The city woke slower than they did.

Riku was the first to rise, though he hadn't really slept. He shifted off the cold concrete and stretched his arms until the joints cracked. His rifle stayed close, muzzle angled at the floor. He scanned the shop's dark corners out of habit, even though he knew they were clear.

The girls stirred in their own time. Suzune rubbed her eyes and pushed herself upright with the quiet discipline of someone who refused to show weakness. Miko fussed over Hana, who was still bundled in her blanket. Ichika sat up last, groaning like the world itself was her enemy.

"Morning," Riku said, his voice low but steady.

No one answered at first. Morning meant moving, and moving meant risk.

Finally, Miko whispered, "Morning," and smoothed Hana's hair back from her face.

The little girl blinked sleepily, then sat up, clutching the blanket like a cape. "I'm hungry," she murmured.

Suzune gave a faint, humorless smile. "Aren't we all?"

Riku didn't waste time. He lit the butane stove again, careful to keep the flame small, and set up the dented pot. Suzune measured a thin portion of rice while Ichika filled the pot with water. They worked like a machine now—wordless, efficient.

The smell of steam lifted into the office. Hana perked up, watching with eager eyes, but Riku shook his head before she could ask. "Patience. Eat after it's ready."

When the rice was done, they split it into paper cups. The servings were small, barely more than a handful each, but Hana smiled like it was a banquet. Riku let her take the first bite. She closed her eyes and hummed.

Ichika muttered, "At least someone's enjoying the end of the world."

"Better than sulking," Suzune shot back.

Riku cut them both off. "Quiet. Eat."

They finished their meal in silence.

Afterward, Riku unfolded the scavenged map on the desk again. His finger tapped the lines south of their position.

"Today we scout," he said. "No Rezvani yet. Too loud. I'll check first. If I come back clean, we move."

Ichika frowned. "And if you don't come back?"

Miko flinched, but Riku didn't hesitate. "Then you wait one hour. If I'm not back, you take the Rezvani and head north until the river. Stay close to the water and look for bridges. Cross only when it's clear. Do not stop for anyone."

Silence fell heavy.

Suzune was the one to break it. "Understood."

Riku nodded once. He packed his gear: rifle, two spare mags, pistol, lighter, duct tape, a single water bottle. He slung the rifle and checked the bolt by feel.

Hana tugged his sleeve before he left. "Onii-chan… come back."

His jaw tightened. He knelt so they were eye to eye. "I will. But you listen to Suzune if I'm late. Promise."

She nodded hard, clutching her blanket tighter.

Riku stood, looked at the three older girls, then slipped through the side door.

The street outside was gray with morning haze. Riku crouched low, scanning each corner, each window. The city felt emptier than usual, but he knew that meant nothing. Hunters could wait. Raiders could wait. The dead never really left.

He moved block by block, hugging walls, weaving between parked shells of cars. Twice, he froze at the sound of claws scraping on concrete, but the noise drifted away. Once, he spotted a corpse sprawled across the hood of a taxi, its chest chewed open. Fresh, maybe a day old. He avoided it.

Two blocks south, he found the taxi depot.

The gate was broken, half hanging on one hinge. Inside, a wide lot stretched between rows of yellow cars, most stripped, some burned. The depot building itself still stood, its windows boarded, its roof sagging under years of neglect.

Riku crouched by the gate and watched for five full minutes. No movement. No sound. Finally, he slipped inside.

He checked the first row of taxis, popping their fuel caps one by one. Dry. The second row, the same. By the fifth car, he found half a tank. His siphon tube would work. He marked the car with duct tape.

Inside the depot building, he found more. The garage had four rusted fuel drums against the wall, one dented but intact. He shook it gently. Slosh. At least one still had liquid.

But the real prize was in the back. A generator, half buried in dust, its tank sealed. He cracked the cap and sniffed—gasoline, stale but usable.

Riku allowed himself a rare smile.

When he returned to the repair shop, the girls were waiting just inside the office, tense and silent. Hana squeaked and ran to him the second she saw him.

"You're back!" she cried, muffled against his vest.

"Quiet," he said, but his tone softened. "I found fuel. Taxi depot two blocks south. Cars, maybe drums. We can siphon enough to keep moving."

Suzune's eyes lit with cautious relief. "That's good."

Ichika crossed her arms. "So what's the catch?"

Riku shrugged. "Catch is the same as always. We do it quiet, and we don't get caught."

They ate a small lunch—rice thinned with extra water to stretch it—and then prepared. Suzune strapped Hana's blanket tighter into the supply bundle. Ichika checked the walkie. Miko tied her hair back with the cartoon band, her jaw set.

Riku looked at them all. "We move in two hours. Rezvani to the depot. In and out. If it goes bad, we don't fight—we run. Clear?"

"Clear," Suzune said.

Ichika muttered something under her breath, but nodded too.

Miko pulled Hana close and whispered, "It'll be okay."

Riku didn't say that. He just checked his rifle again and stared at the map.

The hours crawled until it was time. They loaded the supplies into the Rezvani, double-checked the locks on the repair shop, and rolled out.

The streets were quiet, too quiet, as they crawled toward the depot. Riku kept his hands steady on the wheel, eyes flicking from mirror to mirror. The girls sat tense, Hana squeezed between Miko and Ichika, clutching the walkie like it was magic.

When the depot came into view, Riku slowed to a crawl. The gate was still broken. The lot still empty.

"Stay sharp," he muttered, then eased the Rezvani inside.

The hunt for fuel had begun.

And in the distance, carried on the wind, came the faint sound of engines.

Not theirs.

Not good.

Riku rolled the Rezvani to a stop behind a row of dead taxis and killed the engine. The sudden quiet made the distant rumble of other motors sound closer.

"Positions," he said. "Suzune with me. Miko, Ichika—stay with Hana. Doors cracked, belts on. If I shout 'go,' you drive out the way we came. No questions."

Suzune slid out with him. Riku jogged to the fifth taxi he'd marked, dropped to a knee, and yanked the fuel door. "Cover," he said. She watched the lot while he pulled the siphon hose from his pack.

He worked fast. Cap off, hose in, suck-siphon until fuel climbed the line, then jammed the end into their half-empty water jug. Thin gasoline pattered against plastic—sharp smell, faint amber color.

"How much?" Suzune asked.

"As much as we can before company."

The engines were louder now—multiple, not one. Trucks? Bikes? Hard to tell through the wind and the depot walls. Riku kept the flow going, cradling the jug to stop the slap-noise. When it hit the three-quarter mark, he pinched the hose, capped the jug, and hustled it to the Rezvani's rear. Miko leaned over the seat to take it with both hands, eyes wide but steady.

"More?" she whispered.

"One more jug," Riku said. He slid the second empty into Suzune's hands. "Generator after this if we have seconds to spare."

Back to the taxi. Hose. Suck. Flow. He watched the line, the sheen in the tube, the level in the jug—all muscle memory now. The rumble outside deepened into a growl. Tires on asphalt. A horn blipped somewhere down the street.

Suzune's voice dropped. "Two engines. Maybe three. Close."

"Copy." Riku capped the second jug and jogged it to the truck. Ichika took it, set it on the floorboard, then grabbed the walkie like it was a talisman. Hana was a small statue between them, clutching the cartoon hair tie around her wrist.

"Last pull," Riku said. "Generator."

He and Suzune ran for the depot building. The back room was dim and dust-thick. The generator sat like a sleeping animal under a film of gray. Riku twisted the tank cap and fed the hose, then angled the jug low. The flow started slow, then steadied.

Outside, an engine revved, loud and cocky. Brakes squeaked. Voices bled through the broken gate—men talking, laughing like the city belonged to them.

Suzune's knuckles whitened on her rifle. "Raiders."

"Maybe," Riku said. He kept the jug steady, eyes on the level, jaw tight. When it hit two-thirds, he clamped the hose and sealed it. "Move."

They slipped back into the lot, keeping low behind the taxis. At the end of the row, Riku risked a peek. A flatbed truck rolled past the gate mouth without turning in—steel bars welded over the windshield, three men in the cab, another riding the step with a shotgun slung. Behind it, two dirt bikes buzzed like angry insects, riders scanning side streets. A second truck followed, smaller, tarps flapping over crates.

Not the resort uniforms. Another crew. Good news and bad news at once.

Riku waited until the last bike's engine note stretched thin down the block, then exhaled. "They didn't see us."

Suzune nodded, but her shoulders stayed tight. "They'll loop back. Everyone does."

"Then we're gone before that."

They sprinted the last meters to the Rezvani. Riku hauled both jugs into the cargo area while Suzune took rear security. "Miko, cap off," he said, and she popped the fuel door with shaking fingers. He poured clean, controlled, nothing wasted. The gauge would climb later—right now there was only time and math.

"Seatbelts," he said, slamming the cap shut. He threw the siphon hose in after the jugs, climbed in, and turned the key. The motor caught with a low growl.

He let it idle and looked once more at the depot building. The rusted drums tempted him—another five minutes and they could be fat with fuel. Five minutes they didn't have.

"Out the gate, right, then three lefts," he said. "We break our trail."

Suzune braced a hand on the dash. "Do it."

Riku eased them forward until the bumper kissed daylight, then paused, listening. The street to their right carried a low echo of engines fading away. Left was quiet, but quiet could be a trap.

"Right," he decided, and rolled into the lane, keeping speed low and tires off the worst glass. He took the first left into a narrow cut between shops, then another left around a toppled vending machine, then a third into a back alley that stank of old oil and rain.

In the rearview, the depot gate shrank and vanished.

Hana finally breathed. It sounded like a sob but wasn't.

Miko squeezed her hand. "We're okay."

"Not yet," Riku said, but his voice gentled. He drove two more blocks in a box pattern, then angled back toward the repair shop by a different route. Every corner, he checked mirrors. Every shadow, he measured. The engines did not return.

They slid into the alley beside the shop and cut the motor. For a long moment, no one moved.

Then Suzune exhaled. "We did it."

Riku nodded once. "We did it."

Inside the office, they set the jugs by the desk like trophies. The smell of fuel clung to the air, sharp and promising. Hana stood over the plastic, eyes shining like they'd found gold.

"Is that enough?" Ichika asked, arms folded tight.

"For a while," Riku said. "Enough to keep moving. Enough to choose our direction."

Suzune leaned on the desk, the map under her hands. "Then where?"

Riku studied the lines again—the river, the bridges, the angry blocks around the resort. The answer wasn't clean, but it was clear enough for now.

"West," he said.

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