
"My wife was in Camden with our son when it hit," Cairn said.
"If there's even a shadow of a chance they're alive, I'm going to find them."
"I'm sure you will, Rambo. But anything below Luton is a graveyard."
"I'll walk into hell for Francesca and Oscar a million times over," Cairn vowed.
"Okay," the old lady finally smiled.
"My name's Christine. You've met young Zach, and the girl is Sam."
Sam gave a lazy, practiced wave. "Hey."
"Where's Grant?" Cairn asked.
"He's on the top level on guard duty," Christine answered.
"How many of you are there?" Cairn asked
"What, here? There were twenty or so of us at first," Christine said, looking into the dark corners of the ramp.
"Now, there are only seven. We... we made mistakes. A lot of them left. They're likely dead now."
Christine unlocked the cuffs slowly, the metal clicking rhythmically in the heavy silence. Even as the tension bled out of the air, Cairn didn't move; he kept his hands locked firmly on his thighs, his body a coiled spring of military discipline.
"So, can we trust you, soldier?" Christine asked, stepping back to give him space, her eyes searching his for any sign of a lie.
"Yes, ma'am," Cairn said, his voice a low, steady rasp.
"Like I said, all I want is to go south. I'm not here for your supplies or your secrets. I'm just passing through hell." Cairn reassured
"Okay, soldier," Christine said, offering a curt, jagged nod.
"Up you get. Let's go meet the pack."
Cairn rose to his full height, his head nearly brushing the soot-stained concrete of the ceiling. He followed Christine away from the shadows of the vans toward the center of the level.
****
The pack was clustered around a makeshift communal area, a few milk crates, a camping stove hissing with a low blue flame, and mismatched blankets spread over the oil-stained asphalt.
"This is Richard and his grandson, Mark," Christine said, gesturing toward an older man and a young boy who looked no older than eleven.
"Hi," Richard said, extending a hand that was calloused and steady.
"Hi," Cairn replied, meeting the man's grip with a firm, respectful shake.
He looked at the boy, whose eyes seemed too large for his face, reflecting the flickering blue light of the camping stove.
"This is Rachael," Christine continued, gesturing toward a young woman seated on a milk crate.
She was hunched over a clipboard, surrounded by a mountain of dented tins as if she were guarding a hoard of gold.
"Hey," she muttered. She didn't even look up, her pen scratching frantically as she tallied their dwindling lifeblood.
"Hey," Cairn replied, noting the sharp, defensive line of her shoulders.
"And this is Thomas, our cook." Christine pointed toward a small black man who, like Rachael, was completely absorbed in his work.
He was stirring a pot that smelled faintly of salt and iron, his movements rhythmic and practiced despite the gloom.
"Yo," Thomas said, offering a brief nod without breaking his stride.
"So that leaves Grant, who's up top," Christine said, her voice dropping into a more serious tone as she mentioned their lookout.
"You've already met my former student, Zach, and Samantha here, she's our radio expert."
Samantha, the girl who had been holding the Browning earlier, shifted her stance. She wasn't just a nervous sentry; she was the one trying to piece together the static of a dying world.
"Radio expert?" Cairn asked, his eyes moving to the gear tucked away in the shadows of the transit van.
"I try to be," Samantha replied, her bravado from the gate replaced by a quiet, technical focus.
****
The next few weeks were a blur for Cairn; he seemed to fit into the group's rhythm like a hand into a well-worn glove. Between scavenging runs, he worked with Zach to secure their mobility, eventually convincing the boy to hot-wire two Toyota Hiluxes. The trucks now sat tucked away near a side entrance, fueled and ready-a pair of idling lifelines for a quick getaway if the fortress ever became a tomb.
Cairn's military background transformed the car park's haphazard defenses into a structured operation. He spent hours with Samantha, teaching her how to properly shoulder the .22 caliber rifle, how to breathe through the shot, and how to respect the weapon's power. His most significant contribution, however, came from a scouting run to a nearby abandoned military checkpoint. Among the rusted barricades and wind-whipped tents, Cairn recovered a small armory of ammunition and enough medical supplies to restock their dwindling first aid kits. For the first time since the sky turned yellow, the "pack" wasn't just surviving; they were becoming a force.
Even the stoic Grant began to open up. He and Cairn bonded over the jagged, tragic backstories of their wives, sharing the heavy silence of men who would give anything to have them back. Rachael, too, finally warmed up to Cairn. Her cold demeanor cracked when he and Zach pushed two shopping trolleys filled with supplies-including precious crates of bottled water-through the Foss Bank entrance. For the first time, her clipboard recorded a surplus rather than a deficit, and she offered Cairn a nod that was almost a smile.