Thirteen students.

  Including Orion, Eli and Anaki.

  Sixteen lives.

  Yaryu swallows hard. How the hell does she protect them?

  The motel room is stuffy, crammed with whatever supplies she managed to scavenge. The door is bolted, but it won’t hold forever.

  Outside, the world is collapsing. Sirens wail, distant explosions shake the walls, and the acrid scent of burning metal seeps through the cracks. Every so often, a scream pierces the night—only to be cut off seconds later.

  The city is being devoured.

  Inside, the children remain blissfully unaware.

  Ross and Laura, the eldest, sit on the bed, arguing over which Sukiyaki-sama arc had the best animation. The younger ones cluster together, giggling over their action figures.

  Yaryu rubs her forehead. If she tells them—

  Her eyes flick to Orion and Eli, tucked away in the farthest corner.

  Eli is curled under the blankets, his face pale, his shoulders trembling. Orion sits beside him on the floor, arms wrapped around his knees. He hasn’t moved in hours.

  The last time Yaryu saw him like this was after the accident with her sister. She has to protect her nephew. But how?

  They know the truth. She can see it, heavy on their shoulders, eating away at them.

  And if she tells the others?

  How do you tell a child they might never see their family again? That they might die?

  Her grip around the dresser tightens, her knuckles burning.

  She hiccups a sob then inhales before she breaks apart—deep, heavy. She's not going to fall apart before trying.

  A hand presses against her. Eli.

  His condition isn't horrible, his body swaying like he could collapse at any second. But his eyes—look at her with a quiet, steady will.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  He signs.

  It's better they don't know.

  Yaryu blinks. Eli, of all people, wants to keep this a secret?

  It’s better to travel with a calm group than one in panic, he adds.

  She exhales, a small, bitter smile twitching at her lips. He’s right.

  “There’s no need to worry,” she says quietly. “Everything will—”

  Eli grabs her hand and presses it.

  He knows.

  Yaryu purses her lips. We're on our own.

  She can't continue to feign ignorance anymore, time is running out. Any second their shelter could be jeopardized. Or if one of the children get sick, or hungry—

  “Anaki.” She calls him finally.

  He is sitting on the window sill, staring out at the carnage below.

  She gestures at him.

  "We need to talk.”

  He covers the curtain and joins her by the door. Glancing once at the others. Sleep is in their eyes, they are under the spell of the early morning—if it is, the darkness won't be lifted for three days.

  One glance at Yaryu and he sighs, he knows what she's thinking. The worst part is that he agrees with it.

  If the children panic it'll be a pain to control them. And if worse comes to be they might…

  Deception is the best choice.

  Yaryu swallows. "Where can we go? The streets—"

  A thud slams against the wall.

  She doesn't move.

  Her breath locks in her throat as she turns. The children didn't notice—they are too engulfed in their own world.

  But Anaki and Yaryu did.

  Another thud. Then a scratch.

  Yaryu grips the handle, her hands shaking.

  Anaki grabs her wrist. He shakes his head slowly.

  Then—

  A low, wet snarl.

  She clenches the knob harder, it's here, a plank separating her from death, then slowly she lets go of it.

  The voices don't disappear, it's still there but by the look of it, the undead doesn't know they are in here.

  Yaryu lets go of her breath.

  “This haven you mentioned, how do you know it exists?” She asks Anaki, not lookong away from the door.

  Anaki’s eyes are covered under his bangs. "I’ve seen it."

  She frowns. "Seen?”

  When?

  “It's the only place we can be safe.” Anaki continues. “I had been there before…”

  Before?

  He pulls a map from his pocket and unfolds it. A small circle is drawn deep in the middle of nowhere—three cities away.

  Yaryu squints. Is this reliable? What if rescue arrives? But won't it be too late by then? Dammit. What should she do—

  One of the younger kids suddenly grabs her arm, scaring the wits out of her, she jumps.

  “Miss Yaryu?” He stares up at her. “When are we going home?”

  Her mouth goes dry. “Ah—uh, what?”

  “We were supposed to go home today,” the child whines. “I don’t like it here. It’s scary.”

  “Yeah, there are a lot of weird noises outside,” Ross grumbles, tossing his cards aside. “Can’t we go early? I wanna see the new Sukiyaki-sama episode.”

  The other children perk up, nodding in agreement.

  “Trust me, you don't.” Orion lifts his head, his face shadowed with dread.

  Ross snorts. “Yikes, you look like you’re gonna vomit.”

  “The only one vomiting will be you.” Orion yanks a pillow at Ross.

  Ross dodges and throws one back—hitting Orion straight in the face.

  The kids erupt, grabbing pillows and launching them at each other, laughter cutting through the tension.

  For a moment, Yaryu just stares.

  How can they be so oblivious?

  Even Eli and Orion couldn't help but join in, dodging pillows—trying, for just a moment, to forget the horror beyond the thin walls.

  A breathless laugh escapes Yaryu. Maybe it’s better this way.

  Their oblivion could keep her grounded. Keep them all sane even if the world is ending.

  “If we don't move out now, they die.”

  She flinches.

  Anaki was looking right at her. Staring into her. “If you want to save them, we have to move now.”

  His bangs fall over his eyes again.

  “There are people out there who can help us.” he says. “We just have to get there. And I know a path—the safest path but I need your help.”

  The world is full of surprises.

  Yaryu had never heard Anaki ask her for something before. He never had the courage to speak up, to talk to her directly.

  She exhales sharply.

  "…Alright."

  Her stomach knots. They’re doing this.

  She has to believe in something. In anything. Even if it's a prophesizing child. If it means keeping them safe. Why not?

  “So how the hell do we do this?”

  They look at the children, still tangled in their playful fight. The distant screams and sirens bleed into the background, momentarily drowned out by their laughter.

  How does she tell them to follow her somewhere that may or may not be a safe zone without breaking them?

  "You’re the adult here."

  Anaki’s grown daring. He has a point, and after six years since her eighteenth birthday, she’s starting to hate that word.