A raid for food.

Chapter 3: Welcome to Homemart.
“I don’t like this,” Priya muttered irritably, her eyes scanning the group ahead.
“Got a better idea? I’m all ears, sis,” Garrett said in a tone that brokered no argument. His usual playful smirk was gone, replaced by the serious expression he wore when things got real.
I nodded, matching his focus as we approached the red-haired woman standing near the edge of the camp. She was deep in conversation with two other survivors, her body language sharp and commanding.
“Hey, you Sandy?” I asked cautiously as we drew near.
The woman turned slowly, her eyes assessing us with the precision of someone who didn’t take risks lightly. Her companions fell silent, dispersing at her subtle wave of dismissal. The girl was just as Mirabelle described her a woman who knew what was needed to survive in the apocalypse. Sandy was a gorgeous woman around my age (24-26), despite her looks she looked like a femme fatale, skilled, beautiful and dangerous.
“Yeah, who’s asking?” she replied, her tone carrying an edge of suspicion.
“Nathan Black. Pleased to meet you,” I said, offering a disarming smile.
Her gaze didn’t soften. “Should I know who you are?”
“Not really,” I admitted with a shrug. “But Gavin sent us. Said you could use some help.”
Her expression flickered surprise, maybe curiosity, but her guard stayed firmly in place. “That depends. Can you handle yourself in a fight?”
“What do you think?” I replied, smirking as I gestured toward Garrett, who folded his arms with a cocky grin.
Sandy raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Honestly? You both look like assholes, the type who pound their chests and get people killed.” Her tone was sharp, but there was an undercurrent of dry humor.
Priya snorted, unable to hide her amusement, and Sandy’s lips quirked up briefly in response. The woman had a way with words, a wit that disarmed as much as it challenged.
“But,” she continued, “you don’t look completely useless, either. So, do you even know what you’re signing up for?”
“Only part of it,” I admitted. “Gavin mentioned something about a Homemart?”
“That’s the gist,” she said, crossing her arms. “Homemart’s a big-box supply depot, think storage for grocery chains. It’s stocked with everything we need, but it’s also a prime target for scavengers. And let’s not forget the walkers.”
Garrett frowned. “Then why hasn’t Gavin gone for it already?”
“He thinks it’s too risky,” Sandy said with a shrug. “And he’s not wrong. The depot’s past the north forest, close to the city. That whole area’s crawling with walkers, and we’ve got no way of knowing how many other groups have already picked it over.”
“So basically, a shot in the dark,” Priya said, smirking. “I like your guts, Red.”
Sandy’s smirk mirrored hers. “Thanks. So, are you in?”
I glanced at Garrett and Priya. We didn’t have much of a choice, not if we wanted to secure supplies. Garrett gave a nod, and I turned back to Sandy. “Yeah, we’re in.”
“Good,” she said, her smirk softening into something almost approving.
Garrett stepped forward, extending a hand. “Garrett Walker. Nice to meet you.”
For a moment, Sandy seemed caught off guard. It was subtle—the faint hesitation before she accepted his handshake—but telling. She wasn’t used to this kind of warmth.
“Sandy,” she said simply, her grip firm but brief.
“Just Sandy?” Garrett pressed, raising an eyebrow.
Her smirk returned, this time with a hint of defiance. “Just Sandy.”
Garrett chuckled, dropping the subject. It wasn’t worth pushing, not yet.
As we prepared to move out, I studied Sandy more closely. Beneath her sharp wit and calm authority, there was something else, a guardedness, like she was carrying more than just a weapon. Whether it was pain, secrets, or both, I couldn’t tell. But one thing was clear: she was someone who knew how to survive, and that made her an asset.
Sandy led us to her so-called “team.” Calling it a group of survivors felt generous, it was barely a handful of people. Three, to be exact, four if you counted her.
Garrett frowned, glancing around the ragtag bunch. “Uh, are we missing people?”
“Nope, this is everyone,” a man with a beard and shaven head replied cheerfully, a sly grin on his face.
I raised an eyebrow at Sandy. “Only four people?”
“With you two, that makes six,” she replied without missing a beat. “And six is plenty. We don’t need an army, just a crew that knows what they’re doing.”
Before anyone could respond, a voice cut through the conversation. “Make it seven.”
I turned to see a familiar figure striding toward us: Barker. His confident swagger and ever-present smirk hadn’t changed.
“I’m coming with you, Red,” he said, his tone casual but firm.
Sandy’s eyes narrowed. “Didn’t invite you.”
“I know, and I don’t care,” Barker shot back, crossing his arms. “You need my help, and I need to keep these two in check. Orders from above.” He tilted his head toward Garrett and me, his smirk widening.
Sandy sighed, clearly annoyed but resigned. “Fine,” she said, then clapped her hands to gather everyone’s attention. “Listen up. This is a simple looting mission. We’re heading to the Homemart. We scout the area, pave the way for future raids, and grab whatever we can carry. Stay clever, avoid scavengers if possible, and don’t go looking for fights with the infected. Got it? Good. Let’s get this over with.”
The group dispersed, prepping the truck for the trip. As Garrett and I double-checked our gear, Priya approached, arms crossed and a stubborn look in her eyes.
“You sure you don’t want me to go with you?” she asked, her voice firm. “I can handle myself, you know.”
“We know,” Garrett replied gently. “But it’s better if you stay. Get to know the people here, show them we’re serious about sticking around. If one of us stays behind, it builds trust.”
Priya’s frown deepened, but she relented. “Fine. But don’t get yourselves killed. That would seriously piss me off.” She gave a casual wave as she walked away.
“We won’t. Take care,” I called after her.
____
The truck rumbled along the bumpy path, carrying us toward the unknown. Garrett and I sat in the back with three others: Timothy, the shaven-headed man; Diego, a wiry Latino with a sharp gaze; and a quiet young man who couldn’t have been older than eighteen. Sandy and Barker rode up front, with Sandy behind the wheel.
“So, you two are new, huh?” Timothy said, breaking the silence. He offered a toothy grin, his voice warm and easygoing. “I’m Timothy, by the way. And this guy here is Diego.” He gestured to his companion, who gave us a polite nod.
“Nathan,” I said, nodding back. “And this one’s Garrett.”
“Pleasure’s all ours,” Garrett added with a grin.
“What brought you two to Oasis?” Timothy asked, genuinely curious.
“Shelter,” I said simply. “And, if I’m honest, it’s not easy spending too much time around this guy.” I jerked a thumb at Garrett, who let out a mock-offended laugh.
Timothy and Diego chuckled as Garrett dramatically rolled his eyes.
“That kid there is Mitchell,” Timothy continued, jerking his head toward the silent young man. “Say hi, kid. Be friendly for once.”
“...Hi,” Mitchell muttered, his voice barely audible.
“You seem pretty young,” I observed. “Have you faced the infected before?”
Mitchell straightened, some of the shyness replaced with defiance. “I’m old enough, and yeah, I’ve handled them.”
“Easy, ‘mano,” Diego said, placing a calming hand on Mitchell’s shoulder. “He’s just asking.” Diego glanced at me, then nodded approvingly. “You know your way around a gun, huh? Military?”
“Yeah, both of us,” Garrett replied. “You?”
Diego grinned. “You could say that. Came with Gavin. Now I focus on keeping the people here safe.”
“What about you, Timothy?” Garrett asked. “Part of Gavin’s squad too?”
Timothy laughed. “Not even close. I used to be a Boy Scout captain.”
Garrett smirked. “Well, if we need a knot tied, you’re our guy.”

After a couple of minutes, the truck came to a jarring halt, jolting us slightly. Barker opened the back with his usual smirk. “Alright, everyone, we’re here. Get your pretty asses moving,” he said, his tone annoyingly smug.
We piled out of the truck into the open field. The sight of our destination loomed ahead, a large parking lot littered with debris and a massive, decrepit Homemart building in the short distance. The asphalt was cracked, overgrown with weeds, and dotted with slow-moving walkers. Their aimless shuffling and low groans carried faintly on the breeze.
“Alright,” Sandy said, stepping forward and taking charge. “There are a few walkers wandering the lot. We clear them out, go inside, grab the supplies, and get the hell out. Got it?”
“Aye, aye, captain,” Barker quipped with a mock salute.
Sandy’s icy glare was enough to wipe the smugness off his face. “Keep that up, and I’ll feed you to them first,” she snapped, her tone sharp as a blade.
As the group began gearing up, I found myself momentarily alone near the truck, checking the edge of my knife. Sandy approached, her movements deliberate, her expression unreadable.
“Can I trust you?” she asked, her voice low enough that the others wouldn’t hear.
I glanced up, smirking slightly. “That depends. Can you trust me?”
She crossed her arms, not amused. “I don’t know you. And from what Barker’s told me, you hide more than you let on. You’re not just some soldier, are you?” Her gaze was sharp, almost piercing, as though she could see through the layers I’d carefully built over the years.
“What gave it away? My charming good looks?”
“Yeah, they’re punchable,” she retorted, a rare flicker of humour in her tone. “But seriously, you’re too polished to be some regular grunt. What were you? Black ops? James Bond?”
I chuckled at her persistence. “I wish. If I were Bond, I’d have a cooler accent and a license to kill.” I paused, the teasing fading into something more genuine. “Tell you what, if this goes well and I stick around Oasis, we’ll share a drink. Maybe then I’ll tell you a little more about me. Sound fair?”
For the first time, a real smile broke through her guarded exterior. “Alright, pretty boy. You’ve got a deal. But don’t make me regret it.”
“Same to you,” I said, matching her grin.
The parking lot was infested with walkers, their movements slow but unsettling as they staggered among rusted cars and scattered trash. Sandy split us into two groups to clear the area faster. Garrett, Sandy, Mitchell, and I took the west side while the others handled the east.
“Alright, everyone,” Barker called out. “Keep it quiet. Melee only, no need to ring the dinner bell. Aim for the head. If you see a runner, do what you have to, but only as a last resort.”
The four of us advanced cautiously, taking out the walkers one by one.
“You know,” I said, wiping my blade clean on a rag. “Once you get the hang of it, they’re pretty easy to take down.”
“Yeah,” Garrett replied, leaning casually on his spiked bat. “Let’s just hope none of those ‘runners’ pop up, though. Right, kid?”
“I’m fine. Never mind,” Mitchell muttered, brushing off the attempt at camaraderie.
“Please... help me...”
The voice was faint, gravelly, and filled with pain. All of us froze, turning toward the source. A man in a black trench coat stumbled out from behind a wrecked car, clutching his stomach as though injured. His face was pale, his movements sluggish.
Mitchell immediately started toward him.
“Hold on!” I grabbed his arm, my gut screaming that something wasn’t right. “Something’s off.”
Sandy’s hand moved to her revolver. “He’s right. Stay back.”
Mitchell yanked his arm free, glaring at me. “Let go of me! Can’t you see he’s hurt?” He ignored our warnings and hurried to the man’s side.
“Are you okay? What happened?” Mitchell asked, kneeling beside him.
The man straightened slightly, his hand falling away from his stomach to reveal unblemished skin. A wicked grin spread across his face. “You should’ve listened to your friends, kid.”
In one swift motion, he drew a blade and slashed Mitchell’s throat. Blood sprayed as Mitchell collapsed, clutching his neck in vain.
“No!” Sandy shouted, drawing her revolver, but the man was faster. He fired a single shot into Mitchell’s skull, ensuring he wouldn’t turn.
“Get them,” the man barked, and suddenly, chaos erupted.
Gunfire roared as a group of armed scavengers emerged from the shadows, flanking us. Bullets ricocheted off nearby cars as we scrambled for cover.
“Fuck! Take cover!” I shouted, ducking behind a rusted sedan.
Garrett dragged Sandy down beside him as she returned fire with her revolver, her face twisted in fury. “Damn it, Mitchell!” she growled under her breath.
“Focus!” I snapped, firing back at the attackers.
The scavengers were well-organized, using the terrain to their advantage. I could hear Barker’s group engaging on the other side of the lot, their gunfire blending with ours in a deafening cacophony.
“They’ve got us pinned!” Garrett yelled.
“Not for long,” Sandy said, her eyes blazing with determination. She glanced at me. “You still think I can trust you, pretty boy?”
“Guess you’ll find out,” I replied, reloading my pistol.